"Welcome home Skipper."
March 10th
Skipper looked from the red haired man before him, to the rest of the room.
"What?" Skipper asked. It was obvious from the other man's expression that this was not the answer he was expecting.
"Don't you remember?" The room's other occupant asked, noting Skipper's bewildered expression, which had suddenly changed to that of scepticism.
"Do you work for Blowhole?"
"Skipper, this is Penguin HQ," Skipper made another quick scan of the room, "I'm Special Agent Marlow."
"Marlow…" the name seemed vaguely familiar.
"Yes. Your commanding officer before we lost you." Skipper still wasn't sold. Then suddenly he demanded:
"Operation Fish and Chips. What method of retreat did I use after I'd acquired the target?"
"You never disclosed that information."
"If you were really my commanding officer, you'd know what I'd choose," Special Agent Marlow paused, as if taken aback by the question.
"I'd assume the retreat tactic you used…"
"Wrong answer," Skipper interrupted, "I'm not that naive. I don't believe just any old trumped up story…"
"You didn't retreat. You were captured and then rescued."
"Sir?"
"Back then you were too young and reckless to retreat. The plan was fool proof; there was no way you could have been caught unless you missed. And you said you had temporary amnesia since you couldn't bear to admit you missed an easy shot."
"I…" Skipper's hand clenched uncomfortably. Marlow smiled understandingly.
"I also know you well enough not to put you through the agony of apologising," The man pressed a button on the table. The door opened and a rather overweight woman in an unflattering brown turtleneck and insanely tight jeans entered, "Rhonda. Take Skipper to his old room and make sure he keeps out of the mess hall."
"Don't worry, sir, he's not going anywhere near there till we set up the lasers around the winkie cupboard," The woman replied, setting off down the hallway, "We kept your quarters just as you left them. We always knew you'd come back."
"Yeah. I always make it back one way or another."
March 25th
Blowhole had planned everything down to the smallest detail. He couldn't afford to make a single mistake. It had taken him time to bypass the complicated security protocols the android, who had since fallen from power, had put in place, slowly implant post hypnotic suggestions in all the guards minds to firstly, remain convinced he was there, to the point of holding a conversation with him, and at the correct signal, begin chase after him in the opposite direction in which he had gone, long after he had left, to serve as a wild goose chase. These were things that, despite his desperation to hear his sister yell at him to get out of the lab once again, had to be done slowly, and with extreme caution.
With the push of a button he looped the footage and microphone feed from his cell and the corridors he'd pass through during his escape. Part one subsection one complete. Now on to subsection two.
"Red one?" Blowhole asked the turncoat guard. The android had offered them more, and instead of his own personal guards, all but a small group, had become his jailers.
"Yes Dr?" the armoured assistant poked his head into the room.
"Flippy." This was the trigger word. This done, Blowhole left the lab, the lobster had left the door unlocked, and started down the hallway. In the room from which he had just left, he could hear the guard asking him what type of logic gate he needed.
The base was a rabbit warren. Endless concrete tunnels with slightly rusted iron doors that looked familiarly Hoboken-ish. It was a good thing he'd taken a complete map when he'd hacked the security systems. If he hadn't left his clipboard behind (he was by no means copying Kowalski), he would have added it to the list of reasons why being a genius was good enough that it made up for the social isolation in high school. Thus, he congratulated himself as he ran down the empty passageway.
By now, he calculated was on the other side of the base. He looked at his watch. 3, 2, 1… immediately alarms began to blare and lights flashed.
"Warning! Warning! Escape Detected!" A comically calm pre-recorded voice announced in more languages than he could count. Blowhole could hear scores of feet in hallways parallel to his rushing towards the scene where the guard who had previously been watching a person who was, in fact, not there, would inform them that he'd run in the opposite direction. He could see the obscure service entrance, most importantly not hooked up to the security system, only 10.772 meters away. At this, he couldn't help but smile. If he pulled this off, it would be the first mission he ever successfully completed, though his failures were due entirely to the invention of Skipper.
"Stop right there!" he heard a very surprised lobster holding a steaming mug of coffee shouted. He had no choice but to stop. The lobster was armed and he was not, "hands above your head, no sudden movements." Well, so much for that successful mission.
"We got 'im, boss." The two lobsters announced as they frogmarched their former employer into the room.
"Did you really think you could escape?" Blue asked, her back to the recaptured scientist, though this was entirely for dramatic effect, "I can predict your every move," Blowhole opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted, "you were about to say 'actually, this is all part of my plan'. That's what you always say when you forget to carry the two."
"Actually, it was a three." Blowhole corrected.
"I knew that!" Blue whirled around, in such a way that made it obvious she didn't.
"Sure you did," Blowhole smirked, glad he'd gotten her full attention. He deserved nothing less. However, all this accomplished him otherwise was to be pushed roughly to the floor by his captors which didn't exactly help his headache, "you do know, that I know, that you only captured me because one of the turncoats took an unauthorised coffee break?"
"That's not true!" the guard who'd found him automatically denied, though it was obvious how guilty he looked. He could already see Blue's face contorting into pure anger.
"Laziness is not tolerated!" Blue snapped with dangerous calm. She grabbed a glass of water left on the table, smashed the rim on said furniture, and used the jagged edge to slice the offending lobster's throat. Immediately he was dragged back, and another guard took his place behind the prisoner. No one so much as flinched. It was a fairly common occurrence.
"That's one revenge taken care of." Blowhole muttered.
"I haven't forgotten about you, Little B!" Blue's ire turned on the scientist.
"I thought we were old friends," Blowhole answered with a bit more caution as the broken glass still dripping with blood was returned to his attention.
"We aren't old friends; your sister and I are old friends." Blue snapped, though seemed to be calming down slightly.
"Well you obviously aren't as close as Doris described if you were willing to kidnap her and threaten to kill her to keep me in line." Blowhole's calm began to waver at the mention of his sister.
Blue's grip tightened on the glass.
"Leave us." She ordered the guards tersely. Immediately they obeyed. Seconds after they left the glass dropped from Blue's hand shattering on the floor. Blowhole's eyes mapped the shards with wary concern.
"Taking Doris wasn't my choice." Blue looked past Blowhole at the wall behind him. There was a moment of silence as the two evaluated the situation, each thrown off by both players' change in tack.
"But it never occurred to you to release her after the android ran."
"I tried. He said no… You know how unpredictable the Squirrel is. If I disobeyed, I'd have to disappear as fast as the android and he'd kill her anyway. There's been nothing I could do." Blue's tone seemed sincere, though her expression gave the impression that she intended to kill him at any moment, and didn't give a mathematical table about his sister's fate. Well, Blowhole could only think of one reason for this:
"There's security cameras?"
"Multiple. No known blind spots." Blue looked down at the shattered glass, "I can't let you go. I can anticipate your every move. It would be too suspicious."
"If you could do that then you know I've already found a way out."
"No you haven't."
"My dear Blue, I know you like to believe that you are more intelligent, but in truth…"
"Foxtrot Charlie Alpha."
"What?"
"It's what you were thinking of. Manoeuvre Foxtrot Charlie Alpha. I may be smarter than you…"
"That's up for debate."
"… But you took a few hand to hand combat classes with Hans…"
"That wasn't what I was thinking. I was thinking of Alpha Charlie Foxtrot for your information."
"Whatever. I have your word that nothing leaves this room?"
"Except me."
"Very funny. Make it look good."
"I'll visit you in hospital."
"Not that good."
Blowhole found the tunnel under Hoboken displayed in the CCTV footage with ease. After all, during the weeks required to get his plan in motion he'd thought of nothing else but the location of that room, and, well, a way to freeze sound just in case he'd be lucky enough to record his archenemy's final cry. He also knew the ancient tunnels beneath Hoboken as he often used them to get associates out, though he'd never actually been incarcerated there. Still when he found the rusted door handle wouldn't move, he was somewhat taken aback, but then what was he expecting? They would leave the door open? Well, one of his untested explosives made short work of that.
"Doris!" He exclaimed as he rushed into the room, blinded by worry and several metric tonnes of dust from the explosion. However, when the dust settled, he discovered he was alone, "Doris?!"
He would spend the next hour searching every other room she could possibly be in, and another two hours checking them again, but the only other life forms he would find would be rats and spiders.
March 17th
The Android continued to scan the chain of data displayed on the wall. All this did was give him a more personal interpretation than he already had. The next images, documenting most of Rockgut's private and personal life to an unhealthy degree, he merely skimmed through, as he had already been downloaded with most of this. However, he paid more attention when his eyes reached a typewritten report. It wasn't the date or the subject that caught his attention, but the fact that it was apparent the keys of the typewriter it was written on, in some places, mostly towards the end, seemed to have been hit so hard that the characters were almost embossed into the page. As the android read on, he would soon see that the areas in which this phenomena occurred were not at random.
July 10th 1995
This is now the second day of Buck Rockgut's mission. However, I was surprised to see that he seemed to have brought along his protégé to the finale of the White Widow's crime spree. I certainly expected this to be the end of her, but amazingly, the mission seemed to have failed. I am documenting the exact happenings for the benefit of future, possibly more objective, analysis.
Buck Rockgut and the protégé arrived at the Widow's hideout at 0200. The protégé seemed to be somewhat disgruntled by this early hour, as someone of his incompetence probably would be. (Agent Nigel had no right to send someone so unworthy of Buck Rockgut's brilliance and cunning) They waited outside the yacht in a small dinghy, level with the portholes. Rockgut was expertly clad in plain black to blend in with the night, however the protégé chose to wear a slightly dirtied white, thus rendering him visible in the darkness. The ungrateful idiot deviates from his teacher's path.
Here is a compilation of my notes on their conversation:
Buck Rockgut: Stay frosty, cupcake, the Widow's a tough customer.
the protégé: Yes, sir.
Buck Rockgut: You know your part of the plan?
the protégé: Yes sir. But sir…
Buck Rockgut: You're not bringing that nerd friend of yours, Kowalski. We don't need any of his sciency doo hickies alerting the enemy. I'm no training program. Takin' you on was a one off favour for Nigel.
the protégé: No, sir. I just wanted to point out, the White Widow's looking for you, not me. We'd be able to lock down the boat trapping the Widow and all her henchmen…
Buck Rockgut: You're a little slow on the uptake, kid. We scrapped that one 'cause it would take five minutes to get to the engine room and take out the guards. You could only keep her attention two minutes at the most before she gets bored and kills you. She'd know you hadn't gone in along and that I'd be going after the engine room and cut me off in three
the protégé: but sir, she's not looking for me. If she catches you, you'd be able to keep her talking ten minutes, and I could slip in undetected. She'd assume you'd gone in alone.
Of all the insolence! Buck Rockgut has to be going soft. He went along with it! It is hardly surprising the plan failed, and the White Widow would have killed Buck Rockgut, had the kid not left his radio behind.
I still don't understand why someone as great as Buck Rockgut would crumble under pressure from a second level underling like Agent Nigel and take on that ungrateful, insubordinate child. I still can't understand why he continuously resists my attempts to rid him of the nuisance. I have been so annoyed by this that I've been tempted to reactivate the Control, though I swore never to temper such genius again. And then to allow himself to be rescued by the snot nosed juvenile. I have yet to see something more disgraceful than the effect the protégé is having on Buck Rockgut.
Follow-up to July 10th 1995 report
The grace with which the boy, even if on film, moved I could say is unmatched. Smoothly leaping from one hostile to another, consistently taking them down without fear or blind rage. If only I could apologise for my harsh, rushed judgment of such talent, only hampered from becoming the greatest Penguin commando in all history by his antiquated master. And so I wish to retell the events of July 10th 1995 as they truly happened, no longer seen though the lens of one still trying to resurrect a broken toy.
Further research has allowed me to discover that The protégé) actually chose the camouflage, which I had condemned as a rookie mistake, after he had studied satellite photographs of the ship, and chose to match his camouflage to the colour of the hull and most of the interiors. Buck Rockgut seemed to be stuck to the false association of the word camouflage to a ninja suit that best belongs in a Halloween party.
The protégé's plan needs no explanation of the genius it displays, when one ignores the harsh criticisms I added and reviews only the wording, so if these criticisms are ignored the record of the conversation is perfectly objective. And if anyone is a 'little slow on the up take' it's Rockgut. I still respect his genius, though in its time. He is a relic that became a relic when he took a desk job after my disappearance. Even when he returned to pass his knowledge to this brilliant young man, he had been out of the game too long.
The radio being left behind was, sadly, a genuine rookie mistake, though an ordinary agent with only a year's experience would probably make twice the mistakes, so I can excuse this. Still, I am sure The protégé's uncanny gut would alert him to the danger, had the radio not been left. I now understand that the shock of seeing one I worshiped as a god for so long surpassed in so sudden a way as being rescued caused me to react so harshly (who could call saving a captured mentor an insult?) For this I apologise, if only to my notes (though I hope someday I will have this young man by my side), for my biased retelling, and for assuming that it was Rockgut who was stopping what I thought at the time were agents of mercy, when in fact The protégé was single handed beating my best operatives.
I can also see a bit of myself in him. For all my research, The protégé seems to be the only one who knows anything about himself before he was found by Nigel, who was so obviously so overwhelmed by his raw talent. The way the child bears his burden, the way he does not hide his pastlessness as I did, but wears it proudly, is something I admire and fascinates me. I have even framed the first page of his file, so filled with 'Unknowns' and every time I look at it, it reminds me so much of my own. Yes, one day young Skipper shall be by my side.
The indented text in the report is in bold.