Disclaimer
Penguins of Madagascar belong to Tom McGrath, Eric Darnell and its other respective owners. I gain absolutely no profit from writing this. Enjoy the story.

...

Chapter Ten
Royal Jelly

Lister Hall, London – 2012 hours

The team's strategist was the first one to enter the flat. In short strides, the curly-haired genius made his way to the dining table. Wordlessly he pulled out a chair, sat on it and flipped open the laptop he had left on the table. Skipper was the second to enter, followed by Private. Rico then closed the door behind them; the muscular man plopped down on the sofa, almost sitting on his precious Miss Perky. Taking the petite doll into his hands, the weapons expert nudged her head with his nose, taking the scent of her hair in. To him, the smell of nylon threads was comparable to lavender oil - calm and relaxing. Just what he needed after a mission. Whereas the youngest member of the team went straight to bed, their leader opted to keep his lieutenant company.

The whirr of machines soothed his psyche and calmed his soul; a melody he was familiar with. Technology offers so much more than any kind of therapist you can find in the face of a corrupt world; such were the scientist's thoughts. He is soon broken off his reverie by a light tap on his back. Kowalski looked across his shoulder, his lapis lazuli eyes meeting his captain's sky blue. "What?"

Skipper cocked his eyebrow. "What what?"

"Why did you pat my back?"

He laughed. "Oh, so now I can't pat my second- in-command in the back? Did you get some kind of direct contact transmitted disease?"

Kowalski scowled. "How hilarious." The genius dropped his entire weight on the table, leaning against the oaken furniture. "Is your presence here simply to disturb me?"

"You're angry."

"Preposterous. Why would I be angry?"

"You're mad at me for stopping you from going too far with Miss Tyler," Skipper spoke, leaning casually against the scientist's chair. "You were going to take her to Ann, weren't you?"

Kowalski pushed his glasses. "She wasn't being cooperative enough to my desire."

The team leader sighed, shaking his head in an unusually sagely manner. "You need to try to be unselfish sometimes."

The Polish man chuckled bitterly. "Selflessness is but an exploitable paragon of human fatality. History has proven this: why is it that all honest and generally kind people die earlier? It is cold, hard math; meant to be exploited for a personal advantage. By being selfish, I postpone the due date of my inevitable death." He stared into the bright laptop screen through the thick lenses of his glasses; the lucent glare hardly hindered his sight, as he was quite used to seeing the same, bright screen in the dark of the night. "Besides, a large portion my selfish deeds are in the best interests of both me and the active mission. All in all, it's hardly an undesirable exchange."

The scientist bit his lip, waiting for the foolishly idealistic reply that he was sure the other adult will throw at him. After a few moments of utter silence, however, he realized that there was no response from his captain. Kowalski jumped in his seat when the lid of his laptop was suddenly slammed shut by a hand that absolutely wasn't his. He looked up to find Skipper's face in the distance of exactly 6.963 centimetres from his. "...what are you doing?"

The exact moment after he said that, Skipper's eyelids narrowed dramatically. "Take it off."

"Pardon?"

"Your glasses. Take them off."

Kowalski blanched. "You must be joking."

To his surprise, the other man outstretched his hand towards the sides of his face. Before the strategist could do anything about it, Skipper's nimble fingers had hooked themselves onto the obsidian frame of his glasses. The team captain quickly pulled them to himself, smiling smugly as he did so. "Not so hard, was it?"

"Explain yourself."

"I've always wanted to do that."

"It was unecessary."

"It's mandatory," Skipper retaliated, setting the sight aid on the tabletop just outside the range of Kowalski's grasp. "For now, at least."

The Polish man growled. "I swear it, Skipper, if this is one of your pointless attempts at—"

"Therapy?" The ex-soldier laughed. "No, I gave up on that. I've got nothing on jibber-jabber."

"It's not jibber-jabber."

"It's science. Still jibber-jibber."

"Can we just talk about the mission?"

Skipper shrugged. "Overpreparing takes all the fun out of the action, you know."

Kowalski reluctantly let a smirk creep out onto his face. "That statement will come to bite you in the back." The pale man then reached for his glasses, but was stopped in his tracks when his wrist was grabbed by the man in front of him.

"Don't," he spoke. "Keep it off."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you like me better without my glasses."

"I do."

Kowalski shifted to lean against the back of the chair instead, letting his hands fall into his lap. "If you insist. Now, the mission. We now know that the Rats sell drugs, and some of them had been taken by the Hornets, am I correct?"

"Bullseye."

The scientist fished into his pockets, pulling out a fairly crumpled piece of paper. "According to our previous interogatee, the Hornets are avid activists. There was this one time when half of their members set up a campaign against drugs and free sex. Funny, when you remember they are a gang." His lapis lazuli eyes skimmed the paper. "Their leader never showed up at any of the rallies and campaigns, but is said to always give her underlings her full support."

Skipper rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What do you think the Hornets did to those drugs?"

"If I have to hazard a guess, I'd say they either got rid of them or sold them to someone else."

"Can we find out?"

"If they sold them, yes. I can pull up a record of drug traffic in these areas. Unless the purchase was done from hand to hand, we should be able to find purchase evidence as well."

"And if they got rid of them?"

"There are several ways to eradicate drugs, but most inevitably produce chemical traces. I hope they did not do this, considering we do not have the necessary equipment to detect any."

"I told you to bring your stuff."

"I brought everything in the list. That's all. I see no good in overloading the helicopter."

"Good point. I take it you have a Plan C?"

"We find another way to track them down."

The team leader put his hands behind his back, folding them together. "If I remember correctly, this isn't the first murder they did."

Kowalski shook his head. "No, it's not." The tall man suddenly grinned, tilting his head upwards. "Oh, I see. How rare of you to actually concoct a fully functional plan."

Skipper returned the grin. "Hey, I wasn't made captain for nothing." He had absolutely no idea what Kowalski was talking about but if it meant raising the genius' opinion of him, he likes it.

The strategist turned his head to look at the big green trunk laid against the living room wall. "I will require several things."

"What do you need?"

"A map of London - regular, publicly acquired maps will do. It would be extremely lovely if it has insets on E7 and E9 though. Then I need specific information regarding Celia Tyler. I'm afraid we must rely on Maurice's network yet again."

Skipper looked at the door of the bedroom. "I'll go put him on the line."

"Much appreciated, thank you."

Wordlessly, the team leader walked away in a brisk pace. His second-in-command spared few seconds staring at his retreating back before returning his attention to the laptop. "Alright, let's see what we can find."

...

When he entered the bedroom, the captain was greeted by the sight of Private curling up on his bed with a Lunacorn in his arms. Skipper made his way towards the boy. "Private."

"Yes, sir?"

"Still haven't gotten used to it, huh?"

The dark-haired boy sighed. "I don't understand how he could do such things without being sick. Can you do it without being sick, Skipper?"

The ex-soldier shook his head before whipping it around. "Where's Rico?"

"In the shower. With Miss Perky."

Skipper approached the boy, sitting at the edge of the bed. The man drew a breath. "You know there's a reason we're in CPZ."

Private sunk deeper into the matress. "Skipper, have you ever wondered what happens to those people? The ones we chase down all the time?"

"What happens to them?"

"What happens to their family? The people they love? Do they wonder why they suddenly got off the face of the world? Do they try searching for their lost family member? Do they blame us for what we did?" The boy exhaled tiredly. "I mean, everything we did was for the good of everyone else, I know that. But is it worth it?"

The man stared into his subordinate's sapphire blue orbs. "Good is always worth it all, Private." He reached out to cup the boy's face. "What we do now is also for the kids out there. They have no idea what you're being put through, and that's a good—" Skipper stopped abruptly, realizing what he was about to say. He quickly retracted his hand, letting it hang in the air. "I mean..."

Laughter broke out of the boy's mouth. "A good thing, yes?" The dark-haired child smiled at his leader. "Better one than a million others."

Skipper coughed. "Well, there's Mort, so it's not exactly 'one', per se... but whatever." Rising from the bed, he proceeded to straighten himself up. "Anyway, I need the comm. Do you mind if I use yours?"

"Not at all," Private replied. He slipped his left hand under his pillow, pulling out a small, black phone. "I bet Kowalski asked you to get Maurice on the line."

The team captain grinned as he took the phone from his subordinate. "Ten bucks." Without any other word, Skipper turned his back to the boy. In a few moments, he had disappeared behind the doorway, leaving Private alone to think.

...

The lieutenant was alerted to his commander's presence by the small beeping sounds made as the tuxedo-clad man pressed the buttons on the communication device. A second was spared to look at the man before his attention returned to his laptop. On the monitor were two windows: a document with a list of locations and a browser with several tabs, all displaying news sites. The Polish man didn't respond to the team captain's approaches until the latter decided to childishly wave the phone in front of the former's face. In a mild show of annoyance, Kowalski sighed and turned towards his leader. "Yes, Skipper?"

"I got Maurice on the line."

"I've noticed," the dark-haired man muttered as he took the phone from the younger's hand. He took a glance at the screen; that was Maurice's number, alright. "Took you long enough."

Skipper shrugged. "I had a talk with Private."

Kowalski groaned, rolling his eyes. "About what extremely important matters? How the dwarves are slowly taking over Elfland by infiltrating the elfs' ranks with elfen-dwarf-hybrid spies?"

"Your imagination is very healthy but no. It was just a sort of counseling—"

"You said you gave up on therapy."

"—about the Apaloosa kangaroos in Estonia. The poor boy is concerned about their supposedly inhumane breeding method and their diet of braised platypi."

Kowalski twitched. "What."

Skipper laughed. "Really, it's not an interesting subject. Not to you." He pulled out a chair next to the Polish man and took a seat. "So, you got anything good?"

"I listed out all the possible murders committed by the Hornets within the last two years. Victim perimeter: males between 10 to 20 living at E7. These are the ones known to public. We need a complete list of all relevant murders ever to be documented, be it from LPD or M16."

"That's what Maurice is for." The team captain pointed out, as-a-matter-of-factly.

Kowalski nodded. "Now, if only he would check his—" As if on cue, the waiting beep fizzled out, replaced by an angry-sounding voice. "Speak of the devil, indeed. Maurice?"

"This better be important, man. I did not just put Mort's session on hold for nothing."

"I need you to find someone for me," the genius said, ignoring his conversation partner's words. "Celia Tyler, relative of Mike Tyler. Also, I need a list of all documented murders within the last two years. The victims are males between 10 to 20 living at area E7. ETA?"

"You..." A sigh from the other side. "I won't ask. That's a lot of intel you're asking, so I'm gonna need a lot of time. Sixty minutes tops."

"Good enough. Thank you." The strategist hung up, placing the phone on the tabletop. "Well, we can only wait," he spoke, addressing Skipper. "I estimate it'll take him fifty four minutes. I don't suppose some food is in order?"

Skipper's head snapped up. "Oh, yeah. I got too hooked up in this, I forgot I'm hungry," the man chuckled as he got up from his seat. "I'm going to tell Rico to make dinner. You coming?"

"I'll join you in a moment," Kowalksi answered, his eyes still trained upon the screen. "There is something I'd like to check up on."

The team leader raised an eyebrow. "Fine. I'm not going to call you when it's ready though."

Kowalski smirked. "Oh, you won't need to."

...

Eyes narrowed to the point of being comical, he leered at the man seated across him. Skipper's mind could not come up with an explanation to the genius' impeccable timing. The curly-haired man showed up at the doorway the second Rico announced that dinner was ready. Justified that it probably had something to do with him being a genius and all, but still. It's creepy.

Skipper took a quick glance at the clock on the wall. It was well past nine and they were nearly done eating dinner - just in time to go to bed at ten sharp. The ex-soldier smiled. He liked being punctual. With a fork in his hand, he stabbed at a cut of grilled beef on his plate before shoving it into his mouth. The team captain wondered if he could ask his weapons expert when, exactly, did he have the time to practice cooking. All his dishes were delicious, and despite not knowing much about high-quality cuisine, Skipper knew the food Rico made would grant him first place should he ever participate in Master Chef.

This particular thought made him wonder about his team members - what they could've become if they weren't part of what they liked to call their 'organized vigilante corporation'; the pet project of founder-director Tom Parks and his friend, Eric Zoolander.

Rico could— no, he would definitely be a world- class chef, should he ever want to be one. That, or he could be a walking Doraemon pocket. The team leader could imagine lots of people desire for that kind of utility. After several moments of reconsideration, however, Skipper decided that Rico probably wouldn't enjoy being treated like he was a useful object. This was a tad harsher in hindsight when he remembered that some of CPZ's own members look upon him like that. In his heart, Skipper promised himself that he will tell Rico never to let anyone look down on him. It will help the big man in the long run.

He then averted his gaze to the man across him again. Right in front of him was the sociopathic genius who, by all rights, should've been locked in padded cells within an asylum by now. Why is he not clad in a straitjacket then? Because CPZ took him in and gave him a chance; a chance to do what he does best, but for the good of many. And here is Kowalski, having a harmless dinner with them all instead of shrieking his throat dry in a cold, dark room.. What would've happened to the scientist if CPZ hadn't taken him in? This one, Skipper didn't want to think about.

Last but hardly least, the member of their team with most his lifespan still intact: Private. When compared to the three adults, it is obvious that the young boy had the most untapped potential. Skipper had seen kind, naïve teenagers before, but Private took it to a whole new level. The kid stayed pure and unblemished, despite spending his days with people whose lives were cluttered with things they weren't proud of. His page was one of the two clean ones left in the big book of New York's CPZ; a tabula rasa surrounded by a multitude of crinkled, yellow pages littered with ink blots. People usually start determining what their future occupation will be when they reach adolescence. However, Skipper could not recall an instance Private told him what he wanted to be. Does the boy have any personal dreams and goals, he wondered. Maybe his 'dream' is to be a vigilante, like he already was? Skipper's mind went back to the tiny bit of conversation he had with the adolescent yesterday. Private said that there was 'no reason' he wanted to join CPZ. If only because of his paranoia Skipper suspected that Private did have a reason, but chose not to tell. Skipper made a mental note to ask the boy himself later - force it out, if he must.

Too far lost in his own thought the military man did not register Rico's departure to the kitchen, nor Kowalski leaving the dining room saying he wanted to take a bath. This left the team leader with the exact person he wanted to talk to - the youngest member of the team. Private tilted his head sideways, trying to take a look at Skipper. The boy was rather curious as to why the older man seemed particularly thoughtful at this time of the day. Perhaps it had something to do with the intel they got from Miss Tyler, he pondered. Private had half the thought to wave his hand in front of Skipper's eyes, but decided that he will not risk irritating the man. Instead, the boy just stood up and took his plate into his hand, along with the older man's empty mug. "I'll take this to the back, Skipper." Not bothering to wait for an unexistent reply, the child immediately made his way to the kitchen to join Rico.

By the time Skipper had snapped out of his own mind, he was alone in the dining room with half an empty plate, nothing to drink from, no-one to talk to and less to think about. Silently berating himself for being absent-minded, the ex-soldier got up and made his way to the bedroom.

Not long after he swung the door open the man noticed that Private's phone was left on the bed and it was ringing. Skipper knew that the caller must be Maurice, so he picked the thing up and pressed. "Looking for Kowalski?"

"Hello Skipper," came a familiar voice from the other side. "Can you just get me to him? I need to go back to Mort as soon as possible."

"Of course." He went at a leisurely pace toward the corner where the door to the bathroom was at. After knocking twice, he cracked the plastic door open a bit - just enough for his hand to be able to go through, along with the phone. "Hey, Kowalski. It's Maurice on the comm."

"Leave it on the sink!" A voice filtered out from inside the bathroom.

Rolling his sapphire blue eyes, Skipper stepped into the damp room, taking care not to slip on a puddle of water on the ceramic floor. He could make out his second-in-command's figure from behind the glass partition. Despite the thick fog the strategist's dark silhouette was a clear cut against the white of the steam. Although he felt inappropriate for this, Skipper couldn't help but wonder if Kowalski was as skinny as he looked. Even with the added bulk of his lab jacket, the Polish man still came off as willowy. It took few seconds for Skipper to decide that he probably didn't want to know anyway. Placing the phone on the dry sink, as requested, Skipper hurriedly made his way out of the bathroom, although not before he pressed another button. "I put this on speakerphone, so talk to him, will you? And I'm sorry Maurice, but you're going to hear running water for the rest of the call." Without anymore delays, the team captain immediately left.

"...really?"

"Can't blame him," Kowalski laughed as he scrubbed his forearm. "I wouldn't want to hold a phone up for a showering person."

"I so did not need that mental image. Anyway, I have everything you asked for."

"Speak, then. I'll take notes."

A mocking laughter. "On what? Water?"

"You underestimate me."

"Fine, fine. At least turn the shower down. It's too loud; I can barely hear you talk."

Kowalski then twisted the knob in front of him, reducing the water's flow. "Done. Now, you did say you needed to see Mort after this?"

"He couldn't get enough of Aesop."

"I sympathize. Make it quick so the boy doesn't have to wait longer than necessary."

"I e-mailed the list of murders you wanted. Also, firstborn daughter of Sulivan and Randi Tyler, sibling to Mike Tyler... am I talking about the right Celia Tyler here?"

"You are. Please, go on."

"Okay. I got tons of stuff here, so if we want to minimize wasted time, tell me the specific bits you need."

Kowalski laughed. "And if I want them all?"

"You ass."

"Don't be like that, boy. All I need is a record of misconduct and anything related from thereon. Our first priority is gang-related activity. I believe you did research on that as a preemptive measure."

"You know me too well, dammit. Let's see what we have on misconduct... She was caught drunk driving twice; the second one killed a guy who's part of the Forest Gate Rats— that was the one you told me to look for earlier, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was," Kowalski replied, noting how their male interogatee did not say anything about his girlfriend killing one of his buddies. Perhaps he didn't know? "Mike Tyler was one of them."

"I'm guessing it's not a coincidence then if I tell you she's a member of the Rats' rival gang, the Homerton Hornets."

"Oh, you're telling me what I already know."

"You could've told me that sooner! I could have saved fifteen minutes looking for stuff on that one gang. You have no idea how hard it is just to find public information about these Hornets that's not a speculation or entirely made-up."

Kowalski frowned, eyes closed as he rinsed the shampoo off his raven hair. "How concea— pft! Sorry, ate some shampoo. Don't laugh. As I was saying, how concealed are they?"

"Very. There's not much info, and when there's one out in the open, the traffic is so sparse you just can't be sure it's 100% true."

"I'm guessing it was a citizen journalist's site."

"Not really, but close enough. It's a blog owned by a supposed ex-gangster who lives in London. He talks about the active gangs around the city and peels them off one by one; where they are based, what they do... even avoidance tactics. I chose not to include this as certified intel since cross-referencing proves that some of the stuff in his blog is incorrect."

"But you did find a dependable source."

"Yep. I may have overheated the search engine for that, but damn if it ain't worth it. I found a site that just screams Homerton Hornets."

"A site? Like, an official gang site?"

"Last time I've seen something like this is when we're doing cross-hacking exercises with those guys from the Tokyo branch. Apparently, cyber gangs are getting extremely popular over there since the last few months. You don't see lots of those in the UK, so it kind of pops out."

"I assume you hacked in."

"Well I had to check. The site is passlocked, the IP address is masked; virtually undetectable by non-specific search engines. Maybe this is why you don't see a lot of them in the open sea."

"So we're up against professionals?"

"Nope. They look pro on the outside, but under all that they're really just cool-looking noobs. I thought SQL injection wouldn't be effective this time, but their script is bad and their database input is unsanitized. Seriously, it's almost like they never anticipated a hacker attack. Field mapping was easy as hell, then I just snowballed the lane from there and boom, password acquired. Want to know what else is funny?"

"What?"

"The site itself. I'll send you a hyperlink and a readme about the site. Do yourself a favor and don't enter before reading what I sent you."

"It's the safety measures, isn't it."

"Yeah. Your IP address will be instantly blocked if you submit the wrong password. And once you're blocked, you're blocked for good."

The scientist nodded, although he knew that his conversational partner was incapable of seeing his reaction. "Thank you. Is there any other gang-related matter?"

"She's involved in the murder of Mike Tyler, although I'm guessing you already know that one."

Kowalski was about to grab the water knob but his hand stopped in its tracks. "...no. No, I don't know that part." He willed his limb to continue the interrupted action. "What was that again?"

"This is disturbing as hell, but Celia helped in the murder of her own brother." A pained sigh. "I... I don't want to think about it. It's too— why are you laughing?"

No reply came from the scientist, who was now trying to support his weight against the slippery walls of the shower. In the midst of the running water and wafting steam sat the pale man from whose mouth spouted maniacal laughter laced with sheer unbridled glee. "Incredible!" The tall man shrieked as his arms gave out against the frictionless walls. Kowalski slipped down to the cold floor of the shower. The impact seemed as if it hurt, but if it did, the genius did not show it. "And here I thought there would never be another one; simply incredible!"

"The hell... You still with me there?"

"Oh, I'm quite present, yes." Still laughing, the man heaved himself up from the ceramic floor. Loud cackles soon dissipated into soft giggles. "I was just... reminiscing about something." He added, turned the water off. "That aside, is there anything else you think is interesting?"

His inquiry was initially greeted with silence. "Look, I don't know what goes on in your head, but can you please not bring it up in front of other people? It's kind of..."

"Disconcerting. I'm aware of it. Well?"

"There's pretty much nothing else worth your time. My advice? You get into the site as soon as possible. I've got no idea what your mission's about, what your parameters are or how you plan to complete it, but enumeration—"

"Is always key." Kowalski carefully stepped out of the glass cubicle, grabbing a nearby towel on the way. "You say that so many times, I'm quite sure everyone remembers." Wrapping the piece of cloth around his abdomen, the genius walked towards the sink. "Thanks again, Maurice. Your help in this matter is much appreciated."

"You say that to everybody you work with."

"Just the ones valuable enough to keep around," was the cool response. Despite the implications of his words, the man's tone was nonchalant. "I think you shouldn't keep Mort waiting."

There was no response from the other side. He gently picked the handy device up, cradling it in his palm. Absently putting the phone next to his right ear, the Polish man stayed in that position for several moments. Monotone beeps traveled in waves, drumming against the tiny membrane in his ear. Kowalski briefly contemplated if it is possible to brainwash someone through replays of monotone voices before deciding that he can experiment about it when they get back to New York. He quickly dried himself and threw on his clothes, then exited the bathroom.

The lieutenant was immediately greeted with quite an uncommon sight: Private was sleeping on his sides with a book under his arm and a Lunacorn doll beside his head. Next to him, still on the same bed was the team's weapons expert, Rico, who was also fast asleep and had his left arm slung on top of the boy. On a first glance, it was as if they were brothers hugging each other in slumber. It was an undeniably adorable sight... to most. To the genius, it was one of the sentimental moments he hoped he would never have the chance to go through, as it would be very awkward.

Deliberately averting his sight from the scene, Kowalski silently wondered why on earth would the two younger men even agree to rest on the same bed when they have exactly four. Sighing for no particular reason, he climbed onto a bed of his own and dragged the covers on top of his body. Retelling himself all the intel he received on automation, the Polish man exhaled sharply as he absently ran his fingers through his dark, curly hair.

A second right before his mind succumbs to the dunes of golden dream sand, he noticed that the room was devoid of anyone whose name starts with an 'S'.

...

A/N: Oh, man. That's such a lame way to end a chapter. I'm so sorry guys. Anyway, I've been thinking my writing skills got kind of rusty, so I decided to do some free-writing; that means writing down whatever came into mind. It turns out that the results are... interesting. I'll show you in the form of chapter thirteen.

mary: Private is not alone. Since this is his first time to the mall, there is a probability that Rico might like shopping as well. Besides, Skipper is the only one shown to actively dislike it. You've seen the two people in past chapters, even if only for a brief moment. Sterile disposal, if you would.

Batmanskipper: I'll give you this much: there is something between Phil and Lulu. But because I confirmed his loyalty to CPZ, you'll just have to guess how, exactly, are they related and how Lulu got that bit of inside information.

guest: Umm... what you just asked is a material reserved for far later in the story. I guess you'll just have to be patient and wait.

LoverOfThings: This chapter is way more toned down, I'd say. The little boy, huh. To be honest, that particular scene just crossed my mind, and I thought it would be appropriate for him to see it as a dumb way to die. Yes, that was a shout out. One more request to go!

...

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