March 10th

Skipper awoke in a non-descript medical bay, the walls and surfaces painted a plain and sickeningly sterile white. He was getting really sick of waking up in strange places. At least this time his head was clear. He could hear a low murmur of a single voice, probably talking on the phone, in the other room. He climbed out of the cot, noting that the bloodstains on his cloths had dried, and walked cautiously to towards the door. When he was within a few feet of the door, the conversation stopped. Skipper's hand closed on the door handle, paused, and then he suddenly threw it open, revealing the room beyond.

The door hit the wall on the other side with a bang. The room beyond the door was as almost as plain as the room from which he'd come. There was a long table, at the end of which was whiteboard, like a classroom. Near the door on the other side of the room was a board on which several notices reminding things like 'always check your bag for enemy listening devices' and 'hand to hand combat advanced class has been moved from 1330 to 1020'. At the head of the table was a single man, with greying red hair and slight stubble, a black eye patch covering his left eye. He looked up, smiling warmly at Skipper as if he knew him, though Skipper had never seen the man in his life:

"Welcome home Skipper."

March 24th

"Kowalski, he's been gone two weeks," Marlene fretted, "there has to be something we can do?"

"Like what?" Kowalski snapped. If anyone wanted Skipper back, it was him. Without Skipper, there was nothing to prevent Rico from consistently raiding his lab for explosives or deadly weapons. It was absolutely intolerable.

"I don't know. We could report him missing, or…" Marlene was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Oh principia mathamatica," Kowalski grumbled, marching off in the direction of the sound. Marlene sighed wearily, slumping further back into the chair, waiting for the inevitable string of science related insults that would greet whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other side of the door. However, the shouts that came were not those he expected: "Skipper!"

Immediately, Marlene was on her feet and running towards the door. Lo and behold, Skipper stood in the doorway, a supressed half smile on his face. Now that was the skipper she remembered. Immediately she threw herself at him. Skipper froze for a split second, not quite sure how to respond, though quickly seemed to process the information and hugged her back.

"Promise me you will never do that again."

"…And Manfridi and Johnson?" Kowalski asked. Skipper looked down at the floor.

"Dead," He replied shortly after some thought, "Again."

"Slightly ironic that Manfridi and Johnson were taken by Hans on OPENSANDWICH and convinced that you had been," Kowalski commented.

"I guess so." Skipper replied dully.

"Still, the part I find so hard to believe is that Rockgut was behind it all. I mean, killing everyone in Penguin to make sure he wasn't found out is a little extreme, despite his somewhat Machiavellian mind-set."

"I don't really hold it against him," Skipper answered much to the amazement of the rest of the room, "They say the Squirrel did things to him. Horrible things. I wish just I'd been able to stop him, but I arrived too late. It was already done."

"He is – was –," Marlene corrected herself, after noting the expression on Skipper's face, a hint of disgust in her voice, "the greatest Penguin commando in history you didn't stand a chance. You had no choice but to open the vault."

"She does have a point, skipper," Private concurred, though there was a wariness to his gaze that had been there since the beginning. Something none of the team could understand. He appeared unable to make eye contact with his leader, and his expressions seemed to be forced. Well, he was probably just shocked by Skipper's sudden appearance, was what the subject of Private's anxiety concluded.

"I guess you're right," Skipper admitted, "Can someone get me a coffee?"

March 17th

The android had been standing outside the door for over ten minutes. It wasn't unusual to be kept waiting so long. He was a robot after all. His instructions were to report to the Red Squirrel at 0900, and he'd had to make a lot of excuses to get out of meetings and inspections for it. Skipper's fist clenched and his face contorted into a scowl. Nobody would be late for a meeting with Skipper. The real Skipper.

A muffled scream from down the hall reached his auditory sensors. The Squirrel was obviously still interrogating the original and wouldn't arrive for some time. He'd never been inside the Squirrel's private office… The android's hand edged towards the door handle, but quickly returned to his side as he mentally slapped himself, even considering entering had been taking a liberty in itself. Still, he shouldn't just be ordered around… What would skipper do at this point? The android made his decision: Based on memories and common patterns, skipper would go inside. He opened the door.

The room was nothing spectacular. Filing cabinets and tables covered with outdated maps and charts made up most of the room, as well as a computer with a gigantic monitor. That was rather expected, as nine out of ten threat level seven Penguin enemies were known to use oversized monitors. However, one wall was covered with photographs, scribbled notes, and official looking documents, as well as objects in sealed plastic bags, pieces of string linking them in a seemingly chronological order. Skipper decided to start at what were obviously the oldest photos.

1965

The young agent burst into the room. He might only have been eighteen, but his father had started, and still controlled Penguin Division, so he'd been running around the single floor that was the New York headquarters since he was ten. His commanding attitude, despite the fact he never used his father's position for power as he thought it cowardly, caused even some of the most jaded agents sit up strait when he entered the room. There was something about the lad, his mere presence that screamed leader.

"Which one of you was the idiot in charge of the mercenary!?" Rockgut demanded. The room fell silent, all eyes on the newest entrant, "Well? Have I gotta slap the truth outa ya?"

"Miles, I think." One of the men who'd previously been examining a map answered. Rockgut's eyes quickly searched the room, confirming that Miles was not present.

"Lucky him," Rockgut muttered, then continued addressing the room, "Tell him he's fired."

"What?!" the other man gasped, "Miles…"

"Shut your mouth Rawson, you look like a fish," Rockgut snapped.

"But… Why?"

"Because he let our 'contractor' get away with $40,000. Just ask accounting. They picked it up on the last audit," Rockgut's attention returned to the rest of the room, "The Squirrel's had a good fifteen minute head start. Allen, Rigg, Jordon, I want you to take the bus stops and taxi stands, see if you can find out where he went. Fletcher, Gleeson…"