Maybe the dreams would never leave him, but Rocky had become quite adept at shoving them away. Working for the ACG was a cesspool of distractions, the waiting line of things needing to be done never seemed to end. When one task was finally finished, roughly three more would spring up in his face, sometimes even while he still doing the first one. It was a process that usually weeded out the strong from the weak, as working under pressure was a condition the ACG swam in every day. He commonly found himself in the canteen hunting for something to keep his mind occupied, aimlessly gazing down a drinking glass for something he could never find. The food there sucked, but an acceptable type of 'suck' where Rocky detested it but knew there wasn't anything else. Never in his life did he think he'd eat so much rice and ramen squares, at least they gave out coffee, that was one saving grace. The canteen wasn't the most appealing place to be, but the endless supply of low-quality alcohol at least added some much-needed muffling to his thoughts.
He sat at a dirty lunch table, idly nudging a glass of golden liquid. He locked in conversation with one of his more preferred legionnaries. "I don't know, what do you think is the point of no return?"
Across him sat Strap, the white husky from the earlier mission. They weren't on entirely magical terms with one another, but, at minimal, accepted each other's presence enough to sit across together. "Well, how many chances was he given?" He asked, tilting his head.
"Three."
"Well then that's it. Just like I said, you mess up three times, its over for you. He shouldn't have been given a third one to begin with, if you ask me."
"What if it's not that simple?" Rocky said, watching his glass slowly shift a few inches. The ground was gently moving underneath them, occasionally making small objects sway around. The ACG's naval warship they called home was an impressive display as it travelled across the ocean, but boats will be boats, no matter the size. The constant rocking made his stomach turn, he remembered being seasick for days upon first enlisting, a weakness he had to kick fast. "What if you... wholeheartedly know that someone isn't a bad person, but they-" He paused, sighing to himself. "But they just keep messing up by sheer accident? Like it's almost not even their fault, stuff just... keeps happening?"
Strap studied him for a moment, trying to read his comrade. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
"I'm not." The mix said quickly, averting eye contact.
"Are you still thinking about Harris? In my opinion, I don't think we did anything wrong. The contact hired us to deal with him, be it kill or capture, and we did, mission accomplished." Strap said, slightly puzzled at the conversation. "You asked, he denied, reached for the gun, down he went. It's textbook." He shrugged, dipping his tongue in his glass of whisky. "And you know... that guy was pretty fucked up. I'm sure you saw all the evidence we had on him."
"Ugh, don't remind me." Rocky grumbled, remembering the sickening things he witnessed. "Believe me, thinking back on it, I had no real problem getting rid of a dog like that. Kill or not, they need to be dealt with in some way."
"So what's the problem?"
"I guess I just... knew someone." The mix said, finding difficulty speaking. "Someone who hurt someone else, someone I was very close to."
Strap nodded, listening.
"But I was so close to both of these dogs," Rocky lamented. "They were my... old friends." He changed his sentence quickly, dodging what he was actually about to say. "But one suddenly hurts the other by accident, and now you don't know what to think."
"How much of an accident are we talking about?"
"Don't worry about it," Rocky waved him off. "Honestly I said too much, it doesn't even matter in the grand scheme of things." He took a drink of his own, looking down at the table. "I just wish I could read minds sometimes, give me the ability to get into heads a little, find out what's going on." His mind travelled back to old, fonder memories, back when life was simpler out of sheer obliviousness.
"That would be terribly invading." Strap laughed, lightening the mood. "Dogs would start staying away from you, no offense. Like what if someone has some really dark secret that they're trying to keep down for the sake of everything else? People have the right to that, don't they? Sometimes stuff needs to stay a secret for a reason."
"Look I'm not trying to get philosophical here, I barely have enough free time as is."
"What, you have more grunts to manage?" His friend laughed. "I can tell you, we already finished cleaning our weapons, everything is done."
"It's never done, Strap. There's always something else." Rocky's face twisted, harsh thoughts entering his mind. "You always think something is done, then when you least expect it. It rears its head."
"Rocky, are you okay?"
"Fine." He said quickly, suddenly downing his entire drink. "I gotta check on Chase, I made him go take a psych eval after the last mission."
Strap watched him get up. "You do that a lot, I notice."
"Trust me, he needs them." Rocky put the glass aside, giving Strap a nod. "We all do."
"Call me if you get a lead on Kolechi." The husky held up his glass. "I wanna be there when we finally catch that prick."
Rocky couldn't help but smile. "I mean, you'd be coming anyway. You're part of my personal squad, are you not?"
"Course, but I'm antsy to take this guy down. Happy to be by your side, captain."
"Don't be a bootlicker, Strap." Rocky chuckled, waving his friend off. "You want work? Hit the barracks and load magazines."
The husky happily jumped up. "Sir yes sir." He then raced off without another word, headed for the personal quarters of Rocky's squad. Although he wasn't too crazy about his fellow soldiers in his early days with the ACG, Rocky hesitantly grew to appreciate how the other troopers were more than just vicious dogs in masks. There were certainly more antisocial than not, but every now and then he'd find someone he certainly didn't mind sharing a drink with. Shaking his head with a faint smile, Rocky left for his own destination.
The medic bay inhabited one of the center segments of the warship, designed entirely for ease of access so the injured wouldn't have to travel far to get their help. The ship wasn't terribly difficult to navigate, if one was able to remember dozens of ladders and path combinations. It did make Rocky particularly fond of grass, savoring the cool feeling of its bed every single time he stepped onto dry land. The constant metal flooring got old unbearably quick, an irritating surface uncomfortable to the paws. Down the main hall, left turn, right ladder, left turn, straight ahead, another ladder, Rocky went over the path in his head as he moved, passing by other legionaries and having to salute to any general or commander that he came across. Such was the life of the ACG, when action wasn't in progress, it was nothing but titles and cold saluting.
Stepping through the doorway into the medic bay, Rocky nodded to the lobby attendant. She was just a terrier, not at all a soldier and instead occupying the quiet job of writing names down. She'd never understand, Rocky knew in his mind, she was just an innocent accountant, how could she ever understand? The ship was filled with dogs like this, all taking janitorial or account positions to make the guild's processes smoother, yet little of them ever actually saw the violence they faced. Practically innocent puppies, Chase commented once upon seeing them, a statement that never left Rocky's mind.
Chase was having a conversation with his medic, sitting on the gurney with a bored expression. They were clearly several pages into the interview, and the shepherd was already hunting for an escape route. "No, never."
"Are you seeing things others cannot?" Asked the medic, a well-built Dalmatian.
"I don't hallucinate." Chase said flatly.
"Do you hear voices that others cannot?"
"No."
The Dalmatian nodded, circling the bed a few times. "Okay, I'll just need to run a few more tests and you'll be fine."
"The hell with the tests!" Chase grumbled. "That's all we ever do and it's always the same thing."
Rocky overheard him as he walked over, approaching both dogs. "Well maybe if you stopped worrying me, you wouldn't have to be here." He said firmly, then gave the medic a nod. "Hey Marshall."
"Hey Rocky," Marshall said absently, still looking at Chase. "But you at least get where we're coming from? I know there's something up with you."
The shepherd raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? You're a master doctor now, who promoted you?"
"We grew up together, Chase. I know you."
"Well, you could at least lighten up a little." The soldier waved him off, not meeting Rocky's annoyed look. "I seem to remember you having a sense of humor." He punctuated his joke with a laugh, half-expecting the mixed breed to laugh with him. Only an annoyed silence was met on his end.
Marshall ignored him, turning to his captain. "I was wondering when you'd get here."
"Sorry, lower soldiers kept saluting to me in the hallway. I had to return every single one."
"Funny how a mercenary legion keeps borrowing stuff from the army." Chuckled the medic. "I don't really understand what they're trying to be. We get paid to do something, we do it, I don't get why we need so much army slang."
Rocky smiled with a faint snicker, enjoying the more lighthearted mood. "Well, what can you do? Anyway," he paused for a second, then shifted his tone back to the subject matter. "So how is he?"
"He's exactly as he's always been." Marshall snuck a look back at the shepherd, who was very much listening in. "Extremely annoying to deal with."
"Hey!" Chase flattened his ears, snapping toward them. Even with his tone, it was obvious a playful side was hiding underneath it. "Which one of us would always crash into the elevator?"
"I grew out of that."
"Maybe, but everyone's a puppy at heart." Chase put his paw over his chest, smirking at his two brothers. He spotted Rocky's frown and spoke again. "Look, everything kinda got messed up in the very end, but think about all the fun times we had!" He said, trying to uplift the two. "Catching frisbees and rolling in mud, running through fields and mud."
"Except it was all a lie." Rocky held up his paw, a notion for him to stop talking. "Ryder abandoned us to be torn apart by an invading threat." He hesitated even mentioning the event that tore apart the family, agonizing memories too clear in his head. "How could you possibly have any fond memory of him now knowing what he did to us?"
The shepherd hopped down from the bed, meeting him directly. "I'm just trying to cherish the few good things we had, Rocky. Back when it was still six of us, before it all fucked up."
"Language." Marshall hissed.
Chase ignored him. "So excuse me if I'm reminiscing about times every now and then, I honestly can't help it."
"Ryder willingly allowed that creature to invade our tower and kill us all." Rocky shot back at him, his voice rising. "It killed three of my closest friends-"
"Two." Marshall interrupted. "It killed two of them." He discreetly snuck a pained look at Chase.
The shepherd easily read the room, now turning to Marshall. "This again? I thought we were over this!"
"We are!" Rocky said aloud. "No one is talking about Skye right now, got it? Not you, or you." He pointed his paw at each brother, shutting down the debate before it got ugly. "We did what we could, we gave her the memorial, and now we are done from ever bringing it up again."
"Fine, fine!" Marshall held up a paw in defeat, walking off to one of his tool stations. He swiftly turned away to hide the exasperated expression on his face. "I wasn't going to say anything anyway." The tension was mere seconds from hitting its peak, only cooling down the nick of time before a real argument broke out. The other two stood apart in silence for a moment, both grumbling in their minds about the situation. Chase's eagerness to start an argument had nearly caused trouble again, and Rocky was storming in his head about what to possibly do about his brother.
"Just tell me if Chase is fine or not!" Rocky called over to the spotted animal.
"He's fine." Marshall said, looking down at a computer. "Spic and span, ready to go by tomorrow. I have things to attend to, so if we're done here, I wish you luck on your next mission." He spoke without looking up, his tone defensive to continue anything else.
Rocky quickly flashed the shepherd a dirty look, Marshall's upset demeanor was never a pleasant sight to him. The Dalmatian rarely ever got angry, and the mix never looked fondly on those who pushed his little brother's buttons. "Alright, we'll get out of your fur. Come on." He pushed Chase out of the room swiftly, much to the soldier's protest.
Successfully shoving him out into the hallway, Rocky leaned in with a low growl. "What the hell is wrong with you? You know how he gets when you bring up the Lookout!"
"I didn't do anything!" Chase said defensively. "He brought it up, I was just following the statement! What are you mad at me for?"
"I- I don't know." Rocky shook his head, getting further agitated. "But you just have this perfect skill in upsetting him and I don't know how you do it." The shepherd was about to say something but Rocky fiercely cut him off. "You think we don't miss Skye? Or Zuma, or Rubble? Do you honestly think we don't have those memories too?"
Flattening his head, Chase took a step back. "Dude, we already had this conversation a couple hours ago! You don't need to repeat yourself."
"And I shouldn't have to! But I seriously wonder with you, and for the record," the mix continued. "Quit bringing up our old owner. He's dead to me and should be to you too."
"Wait, me?" Chase hardened his gaze, the shepherd's tone dropping. "You brought him up, not me."
"I-" Rocky blinked, realizing his mistake. "Okay fine, my bad. Yeah, I shouldn't have done that, but you're not entirely in the clear here."
"Trust me... he is dead to me." Chase pressed. "I'll make jokes, sure, but he still abandoned us. I'll never forgive him for that. I just..." he looked off to the side. "I just think about old times a lot, I don't know why."
"And I get that, I really do." Rocky let himself calm down. "But it upsets Marshall, and I'd honestly rather you focus on our missions instead of thinking about old ones. We are this close to finally tracking down Kolechi," he held up his paw. "We've been tracking this piece of garbage since we were hired after him, and the closer we get, the sharper we need to be."
The shepherd gave a small nod. "Oh believe me, I'll be there to put plenty of bullets in him when everything's done."
"So I can count on your competence?"
"Rocky, you can count on my life as competence."
The mix let out a sigh, gazing to the floor. "Well... that's all I ask for. And if that's clear, then we have no problems. Just please try to be nicer to Marshall."
"Are you kidding?" Chase giggled. "Marshall was always the baby of the family, I'd never do anything to willingly hurt him and you know that."
"Rubble was the youngest."
"Yeah well, Rubble is gone." He said sadly. "So that leaves Marshall."
Rolling his eyes, Rocky dejectedly prepared himself to endure another hour of his brother until the next mission call. They both walked away, absently conversing about small things and hobbies. Meanwhile Marshall still stood alone in his office, sitting at his desk mindlessly staring into the surface. A somber note played in his mind, his blue eyes searching for meaning in the heartaches. Nothing would ever be the same again, no matter how successful he became within the ACG, utterly nothing seemed to heal the scars in his heart.
The memories came to him every day. Its signature roar, all those voices all layered over one another, its monstrous size scampering through the hallways. The stabbing tail and gnashing teeth that stole his old life away, the burning eyes of the terrifying beast that destroyed everything. That dreaded basement filled with filth, defiling his eyes and burning images into his mind he'd never get away.
He had to be strong, he knew it in his heart, yet such a simple thing was so horridly difficult. His eyes looked up at the desk, where his name was etched on a placard displaying his title. It was a gift from the ACG, supposedly, a soldier had come by one afternoon and left the package on his desk. A gift, a gesture of kindness for him, a small notion that even in these darkened metal corridors, surrounded by warfare, there were still dogs out there who cared for him.
His eyes narrowed at the placard, knowing he owed everything to the guild. The Assault and Containment Guild, the legion that rescued them in their darkest hour, taking them in from the ashes of their old life. They had to the best, he said in his mind with a hardened expression, they had to, they were obligated to repay their life debt with flawless servitude.
It was only fair.
Within Marshall's determination, a hollowed sadness pulled him back down. No matter how many times he reminded himself of his new directive, there was always a dark cloud that followed him. If he didn't have a daily schedule, he'd probably never even get out of bed in the morning. Standing up from his desk, Marshall pushed his thoughts away and returned to his station. Tomorrow was another day, more missions were coming, and they always had to be ready. Never could they afford to show weakness.
No matter what came in their way.