Note: The third Timeline


It certainly looked like a deserted house, but if it provided shelter, Colonel White would take it. Captain Magenta would only get worse if they stayed out in the storm a moment more. Still, the front door was firmly shut and seated, and even if Magenta was able, White doubted they would be able to make it budge. Colonel White half-supported, half-dragged Magenta to the back of the house, hopeful that another door could be opened.

There was a door, and after few tries White was able to force the lock open. None too soon, as the storm impossibly got worse, the rain becoming blinding as they stumbled through the door.

Mercifully there was chair just inside to seat Magenta down in as Colonel caught his breath; he wasn't a young man anymore. White leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This was not how he had thought his day would go.

A simple jaunt in a sailboat before the World Leadership Conference started in Marineville. He had been, well, he believed the term his subordinates would use was 'frenemies' with Sam Shore for decades. They stepped one another's toes and had each other's back since the day they had met. He and his bodyguard, Captain Magenta this time, had arrived early so he and Shore could have a day or two of reminiscing and arguing before settling into the seriousness of the Conference.

The weather had been clear and was forecast to be clear for the next four days. The storm that had tossed them about, and left Magenta with a concussion, had blown up out of nowhere, and showed no signs of dispersing.

And yet...

Here they were in an apparently deserted house after miraculously finding the ram-shackled pier (which now that White had a moment to think about it was far sturdier than it looked) instead of smashing against the cliff, and took an equally ram-shackled open-air elevator (but again it had only looked like it was about fall apart, it had run very smoothly) to the top of this god-forsaken rock of an island.

White's eyes snapped open.

They were in a small well-kept mud room. A pair of sturdy boots under a hanging raincoat. A small, neat column of doorless cabinets filled with towels, additional shoes, even an umbrella against one wall. And on the other wall was a door to the interior house proper. It opened easily when White tried it. After a cautious moment he peered into a moderately large, surprisingly homey kitchen. Something smelled wonderful.

No one was in it.

It was much warmer than the mud room.

White urged Magenta up.

"Feeling…Feeling much better, sir," Magenta managed as they limped into the kitchen, and White was able to get Magenta in a much more comfortable chair, "smells, smells good, like Koala Base after leave."

"You just stay here and rest," White said, wondering what he meant about Koala Base, then dismissed it, "I'm going to look around."

"Sir," Magenta started to rise, but the Colonel gently but firmly pushed him back into the chair.

"That's an order, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

The hallway just outside the kitchen was dimly lit and spooky, a little too spooky in the Colonel's opinion. Someone was trying just a hair too hard. Cobwebs decorative more than genuine. An out of place suit of spiky armor ('Really, who has just has a suit of armor in their hallway in house like this,' White thought with a quiet snort.) And when there was a bolt of lightning it cast bizarre shadows everywhere. There a large doorway to an empty living room, he was considering entering when something brushed by his leg.

Years of training and control stopped him from yelping, and just managed to catch sight of a fluffy tail disappearing in a partially open door.

"Hmm," White followed what he assumed was a cat through the door, opening it slowly and cautiously; the expected creak never happened. The room was dark, the only light from the well banked fire in the fireplace. He paused a moment to let his eyes adjust before entering further. It appears to be a small study, the back wall taken up by the fireplace, a slightly messy desk and bookshelves on another wall, and a couch opposite the desk.

An occupied couch.

Another moment fell before White realized whoever was lying on the couch was asleep. Asleep and being used as bed themselves by a group of cats. The most recent arrival's eyes still slightly open as it gave a great jaw-stretching yawn.

White padded softly over to the desk. He knew he should just leave, but his curiosity got the bette rof him.

'You old hypocrite,' he thought to himself, knowing he would have chewed out a subordinate for taking a similar risk. There was just enough light to make the top documents legible, however they appeared to simply be an accounting ledger and some receipts. He took the risk and shuffled them to side to get a better look at other documents. The handwriting was tantalizingly familiar. He leaned down to try and get a better look.

"You know, it's considered rude to go through other people's papers without their permission?"

White froze. He hadn't heard that voice in a very long time. It was raspier and softer than he remembered it, but than it had reason to be. He rose up and pivoted slowly, and saw Conrad Turner sitting up on the couch. He watched Turner's eyes grow large and round, and just barely heard the breathed:

"Oh fuck."

As Turner shrank back against the upholstery.

And part of White's heart broke at the terror in Turner's eyes. Despite the man's part in the War of Nerves, he had once been a friend. Turner was visibly shaking, much to the concern of the cats. Most of them started to purr and cuddle up to Turner, but the tiny black and white tuxedo cat who had be keeping watch on the back of the couch hissed at Colonel White, fangs bared and fluffed up.

"I'm as surprised as you are," White said, hoping the honesty of his words would help, "we were simply seeking shelter from the storm."

"We?"