"Catch it!"

"Stop that penguin!"

"Don't hurt it!"

"Does anyone have a net?"

Skipper weaved through the legs of scrambling staff and civilians alike. Thankfully, panic spread through humans like wildfire. The first few crew members who'd been startled by the presence of a penguin in their cargo hold had shouted for help catching it. As the shouts carried and passed from the lips of one to another, the story of what was found in the hold was twisted and warped. Skipper had already escaped the first bumbling capture attempts when news reached the deck that an exotic pet had escaped its crate in the hold. The word "exotic" brought with it the thoughts of snakes, tigers and poisonous lizards, and the theories as to what it was that had escaped grew only more wild as the panic evolved.

Humans were strange creatures. A penguin in the cargo hold had blown up into something as bizarre as a Python attacking crew members below deck, and only in the span of a few minutes.

Thankfully, the panic provided excellent cover. No one noticed the little black-and-white bird sliding quickly along the hardwood floors, travelling with the crowd, heading topside.

He launched himself off the top step and onto the deck, hearing the startled voices of the few humans who had caught a glimpse of him. The crowd was thickening and the questions were mounting with terrific volume. Those who noticed him had their observations silenced by shouting aristocrats, demanding answers and managerial presence.

Skipper launched himself off the side of the ship, pulling into a perfect dive and drove under the skin of the salt water like a splinter. He didn't resurface for quite some time, and when he did, the cruise ship he'd been stowing away on was continuing towards Manhattan regardless of the chaos.

The penguin found himself distracted by the bright lights of the big apple, painting the night sky a murky gold from sheer light pollution. It was dazzling, and warmed his heart with its familiarity. He wasn't sure if he really had a home anymore, but this city was the one place he felt he truly belonged. Something about the hustle and bustle drew him in like a moth to a flame. A concrete jungle in every way, New York called to him.

His gut told him that this is where he needed to be, and he was never one to ignore gut instinct.

Truth be told, instinct was all he had left. After the incident in Denmark, Skipper had felt lost and confused. The one he'd trusted with his life had turned on him when it mattered most, and an entire country had shut him out as a result. With nowhere else to go, and no one else to go there with, Skipper had headed west, because it just felt right.

Now, swimming quickly to shore just under the surface of the water, Skipper thought back to all the ships he'd stowed away on, from passenger vessels to freighters to the commercial cruise lines. It had all been to help him cross the Atlantic, help him close the distance between him and the bright lights of the big city. He was finally here, Brooklyn but a few minutes swim away, and his gut still ached with purpose.

He had no doubt about it. This was where he was supposed to be. But for what? And where exactly? New York was a big city, it wasn't like the answers would be staring him in the face, but he didn't even have a direction. He didn't know where to start.

Skipper leaped out of the water and onto the concrete of a riverside walkway. He shook his feathers dry with a full body quiver that started at his beak and ended with his tail feathers, then began to walk – or more accurately, waddle – towards the glow of street lights nearby.

His wet feet slapped against the concrete with more volume than Skipper cared for, but it was too late at night for any humans to be out in a residential area such as this, so he wasn't being overly cautious in the first place.

It was at times like these that Skipper missed his tape recorder. In the quiet of the street, the sound of his voice might be comforting, be it telling his unveiling escapades or recounting some distant missions. Though really, the sound of any voice would provide comfort enough. He was a soldier first, but that didn't excuse him for the occasional bout of loneliness that came from being a bird meant for a flock. Sometimes his tape recorder was a way to distract himself, but it – along with the rest of his few possessions – had been lost in Denmark or the journey from it.

Just more salt in his wounds was the bitter thought that followed this sentiment.

As he waddled out into a larger street, he felt the feathers on his back ruffle, displaced by the paranoid feeling of eyes in the dark, watching. He whirled, planting both feet firmly on the concrete in time to be blinded by the headlights of a van that roared quite suddenly to life.

Skipper grinned, his flippers up in a heartbeat. There was little his flippers could do in the face of a one-tonne steel vehicle, but the defence was automatic and brought with it a welcome rush of adrenaline that spiked with the revving of the van's engine. It had been parked there, waiting for him. A trap. No doubt, some of the humans on the ship had called animal control in their panic. There were probably vans out everywhere looking for a renegade penguin.

The engine revved a third time, and Skipper was poised to dodge, but the vehicle sat still, shining its high beams into his face.

"A standoff, eh?" he said aloud, feeling his bravado return to him. "That's alright, but you should know I'm not one to back down from a- hey!"

A metal wire enclosed around him, pulling tight and pinning his flippers to his side.

"Gotcha!"

Skipper's head whipped around, his eyes fixing upon the tall and lanky adolescent human that had snared him with a pole and wire. The boy reeled him in like a fish, and Skipper remained stone still. The wire had just enough give that he could swing his body up for a kick, but he had to wait for the right moment.

"Wow, you're a long way from home, aren't ya?" the boy picked up the bird, tucking the pole under his arm. He pulled at the wire, providing even more slack so he could turn the sea bird around and look down at him from the front. "Don't worry, buddy, we'll get you back into the aquarium where you belong."

"Sorry, awkward looking human, but not today."

The boy had given Skipper more than enough slack to actually pull himself out of the wire snare, prop his flippers against the boy's wrist and swing his foot up to deliver a solid kick to the youth's jaw. It was more of a shock than a truly damaging move, but that's all the little bird needed. The boy dropped him in surprise, stumbling back and entirely unprepared for when the penguin picked up the snare and swept it along the ground, knocking his feet out from beneath him.

Skipper didn't linger to hear his dazed questions, but dove onto his belly and rocketed around the gangly teenager, vanishing into the shadows of the city streets.


They caught up to him eventually, this time with a larger team. No one really believed the rookie who swore up and down that the penguin had attacked him, but they knew how to recognize a wild one. A team of four boxed him into an alley, herding him into a dead end and then dropping a cage on him from the fire escape above. It was a well executed move, and part of Skipper admired the humans' team work.

The other part was fuming that he'd been caught at all. It didn't help that they bragged to one another about how easy a catch this was, and began trading stories of more difficult escaped animals. Rabid dogs and escaped snakes, to name a few. Sure, catching one penguin was easy when there were four humans twenty times his size. Everything would be easier for him if there were more than one operative on a job!

But Skipper was given little attention as he was loaded into the back of a van. They said nothing on his deliberate glares and the way he sat stubbornly in the middle of the crate with his flippers folded across his chest. They slammed the doors shut and laughed about something they'd seen in the city earlier that day.

Well, at least he wasn't under surveillance back here.

Skipper rose and moved to examine the lock of his portable cell. He was expecting the traditional pinch-spring lock they had before his overseas operation, but this time he was faced with a four dial number lock. It needed a four digit code and without it, Skipper wasn't getting out.

Bitterly, the bird fell back onto his hindquarters and resumed his halfhearted attempt to bore a hole through the lock of his cage with the sheer power of his glare.

He spent most of the ride in a bitter silence, reflecting on what he'd done wrong and what he should have done – how he could have preformed better. The more he thought on it, the more bitter he got. By the time they'd reached their destination, Skipper had bounced around in the back of the truck in a stew of his own rage. When the doors opened, the animal control agents might as well have been hit with a tidal wave, the force of his anger was so severe.

It made them pause.

"Well he looks like a happy camper," one said, peering into the dark and shaking his head at the bird that sat and brooded alone in the heart of it.

"He's been shut in a cruise ship for days, and then thrown out onto the streets of Brooklyn. I'd be feelin' pretty cranky right now, too."

Ironically, the thing Skipper was most peeved about was that he wasn't still out on the streets of Brooklyn. He couldn't easily accept that he'd been thwarted by these humans.

"Well, we got a new home for him here, with plenty of his own kind."

As they dragged the cage out of the truck, Skipper jumped to his feet and clung to the bars for stability as he was carried thought a clean-smelling building. Plenty of his own kind? He doubted that whatever penguins lived in this prissy, chlorine-scented happy house were anything like him.

Still, that small part that had admired the teamwork of his captors was once again looking on the bright side. He'd been dwelling on his loneliness, and they were bringing him to other penguins.

"Be careful what you wish for," he grumbled to himself, making a mental note to shove that glass-half-full mentality into the darker corners of his brain where it belonged. Paranoia was the way to go.

He was brought through a white door into a disturbingly white room. Maybe "happy house" wasn't that wild of a title for this place.

The "penguin habitat" was a big box, wider that it was long, with a glass window along the southern wall – one of the longer walls. The walls and ceilings were mostly white, give or take a few pale grey triangles that were probably meant to look like mountains. The floor was an uneven, darker grey, emulating stone. There were even some additional levels on the east side of the room, so Skipper could safely assume that yes, the floor was meant to look like stone. Finally, there was a thin pool against the glass south wall, likely deeper than what he could see.

Skipper was brought into the heart of the room, while penguins of all kinds swarmed the humans as they entered, chattering loudly about fish. Skipper grimaced as he was lowered onto the ground and he found himself gravitating to the centre of his cage to get away from the birds that squawked at the walls. Some of them may have shared his build and feather pattern, but none of these penguins were anything like him.

A group of them tried climbing up onto his cage to get closer to the humans, while the others swarmed at their feet, begging and yelling and chattering.

The humans plopped him down and stood straight.

"Let's leave him in there for a little bit, just so he gets used to the others before we let him out."

"Good idea."

The humans pushed the birds gently away from their legs and quickly made for the exit, a small herd of penguins on their heels. The door was slammed shut without a single penguin having made a successful escape. Skipper found this appalling, due to the fact that the door had been open just about the entire time they were bringing him in.

No, these mindless birds were more hopeful to get fish from their human masters than to taste freedom.

Skipper made a face, listening as the clamour died down and focus shifted to him.

Then it became uncomfortably silent.

They were all staring at him, unblinking, waiting for him to do something. He was not the type to get stage fright, but the vacant stares of all these penguins was unnerving, and his words came with difficulty.

"Hello, fellow penguin...uhh...brothers." Skipper couldn't help the choppy speech, but it didn't seem to matter. One penguin in the crowd squawked about fish, and then the clamour arose once more, but far more tame as the penguins chatted about fish amongst each other. They completely ignored him, returning to their respective groups. Some dove into the pool and vanished beneath the surface, while others hopped up onto the rocks.

All the while, squawking like brainless birds.

All but one.

Skipper found his gaze drawn to one solitary bird who still stood by the door, not chirping away thoughtlessly about food. He stood with his head tilted back, squinting up at the door, one flipper was propped against his flank while the other rubbed absently beneath his beak – a thoughtful pose. This penguin didn't share the bloated look of the others. In fact, he was quite thin. Given his height, he was probably always a slender bird, but in that moment he looked almost malnourished.

Skipper watched as the penguin waddled over to one of the rocks and slipped his flipper into a thin crack. From there he was able to pull out a hastily cut panel and reveal that the rocks were hollow. The penguin ducked inside for only a moment, emerging to shut the panel and sit with his back against it, this time with a notepad and a pencil.

The penguin sat and scribbled, oblivious to the watchful stare of the caged newcomer, absorbed in his own work.

Skipper was about to call out, hopeful to find at least one penguin in this looney bin that wasn't completely nuts, when a beeping sounded at the door. The birds began to scramble again, rushing to the door with a cacophony of noise. Skipper couldn't explain why his heart sank to see that one penguin rise to his feet to move with the crowd.

In walked two new humans, each with a bucket of fish.

This caused the other penguins to kick into a frenzy, climbing over one another to get closer to the humans, leaping this way and that to snatch the fish they were thrown right out of the air. Skipper tried to spot his odd-penguin-out in the crowd, but there was too much black-and-white motion. He settled for sitting back in his cage and watching his penguin "brothers" scramble shamelessly for their meals.

One of the humans dropped a few small fish through the bars of his cage, wasting kind words on the penguin who wouldn't even give her the time of day. He frowned at the fish and the penguins who literally gnawed at the steel of his cage in an effort to get at his share.

That was when he spotted him. The tall penguin was at the door – which had been left ajar again – and peering out into the hall. Skipper leaned forward.

"Go," he hissed under his breath. "Make a break for it, man!"

But for whatever reason, this penguin hesitated. He peered into the hall for a few short moments before waddling backwards in time for the humans to turn and bark at him to get away from the door. He turned to stare at them, moving only when the female worker ushered him away with a push. They shut the door behind them while the penguins scattered, some hoarding fish from others. Those who chewed at his bars eventually gave up, going instead to chase at those who withheld fish and weren't protected by steel cages.

Skipper felt his stomach growl, and his eyes settled on the few morsels of fish piled in the centre of his cage. He made a face, then resigned to crawling towards them. He needed his strength to escape, after all.

He picked up one small salmon in his beak and flipped it up into the air, poising to catch it as it fell.

Instead, he was met with a rush of air and the sound of a flipper on scales. His fish was knocked away from him at the peak of its toss, and it flopped lifelessly against the side of his cage for only a few moments. A passing penguin spotted the bite-sized snack and snatched it up from between the bars before waddling away hurriedly, afraid to lose his ill-gotten prize.

"Hey!" Skipper rounded on the culprit: the very same penguin he'd been watching earlier, pressed against the outside of his cage, having used one long flipper to knock the fish away. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had a-!"

"It's not worth it."

Skipper was stunned to silence at the penguin's matter-of-fact tone. More so, he was surprised to hear actual words from the beak of a penguin brother in this place that had to do with something other than fish.

"I don't know if you've noticed, newcomer, but the penguins in this place aren't quite right in the head."

Skipper still couldn't drum up words, so he settled for nodding.

"Through some careful observation, I've surmised that the fish is messing with their heads." The penguin withdrew from the cage wall, rubbing for a moment at the indents in his feathers from the bars before flipping quickly through his notebook. He stopped on a page and turned it to Skipper, holding it up for him to see.

It was a diagram of a fish which was drawn as if it were glowing, the humans standing and watching a flock of penguins rush for it.

"Go ahead and lick that fish there," the tall penguin pointed to the remaining morsel on the cage floor. "Don't actually consume it, as I can't be sure how quickly the effects will take place."

Skipper did as he was told, picking up the tail of the fish in a flipper and giving it a tentative lick. It had the taste of any old fish, that was for sure, but it was faint. The dominant flavour was almost metallic.

"The only logical conclusion is that the humans are altering our food consumption to keep us better contained." The penguin sat back on his tail, flipping to a new page and starting to scribble wildly.

"So that's why no one made a break for it when the door opened..." Skipper mused aloud. He turned and began to pace, his flippers folded behind his back as he thought. "And that would explain the cooky behaviour of our penguin brothers...which reminds me." The tall penguin lifted his head, raising his brow at the sudden appearance of the stocky other directly in front of him, the bars between them only barely keeping them separated. "Why didn't you run?"

The penguin shrugged and returned to his notes.

"I've tried."

"Oh? And obviously..."

"I was unsuccessful. There is just far too much human interference from here to the exit. I'm caught before I even make it out of the hall."

"Why not try when the humans have all gone home? The place has to be quieter then."

"The door is locked electronically from the other side. The humans need to open it before I can get out."

"Any air vents?"

"Oh, plenty. But they're too small for a penguin our size to fit through. There are bigger ones outside I might be able to get through, but the grates are too high for me to reach."

"I see." Skipper turned to pace again, already forming the beginnings of a plan to escape.

"I am Kowalski, by the way. I was transferred here a couple weeks ago from my previous home. Needless to say, this new place just doesn't compare." Kowalski's tone became wistful as he cast his gaze around the habitat.

"I agree. But how have you survived two weeks without food?"

"Ah!" there was a twinkle in the penguin's eye at this question. He scrambled to his feet and hurried back to his rock, ducking inside after making sure no other penguin was watching. He returned with a plastic bag in his grip and plopped back down outside Skipper's cage. He turned the bag upside down and dumped the contents onto the synthetic stone floor.

"A tuna fish sandwich. One of the 'penguin handlers' has it for lunch every other day and keeps it in the left pocket of his overalls. If I'm careful about when I take it, he usually doesn't notice where his lunch is going. Then I just have to make it last until it's safe to take another." The sandwich was already half gone, but the bird cut the remnants in half with a precise chop, turned it on its side and pushed the half through the bars. Skipper turned up his beak.

"Negative, my feathered friend. I can't impose on you like this, you've barely got enough for yourself!"

"Oh no, I insist! You're the first penguin that's arrived since I've been here that hasn't already been corrupted by the phony fish. I don't mind giving up a percent of my catch gains if it means not seeing another sensible bird go into a fish induced frenzy."

For the first time since arriving in America, Skipper felt a genuine smile pull over his beak.

"Well thank you, compadre. My name is Skipper."

"Skipper?"

"Affirmative." Skipper sat across from the other bird and nearly swallowed the sandwhich quarter in one full bite. "Just recently got back in town and was treated to a rather cold welcome."

"I can imagine." Kowalski had set his notepad on the ground and was picking at his own quarter.

"So," Skipper began, "what are our options?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Our options. Do you got any?"

Kowalski stared for a few moments, raising a brow inquisitively.

"Well sure, I've got lots of...options, I suppose. What sort of options are you looking for?"

"Escape options, of course! Obviously you and I aren't meant to live in the likes of this feathered funny farm! Keep up, man!"

Kowalski's face seemed to light up at this. He abandoned the remnants of his sandwich and picked up his note pad. He scribbled on it for a few moments, lifted his head to squint at Skipper, then returned to his scribbling.

"Alright," he said after a few seconds of silence and scribbling, "alone I'm not tall enough to reach the vents, but together-!" He turned his notebook to show Skipper his drawing. This time, he'd drawn a quick sketch of the hallway, and two penguins standing one atop the other to reach an air vent that was halfway down the hall. "We'll be just tall enough to unscrew the vent cover and slip inside, then one can pull the other up!"

"Outstanding, Kowalski! One problem." Skipper's face fell as he gestured with a flipper to the lock on his crate. "Unless you've got the code for this lock box, I won't be doing any escaping any time soon."

Kowalski leaned over to look at the lock, then laughed.

"Pfft, Skipper, please." The penguin stood and waddled around the cage to the door. "A simple four-digit wheel-mechanism lock? Child's play for someone like me."

"Oh?"

"Watch and learn." Kowalski clapped his flippers together, then leaned in close to the lock. He spun the first wheel quickly, keeping the side of his head pressed to the metal to listen. He spun it slower, and slower, before settling on one number. He then did the same with the next wheel, only this time the process was faster. It seemed like no time at all before Kowalski had picked his four numbers, and with the push of a button, the door popped open.

"Vio-la! Free as a bird," the penguin paused to chuckle at his own joke, "so to speak."

"Well colour me impressed, Kowalski!" Skipper stepped out of the cage, and as soon as he did, a nearby penguin took notice.

Well, more specifically, he took notice of the fish still left in the cage. Skipper was shoved out of the way as the penguin dashed into the cage, his only focus on the food. Kowalski adorned a devious smile and shut the cage quickly.

"And we've even got a decoy penguin to take your place."

"He looks nothing like me!" Skipper peered into the cage at the purely black-and-white penguin who'd taken his place. He had a black face and a similarly dark ring on his belly.

"That's fine, it'll be enough to fool the humans. They only need to buy it for a few minutes."

Kowalski collected his notebook and what was left of his sandwich, then lead his new partner in crime to his hollow-rock cubby, where they could sit and discuss their plan in peace.


The hours flew by leading up to the duo's planned escape, and when the familiar beeping sounded at the door they were ready. Skipper lead the way, weaving behind the humans while they were being mobbed with excited penguins. They slipped into the hall unnoticed, following which Kowalski lead him to the vent in question.

"Alright, penguin tower time," Skipper crowed with a grin as Kowalski took position directly under the vent. Skipper hopped atop the taller penguin's head, and with Kowalski's added height, he was able to reach their target easily. Trapping the screws between his flippers and twisting them loose was a breeze, and Kowalski was so light from malnourishment, lifting him was almost effortless.

Once in the vents, Kowalski directed Skipper through the facility. Considering they only made two wrong turns and Kowalski confessed to guessing the route, the fact that they made it out to the roof within the hour was admirable. The building they'd been kept in covered a lot of surface area, but didn't have much height to it. The tallest part was only three stories, and they'd emerged on the roof of a section that was only two.

"Sweet, sweet freedom!" Kowalski collapsed gratefully onto the rooftop, then began rolling across the concrete. Skipper let the childish display slide for a little while, instead walking to gain his bearings. He was still in New York, and could see Lady Liberty from where he stood. What was more was he could smell the salty tang of seawater on the air. They couldn't be far from the river.

Kowalski seemed to notice Skipper's thoughtful stare out towards water and collected himself. He waddled over to stand at Skipper's side.

"So...any plans from here on out?"

"Well, establishing a base of operations will be my first mission, but that is my burden. You can return to wherever it is you call home." Skipper lifted his head high and folded his flippers behind him, breathing in the faint sea air and smiling. He shut his eyes against the breeze, aware that Kowalski fidgeted beside him, tapping his wing tips together sheepishly.

"To tell you the truth Skipper, I uh...well I don't exactly have a place anymore, per se...What we just broke out of was supposed to be my home."

Skipper's smile remained in place as he opened his eyes and turned to the taller penguin.

"Then, I would be honoured to have you fight at my side, Kowalski. You have to admit, we make a pretty good team."

Kowalski's face lit up in a similar way as Skipper had seen in the aquarium habitat. He stood straight, bringing a flipper up in a salute.

"Aye, Skipper. It'd be my pleasure."


Kahkaww!

Hello, PoM community. This is my first attempt at writing these guys, and I know I need work. This will be a short, three-chapter story just to help me get into the feel of the penguins and what kind of style I'll be settling into, then I suppose I'll be doing a handful of one shots or prompts. I haven't gotten that far.

So, if you could all be dears and let me know what you think - what you liked, what you didn't like - I'd love to hear it. So please, type a quick review and let me hear what you have to say. I will respond to whatever reviews I can (:

Thanks so much for reading,

Toodles~

Shmee