[Isolated]

Chapter 12

(I don't own Paw Patrol)

(Rocky's POV)

This doesn't feel right, but why can't I stop it. Sure, we're in a tight situation right now, but we've been through worse. Didn't we? We are still in the path towards town. It's not to late to help. We have to do something... I promised.

My desperate and incoherent thoughts were halted by someone saying, "Stop the car." As a result of the suddenness, the screeching tires made my ears forget whoever said it... well... I don't need to figure out who, because she's standing firmily in all fours.

The shaky sky pup puts on a facade. Her posture showed confidence but anxiety loomed off of her. She was scared of a simple social interaction, not to long ago, and this immediate one-eighty degree turn of personality is something I only see in movies.

Martin turns to face her, but he seems more impressed by her fake confidence, than to just bluntly ignore her or scold at her. Well... at least I think so, he too became unpredictably aggressive. From a simple mistrust to argument. Now, Skye, the least helpful and least knowledgeable is defying his shotcall like it is the dumbest think he could have thought of.

She continues her parade of confidence, that immediately trips. "... W-we can't l-leave like this. R-ryder wouldn't like this... and you know it. W-what's the point on being a rescue team, when we're only saving ourselves."

The stutters in her voice should have convince herself that it was a poor attempt, but her stern persuasive look makes it believable in my eyes. She wants to do it.

Martin breathes heavily, in and out he tries to not flip. His breathing turns shallow, stopping, then speaking. "Okay first off..." he stands, towering her. She flinches a little, but it didn't stop Martin. "... You guys were in 'vacation'. Second, you guys aren't going to endangering yourselves any further than this. Ryder isn't even in a capable state and you think that you're capable, in the most unstable state that everyone is."

Skye mumbles. "And so is everyone else, Martin."

His face sours as he glares daggers at her, while the cockapoo was trembling. When I saw the situation, I feel like I need to interfere. It isn't going to end well if I don't. And I see that I am not the only one who thinks about doing something.

Behind the teen, a bandaged paw touches the sherpard, their eyes telling everything that is needed to be said and done. Next thing I know, Zuma was pleading for me to carry him.

We seriously need to stop this charade.

Leaving the sleeping teen slumped on the wall, Chase and Marshall moved over to us. Doing the same, Zuma and I stood firm to our name. No job is too big, no pup is too small. We are the Paw Patrol.

As cliché this might get, I don't think I can live the rest of my life, as peaceful as it is, when I'm constantly bother by this. "We're going." the police pup said, earning a sly kiss from his spotted mate.

"When will you learn? You can't do anything to stop-"

He needs to stop raising his voice, so I butted in -- stopping him from scaring anyone else. "Who said anything about stopping it?..." his eyes widen, I continue. "...As far as I remember, this is our occupation. It doesn't matter what kind it is. It might be the end of the world, for all I know, but my subconscious isn't going to let me sleep if we manage to survive by letting everyone else die."