Captain Cave Johnson leaned back in his chair and tried to look extremely awesome. It was his job, after all, as a fierce pirate, to look damn frightening, especially as he sat at the head of a sturdy table, holding court with all his trusted ship advisors as they prepared a plan for another adventure.

"Who's gonna throw ideas at me?" he asked.

Several people began talking, but Cave cut them all off.

"How's that mechanical parrot coming, Jeffers?"

"Oh, uh," Jeffers was a jumpy-looking man with a tuft of black hair, "Not very well, Captain Johnson."

"What's the problem?"

"Well, we were trying to get it to run on gunpowder, sir, but it kept exploding."

"That sounds like an excuse. I don't take too kindly to excuses!"

"No, sir. We'll keep trying, if you'll give us a couple of days to mourn Lefevre. Damn thing blew him up."

"Piracy doesn't stop to mourn anyone, Jeffers. I want a mechanical parrot by next Tuesday, or you'll be walking the plank."

Jeffers blanched, "Yes, sir. Of course."

"Godfrey, how's the implementation of the repuslion pitch going for the rowboats."

Another man, this one a rather formidable looking man with broad shoulders and positively frightening muscles, responded, "Not very well, sir. Every time we lower them down, they bounce right off the water."

"Well, don't apply the pitch to the bottom, you idiots!"

Godfrey considered this thoughtfully for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that, sir. We'll get right onto it."

"Excellent," Captain Johnson said, clapping his hands together. "Now, who has a suggestion as to what prize we should plunder next."

The pause Captain Johnson held was infinitesimally small. Had First Mate Caroline been less skilled at her job, she would not have been able to interject her comment in before he'd started off again.

"Sir, I believe Boatswain Rattman has a suggestion," she said.

Boatswain Rattman, who was sitting as far as humanly possible away from Captain Johnson, was busying himself paying far more attention than necessary to the wood grain of the table, looked up, his face horrified. He hated these meetings, and did his best to blend in with the background.

First Mate Caroline however gave him an encouraging smile.

Boatswain Rattman twitched slightly, began speaking, aborted his attempt at speaking with a nervous cough, and then finally spat out what he was trying to say, "Er, I've been doing some research. There's an artifact, and I, uh, think we should go after it. It's called the Mystical Companion Cube of Friendship and Happily Ever Afters."

Cave Johnson frowned, and slammed a hand down on the table, causing Rattman to jump badly, "That doesn't sound very dangerous. And if it's not dangerous, it's not pirate-y."

Caroline interjected, "Well, there's an awful lot of travelling involved. Statistically, the more leagues we travel, the more likely we are to encounter Royal Navy Ships, and the more likely we are to have to engage them in battle. I've done some research, and all evidence suggests that it's-"

Captain Johnson waved a hand, "Alright, alright. Sounds pretty neat. But I think you lot should hear me out, first. Feast your ears on this, baby: The Cursed Amulet of the Mad-Witch Gladys Which Grants Terribly Inconvenient Immortality To Whosoever Bears It. The crew of the Aperture goes after it. I can hear the drinking songs they'll sing about this bit of bravery now..."

There was a marked silence.

Emboldened by his earlier actions, Rattman began, "Erm, sir. Everyone knows the tale of *that* particular piece of treasure. It's supposed to be terribly bad luck to even go after it, not to mention-"

"Nonesense! It's dangerous! That's what we do. Danger is our collective middle names."

"My middle name is Alexander," Godfrey said.

"That's a figure of speech, Godfrey. Try to keep up. Anyway, no one else has ever gone after it. We'd be the first!"

"There's a reason no one else has ever gone after it," Jeffers grumbled.

"And that's what makes us so spectacular!" Captain Johnson said with a grin. Looking around the room, and noting that no one was sharing his exuberance, he let out a sigh. "Alright, we'll vote on it. All in favor of that companion whatsit?"

All of the main crew quickly raised their hands, except for Caroline. Captain Johnson turned to her, widening his eyes, his bottom lip doing what could only be described as a wibble. Caroline blushed, and then suddenly became very interested in the notes she was taking in the Ship's Log, and said in a very quite voice, "Abstain."

Captain Johnson sighed, "Alright, 14 in favor of the cube thing, one abstains, and I vote for the amulet. And since my vote counts as much as every other crew member's, we get to do both! Hooray!"

More silence.

"When I say, 'Hooray,' I expect there to be 'Hooray's,' Caroline and gentlemen."

Everyone proceeded to put on a brave face and hoorays followed.

"Excellent. Now. Thoughts on how we'll plan the route for these two plunderings. I know Caroline has done some research on that cube-a-majig. Now, I have a map that purports to be of the location of that Amulet. First Mate Caroline, where's my map."

"I've got it," said someone who most certainly wasn't Caroline. In fact, the voice belonged to a lanky, awkward looking young man with reddish blond hair, holding a balled up cloth in one hand, and a crumpled lump of paper in the other.

"Who the hell are you?" Captain Johnson asked.

"I'm-"

"I wasn't asking you," Captain Johnson shot back, turning to Caroline, "Who the hell is he?"

"Swabbie Wheatley, sir."

"Who let him in here?" Captain Johnson ask, looking at everyone with anger.

"You did, sir," Caroline offered, "Remember? You'd spilled a drop of grog on the map, and said I should get someone to clean it up. When I brought Swabbie Wheatley, here, you said that he'd do the trick quite nicely."

"Oh," Captain Johnson said, pausing, trying to find out a way that he could still maintain his anger. He seized upon it when he turned back to Wheatley, "What the hell have you done to my map?"

"Er, well, you see, the erm, grog, I was wiping it off with this cloth, but this cloth was covered in tar, and then, I got another cloth, clean this time, and I wetted it with some of the freshwater stores, but then it got all wet and also...tarred, and...oh, erm...yes."

Swabbie Wheately held out the wadded, dripping, piece of paper that was also caked in tar.

"Shall I schedule a flogging for Swabbie Wheatley, sir?" Caroline asked helpfully.

"Oh, no," Captain Johnson said, looming over Wheatley, even though Wheatley was a good foot taller when he wasn't cowering, "No, I think Swabbie Wheately is going to be walking the plank."

"But, but, but, you, no," Wheatley began inarticulately as Godfrey and another man his size began to make a grab from him, "YOU CAN'T KILL ME BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT THE MAP LOOKS LIKE!"

All movement stopped immediately at Wheatley's outburst.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Someone get this man a pen and paper."

Quickly, Wheatley had been forcibly sat at a table, a pen forced into his hand, and a fresh piece of parchment shoved in front of him. From the way he held the pen, it was clear that he could not write. However, as he sketched out a portion of a map, it was clear that he had not been lying about remembering what the map looked like.

Wheatley put the pen down suddenly.

"Well, what are you doing, go on, finish the map?"

Wheatley shook his head, "No. I've got the map in my head. If I draw it now, how do I know you won't throw me overboard after you've got it?"

Cave Johnson glared at him for a minute and then broke into laughter, clapping Swabbie Wheatley on the back. "I like your style, Wiffle."

"Wheatley, sir."

"Yes, yes. You've got grit. We'll keep you alive, yet. And as of now, you're promoted to...I dunno...cook."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

Captain Johnson stretched, "Right, well. Everyone out of the captain's quarters. I'm going out to get some fresh air, walk the decks, make sure everything's going ahead well."

Cave Johnson walked out of his own quarters and slammed the door, leaving everyone else who had been in the meeting alone, milling about in a slightly confused state.

"What's a cook meant to do?" Wheatley asked into thin air.

"Don't worry about it," Caroline said, patting him on the back, "Yates, you're still cook. Wheatley, you can be one of our new powder monkeys."

"Oh, that sounds nice. What do they do?" Wheatley asked no one in particular.

"Get blown up, mostly," Godfrey said with a ruthless grin.

Wheatley paled and scurried out.

"Jeffers, I've seen the blue prints of your mechanical parrot. You're going about it all wrong. Consider using a clockwork mechanism rather than the gunpowder one. Much too dangerous. It'll save you a world of trouble and a couple of lives," Caroline said.

Jeffers nodded and ran off. Most of the rest of the crew followed.

"Godfrey, stop drinking on the job, it makes you an idiot. Why would you put repulsion pitch on the bottom of a boat? That'll be a flogging. See Miller about it later."

Godfrey trundled out, looking suitably cowed, his teasing of Wheatley forgotten.

"Rattman," Caroline said finally, "Continue on with the plans to do with the Mystical Companion Cube."

Rattman looked shocked that anyone was speaking to him, "All due respect, I didn't know you knew about them. That was just something I was doing in my spare time."

"It's good work," Caroline said with a smile.

"It's useless. We'll probably get killed finding that damn amulet before he even thinks about the cube."

"I'll try to turn his ear again. He's much more likely to listen to me, and much more likely to be sensible when he's not posturing for the whole crew."

Boatswain Rattman nodded desultorily.

"Oh, and do me a favor. Keep an eye on Wheatley. If he dies, I don't want him taking anyone with him."

"If he dies, he takes the map with him," Rattman said, thoughtfully. Then it dawned on him. "That's horrible. You're putting an idiot around powder and hoping he gets himself blown up."

"I'm not *hoping*," Caroline said, "Piracy's dangerous though. And Wheatley might get himself killed, but if the whole ship goes after the amulet, how many people die then?"

Rattman sighed, nodded, and wandered away. He hated being a pirate. A lot.

30 YEARS LATER

Wheatley, the same Wheatley who, as we have just seen, only narrowly saved his own life 30 years before, stood in a line of various other dodgy seamen, pirates, and privateers as an athletic looking young woman paced back and forth in front of the line, examining everyone before her, her sharp eyes scrutinizing them mercilessly. Wheatley looked much the same as he had 30 years earlier, with one exception: instead of two bright blue eyes, he had one bright blue eye and an eyepatch that hid the disgusting remnants of the eye he had lost in an accident.

The young woman examining Wheatley and the others was Captain Chell O'Redacted. She was ridiculously famous while still being a bit of an enigma. Some said that the sea itself gave birth to her, like that portrait by that Boticelli bloke. Rumor had it that she'd tried to enlist in the Royal Navy at the age of 12. When they had informed her, in the most delicate of terms, that ladies were not accepted into the navy, and that perhaps she would like to go play with a doll, she had reportedly stolen a barrel of gunpowder, a small boat used for excursions on land, 2 pistols, a cutlass and a rapier, and had taken off down the Thames. She was almost to the North Sea before they managed to catch her.

After a stunt like that, authorities did their best to lock Chell up, but she'd broken out, found a ship, and made a name for herself. She was not a pirate, per se. As far as things went, she was probably more accurately the Robin Hood of the Seven Seas. In fact, had things been different, the Crown might have knighted her. She'd sunk more Spanish treasure ships than most of the Royal Navy Higherups combined. Without an official command, however, she was still an enemy of the Crown.

Captain Chell had proceeded to be terribly good at her job, amassing treasure from evil-doers and redistributing it amongst the needy, always taking just enough to keep her ship at sea and her crew content. She also wreaked havoc on the slave trade, commandeering the slavers, and freeing and recruiting their ' goods'. By all accounts, she was an amazing captain: fair, just, compassionate.

And then word went out. Captain Chell had docked her ship, The Porthole, in Port Royal and dismissed all of her crew. She had put out a call for the bravest adventurers to come to Port Royal by the next October. She was amassing a crew to go after the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson.

Rumor had it that said cave featured more riches than any man had ever seen. It also hadn't been found in the 20-something years since Captain Johnson had shuffled off this mortal coil.

Captain Chell was only looking for the best, the bravest, the smartest, the fiercest, all in pursuit of this fabled treasure. No one would ever describe Wheatley using any of those adjectives. And he wasn't looking for adventure, anyway. He was looking for an easier retirement from his sea-faring days than working in a pub in which violent, mortal fights frequently broke out and disgusting bodily fluids were frequently spilled. He was looking for peace, quiet, freedom, and most importantly, easy money.

And he had a way to get it.

Captain Chell walked up and down the row of brave adventurers and Wheatley. She picked several different men, chatted briefly with others to determine their character or confirm their reputations. She ignored Wheatley entirely. Just when it seemed that Captain Chell had finished picking her crew, Wheatley made his move.

"Erm. Excuse me. Lady? I mean, um, Captain? Yes, you. Right. I have this terribly important piece of information. Might be worth your time. No-no don't walk away. This isn't a come-on. I know where the Treasure Cave of Cave Johnson is!"

Captain Chell hesitated for a minute, then shrugged. She had time to humor the town drunk. "Name?" She said curtly. She was a person of few words.

"Frederick Wheatley. I-I was on the Aperture. I was the erm-" no harm in a little white lie to sweeten the pot, "the Weapon's Master. That's me, yeah. Bloody heroic."

Something burned in Chell's eyes when Wheatley mentioned his name. Without a word, she grabbed Wheatley by the front of his tattered, liquor stained shirt and dragged him away. She took him aboard her ship, into the Captain's quarters, and then drew a sword on him.

"Whoa! Whoa! I'm not looking to get stabbed. Quite the opposite. I think I'm fine the way I am, whole and intact."

Captain Chell made a motion for him to shutup and then she began talking, low and quick.

"I have travelled for the past year, finding every bit of information I could about the Aperture, her crew, and the treasure of Cave Johnson. There was very little. But one source, a reliable source, yielded a crewlist. There was a Mr. Wheatley on the crew of the Aperture. Next to no one would know this information. If this is a coincidence and you are a lying dog trying to profit, then I suggest you walk right off of this ship and never speak to me again unless you want to taste my steel. If you have heard of this Wheatley from another, or you know where he is, I suggest you take me too him, as quickly as possible if you value your life. If you are this Mr. Wheatley, then speak quickly, and briefly, tell me all the information you know."

"I-I-I'm Wheatley. Wheatley's me. Not some other bloke. Me. Also, please don't stab me. That would be awfully kind. I did crew on the Aperture. That's right. Yep."

"Quickly. Briefly," Chell interrupted.

"Ah, right. Well. You see, its a bit of a tale."

Chell glared at him.

"Buuuuut, I'll try to get it out as efficently as possible. Let's see. It was the day I'd been promoted to Powder Monkey. B-before I became a weapon's master, obviously. I'd been the Swabbie before, and when I started talking to the other powder monkeys, weeeeeelll. They didn't take to kindly to me. They said I wasn't a true powder monkey until I had stolen one of the Captain's socks."

Chell raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I know now that that's not a thing. And also, most pirates don't wear socks. Yeah. They...you wouldn't believe this, but people tend to give me a bit of a hard time. Anyway, so I slipped off to the Captain's Quarters. I was looking for a sock, when I heard something coming. So, naturally I hid under the bed. Because...well, it made sense at the time, alright? Stop looking at me like that. Anyway..."

30 YEARS EARLIER

Wheatley was amazed at how dirty it was under the captain's bed. Since it was bolted to the floor, you couldn't move it to clean it, but still, someone should have cleaned under there. When he'd been the swabbie, he'd never been allowed to clean in the captain's quarters, but he was sure the captain was capable of cleaning himself. He should really mention it to him. This amount of dust couldn't be good for the sinuses.

His mind wandered again. He'd recognized the captain by his boots when he had entered the room, and from the whispering, he could discern that he had a woman with him. That had to be Caroline. She was the only woman on the ship. The only woman pirate that Wheatley had ever met, really. The bed shifted above him, and he figured that they must have sitten down.

The whispering stopped. And there was nothing for a while. Wheatley had to stop himself from whistling distractedly. Nothing going on. Just some shifting on the bed. And some soft noises. And. Wait. Was that a moan? What-?

Oh.

God.

Wheatley realized at that moment that people were having sex. On top of him. Mortified, he let out a squeak.

"Did you hear that?" Wheatley heard Caroline say from somewhere above him.

"Yeah," Captain Johnson said. "Probably a rat. Bastards are always all over ships. I try to keep them out of here, but there's only so much I can do. Also some of them got into the repulsion pitch, so now they bounce."

There was a momentary silence. Wheatley could only assume that Caroline was boggling at the idea of bouncing rats as much as he was. He prayed no one looked under the bed, and shoved his knuckles into his mouth to silence himself.

"Should I go kill the blighter?" Captain Johnson asked after a bit.

"No. Um. That's alright. I meant to talk to you anyway. I just got distracted."

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh. Nothing much. Just the amulet."

Cave's tone of voice sounded suspicious as he asked, "What about the amulet?"

"Well, I have some concerns about it, sir."

"What concerns?"

"I'm so glad you asked," Caroline said brightly, and Wheatley had to hand it to her: she was good. She'd practically made him ask. "I think the chief concern is best expressed with a breakdown of the name that the amulet is widely known by."

"I'm not following you."

"Well, the 'cursed' bit, for a start. That doesn't sound too promising."

"Hmpf. Everyone says that about things. It's just the sort of talk people use to keep other people from touching their stuff. I'm supposed to have a cursed cutlass, and you touch that all the time!"

Wheatley had to nearly swallow his fist to keep from making a noise.

"Its just a rumor I propogate to make sure none of the men take my lucky cutlass in battle!"

Wheatley breathed a sigh. The cutlass wasn't metaphorical.

"Alright, fair enough," Caroline said, "What about the Mad-Witch Gladys part of the name?"

"Do not tell me that you're scared of a witch!"

"No!" Caroline said sharply.

"Good. Because you're the bravest person I know. Fierce. Sharp. Sparky."

"Thank you, sir."

"Hey, do you remember that time you took that ship all on your own?"

"Oh, sir. The men on that ship were terribly drunk; I don't think it counts. It was a holiday, after all."

"Nonesense! They should have known piracy never takes a holiday. And what about that guy you killed in that port for claiming that you were just playing pirate and should settle down with a nice man?"

"He *did* start a riot. There was so much commotion, it's no wonder he didn't notice me until I'd slit his throat."

"You're too modest. The whole Royal Navy would turn tail if they knew you were on a ship."

"That's probably only true because they assume you would be on the same ship."

"My point stands: you're too tough to be scared of some mad-witch. Now you can't have a quibble about all that immortality stuff, can you?"

"Well, the 'terribly inconvenient' bit sounds a tad ominous."

"Rubbish!"

"I wouldn't want to tell you what to do-"

"Good."

"But I think we should go about things a different way. Achieving immortality would offer a great retirement, but you have to plan. Amass as much treasure as possible, store it on an island. A treasure island."

"Novel idea. Could it also have a cave on the island? I think the pun would work."

"Well, I had an island in mind, actually. It does have a cave."

"Nice. So an island full of treasure. To retire on. When I'm immortal."

"Exactly. And I think you'll need to fill it up before you get the amulet. You don't want treasure hunting to cut into your retirement."

"Hmm. Good point. So what's the next treasure I should go after for my island stash?"

"The Companion Cube. I've got some excellent maps, and-"

"Alright, alright. But back to this potential treasure island you've found."

"Oh, of course. Well the coordinates are..."

30 YEARS LATER

"And then she said the coordinates, which I'm not going to tell you until you give me a cushy retirement package so that I no longer have to work at a bar full of pirates," Wheatley finished.

Chell prodded him rather threateningly with her sword.

"Okay, okay. Yes. I'll tell you them."

Wheatley then said the coordinates.

"Now can I please leave? No money necessary. I'd just like to not die at this point."

Captain Chell shook her head as she put her sword away.

"We set sail tomorrow."

"Wait, what, 'we'?"

Chell huffed. She clearly hated having to waste words.

"I'll let you go. Even pay you off. But *after* you lead me to the treasure cave."

"But, I gave you the coordinates!"

"Insurance. You lie, you die."

"But! I've not even been there that often!"

Chell focused on him fiercely again. "You've been there?"

"Er...oh. No. I mean-"

"You'll show me the way around."

"Did I say I'd been there? Because it was so long ago. I'm sure it's really different now. Full of...you know...booty. And a girl like you, you know. Dangerous. Etc, etc," Wheatley trailed off lamely, withering under Captain Chell's gaze. "So...we'll be leaving tomorrow, yeah? Um. Can you at least call me the Skipper? I always wanted that title."