Author's note.
Hello, everybody.
Here's my latest fan fiction.
It will be mostly about Manfredi and
Johnson and some of my OC's. But
don't worry, there will be more canon
characters in it eventually.
Enjoy reading.
Snowy Stoat.
...
Manfredi and Johnson.
Prologue.
…
Johnson's log, January 3 2004.
Today we've returned at the HQ in Alaska. We're tired and filled with grief about what happened.
We were able to defeat O'Hara's men, but the battle was long and horrific. One of the most terrible wars I've ever seen. I can't get rid of the terrors I've seen. The blood was everywhere.
To our great grief, our teammates Kowalski, Rico and Private and our noble leader Skipper did not see the light of the other day. Only Manfredi and I are left.
We did not find their bodies, for they could be everywhere, chopped or blown to bits. But we do know that only three survived the horrible battle. Me, Manfredi and O'Hara himself.
It is with a heavy heart that I take the role of leadership on my shoulders. Even though we are just two penguins, we will keep our unit alive. We will be here to save the world whenever she needs us.
And I promise myself here and now, that I will not rest until I have taken revenge for the death of my beloved friends, my penguin brothers.
…
Manfredi stopped the cassette, and stared into the darkness of the room. He felt a tear run across his cheek.
At that moment, he heard rumbling in the hallway. Then a silence, and next an angry voice.
"MANFREDIII!"
Manfredi quickly got up from his chair, and opened the door to the hallway.
"What is it, Johnson?" he asked.
On the floor was his teammate but also leader Johnson. Johnson was taller than Manfredi. He had a darker, sharper beak and his head was a little flat. He wore a black eye patch over his left eye. The other eye had a sharp green color. He always had a bitter expression on his face.
Johnson got up from the floor, and picked up a golf ball.
"How many times must I tell you not to play golf indoors!" Johnson snarled. He had a deep, dark voice.
"Not just golf, Johnson," Manfredi said. "minigolf! It's much less violent than normal golf. Private used to be very good at it."
Manfredi was shorter and fatter than Johnson was. His head and beak were rounder, and his eyes were big and blue. He had this innocent look in those bright blue eyes. As if he was only a child.
"I don't care about what kind of golf it is," Johnson said. "you ought to do it outside. And Private is dead, Manfredi. And so are all the others. You know that."
Manfredi sighed. "I do miss them, Johnson." He said. "I just listened to the tape you recorded about the whole war and everything. You speak very beautifully, Johnson."
"I did not give you permission to listen to my personal log," Johnson said.
"I'm sorry, Johnson," Manfredi said. "I just wanted to hear about it. I don't know why."
"We achieve nothing with crying," Johnson said. "now, I want you to clean up this mess you've made. I'll be in my office, and don't you dare bother me!"
"Yes, Johnson." Manfredi said.
He looked while Johnson walked away in the direction of his own office.
The war had marked Manfredi and Johnson both for life. But Manfredi knew that Johnson suffered far more from it than he did.
Manfredi had always been a cheerful and naïve penguin. He had been the second youngest of the team, his cousin Private being a little younger than him. The war hadn't changed him very much. Though sometimes he suddenly felt very sad, and he usually cried when he was thinking about Skipper, Kowalski, Rico and Private.
To Johnson, the war was yet another happening that destroyed his life a little more.
Manfredi remembered that, many, many years ago, when he himself was still just a child, Johnson was different. He used to be cheerful. Not always, of course, he could be very serious and sometimes grumpy too, but not more than normal penguins. Manfredi could remember that Johnson once could make jokes, he could once smile, he could once laugh with the others.
In those times, there was a woman in the team. A young, pretty penguin called Rebecca. She was a wonderful person: smart, strong, independent but always nice and considerate. Everyone in the team liked her. Manfredi remembered very well that Rebecca used to play games with him often when she was off duty. She had been a very close friend to him.
But no one liked Rebecca as much as Johnson did.
Johnson and Rebecca loved each other. If things hadn't gone the way they had, maybe they would've married.
But everything went wrong at one very unfortunate mission.
Manfredi wasn't there. He was still too young to go on such a dangerous mission. He remembered the worried expressions on the faces of Skipper, Kowalski, Rico, Rebecca and Johnson when they left.
When they returned, Johnson carried the limp body of Rebecca in his flippers. There was blood on her belly and chest. Someone had shot her with a gun several times, as if that person wanted to be sure she was dead.
The others of the team were all wounded. Johnson's wound was the worst of all: his left eye had been completely ripped out of his face.
He did not want anyone to take care of his wound. When they buried Rebecca, it was still bleeding. But it might have been the tears that ran across his cheeks, that made it appear as if there was more blood.
Skipper had ordered Manfredi to go to sleep early.
When Johnson appeared at the breakfast table, he wore an eye patch. He didn't say anything. The only thing that could be read from his face was grief and some sort of anger.
From that day on, Johnson rarely smiled. And if he smiled, it seemed very forced.
He never laughed again, he never told jokes again.
The first two months after Rebecca's death, he had been drinking a lot. But soon he discovered that alcohol could not made him forget his grief. It only made everything worse. So he stopped and went back to work, always with that bitterness on his face.
And the war, where Manfredi and Johnson lost all their other teammates, maybe made it even worse.
Manfredi felt pity for Johnson. All those terrible things that happened to him crushed him. And there was only one thing that could make the load that rested on his shoulders lighter: revenge. And that was where Johnson was after.
Nobody knew who killed Rebecca. The person that killed her wore a disguise.
But Manfredi and Johnson both knew it was because of the criminal penguin O'Hara that Skipper, Kowalski, Rico and Private died.
And so Johnson looked for a way to kill O'Hara, so he could have some rest after all those years of suffering.
…
The next morning, Johnson called Manfredi to his office.
"What is it, Johnson?" Manfredi asked.
"I've tracked down the next victim of O'Hara," Johnson said. "There is a guy in a small town in Mexico who owes O'Hara money. We will go there and intercept O'Hara, before he can kill his next victim."
"So we're going to Mexico?" Manfredi said, clapping his flippers enthusiastically.
"Yes," Johnson said. "and don't get so enthusiastic about it. We go there on a mission, not as tourists."
"Aww, come on, Johnson," Manfredi said. "why can't we ever have some fun."
"Because, Manfredi," Johnson said, and Manfredi could see he was trying very hard to stay calm. "this is a serious mission. And on a serious mission, you ought to be serious. Understood?"
Manfredi sighed. "Yes, Johnson. I shall start packing than, shall I?"
"Good idea." Johnson said. "But hurry up. We have to be there in time!"