It was dark out when Private emerged from the mouth of the tunnel, eyes already adjusted to the dim environment. He couldn't see anything moving, or any shapes among the trees, so he stepped out and faced in the direction of the lake.

He had left his bag behind but brought a scented bar of soap, to which he clung tightly with both flippers. He didn't want to drop it onto the dirt. He wasn't entirely sure whether the soap would still be soapy and clean afterwards, but he didn't want to find out - it was his only bar.

He had left his tattered foot-wraps in the warren - he'd just lose them in the water and even if he didn't lose them, sopping wet footwear made more noise than going barefoot.

The lake was further down the park, the direction opposite to the zoo. It wasn't very far away. Private trudged over to where it was, looking forward to washing the mud, sewer muck, rubbish-grease, fish scales and pollen smears off his feathers. His last shower had been only four or five days ago, but it felt like months since the last time he was clean, and he longed for the chance to get rid of the stains on him. It simply wasn't hygienic - or comfortable.

He saw the expansive body of water now and it excited him. He hadn't been for a good swim in days, so when he got to the water's edge he clutched the soap to his belly and dived in.

It felt so good to be underwater again, although the water itself was a little yucky. He couldn't see far ahead of him because it was so cloudy with pollutants and algae, and here and there he could see pop cans and plastic bottles and bags and other strewn rubbish from picnickers. But it was still water, and it was still great.

He surfaced and a gave a small head-shake to flick drops of water from his beak. He rubbed his flipper against the bar of soap, hoping it would lather, and it did a little. The faint but pleasant smell of lilac reached his senses and he smiled like a man seeing heaven. Oh, how he had missed that smell. The same way he had missed the sharp citrus orange from the liquid shower gel, the two bars of green tea soaps, and his collection of little shower gels with floral and herbal scents.

His heart yearned for home, and the dozens of comforting smells that came with it. Even the laundered pillowcases had a woody scent that Private felt would bring him solace. He had never felt so homesick as he did then, shoulder-high in lake water with a bar of soap producing a slight lather in his grip. It almost frightened him how powerfully he missed the bunkers, all the little things especially - like the faint ticking of the clock and the low buzz from the telly; each and every little smell, from the smoke in Kowalski's lab and the lingering musk of his comrades, to the sweet aroma from an after-dinner treat; the way flashes of different colours of light played on the grey walls from experiments made by Kowalski. All of it replaced by grass and mud and clay and vegetation. Penguins weren't supposed to live where there was vegetation - not his species, anyway.

He scrubbed his flippers clean and blinked back tears. He wanted to experience those things again, those home things. He wanted to hear the others breathe and snore quietly above and below him while he fell asleep. He wanted to shower with every soap he owned, even the 'masculine' ones Skipper had bought for him which smelled mean and cold. He wanted to watch telly with them again and eat snacks and laugh with them again.

He scrubbed the stains from his shoulders and tried not to think of it. Around him, on the surface of the water, was a film of dust, grit, soap, and whatever else had come off his feathers. He washed his chest and his neck and head, the water around him getting steadily less clear, and then dipped his head underwater for a moment to wash the suds away. He soon felt a lot better, and he sort of smelled of lilac.

He washed the rest of himself (not dropping the soap as he washed his back was difficult) until he felt clean. He tossed the soap onto a patch of grass, then swam away from the dirty clouded water to where it was clearer and submerged himself.

He could see tiny fish darting about near the muddy bottom, but tiny fish were not food fish. He kept looking. He knew there had to be a few perch, or a carp or two down here - large, but not impossible for a penguin to haul to the surface - anything to eat to make sure he wouldn't go hungry anytime soon. It wouldn't be a good position to be in if he had to raid the shops every other day for food.

In the depths below him, a catfish swam close to the dirt bed. It had to be three times as long as him. Maybe that one was too big.

A good-sized fish came into his vision, and he swam after it, his instincts kicking in. His beak opened and clamped down on the fish's body and he brought it to the surface.

He paddled back towards the bar of soap, the fish struggling in his beak. It was the perfect size for a meal, like the Goldilocks story - the first was too small, the second too big, but this one is just right, he thought to himself, amused. He bit hard into the fish to stop it struggling away as he climbed out of the water and retrieved his soap.

He heard a noise somewhere around him, a voice. He darted towards a nearly tree and hid amongst the low-hanging branches' leaves.

A young opossum came into sight a small distance away. She was accompanied behind her by a male skunk, who had fur hanging low on his forehead like a long fringe.

"I just don't think it's safe out here any more," the skunk was saying mournfully. "There's a dangerous spy out here, they say... watching... waiting..."

"Waiting for what?" Asked the opossum.

"For the perfect chance to strike." He made a fist and hit his opposite palm to emphasise the point, a little over-dramatically. "He's going to attack."

Private watched them with interest. He knew they had to be talking about him.

"But he left," the girl said.

"No... he's just... biding his time."

Private rolled his eyes, finding the teen so strange he was almost funny. The fish wiggled again in his beak and he bit down harder on it to keep it still.

The dramatic skunk pushed his fur fringe out of his eyes and spoke again. "We just have to hope he doesn't attack any of the park's animals. He's silent like a ninja, better than the other penguins. He could strike anybody, at any time. You know Mabel?"

The opossum nodded. "She roosts in our tree."

"She was knocked unconscious by the penguin spy."

Private remembered who he meant - the pigeon who had almost seen him a while ago. He had stunned her and left her lying on the branch. He had needed to.

"Was she hurt?"

"No... but why did he attack her? She didn't have anything with her to steal. Was he using her as practice, or was he guarding something? Was she in the way?" He shook his head. "What did he want from her? Hopefully it wasn't her innocence."

The opossum girl looked up at him, not understanding. Private also had no idea what he meant - innocence of what? A crime?

They walked past and their backs were to him. When they were quite far away, he emerged from the tree and set off for his base.

Their chatter hadn't gotten to him as strongly as the pigeons previously had. Private had come to terms with his notoriety. He realised the fish in his beak had stopped moving, and he consumed it.

He was clean and the lake was a good source of fish. This had been a good trip outside. He felt a little tired again - the darkness made him sleepy - and decided he would rest awhile when he got back home.

His step faltered. Home? Was that what he was calling it?

Base. That was a better word. Home wasn't the old abandoned warren where he slept and hid his stuff in; home was what he remembered when he was in the lake; where he had lived for a long time with his unit, that was home. The bunker underneath the penguin habitat. Even if... if it wasn't his house right now, it was still his home, and would continue to be for as long as he was still trying to return.

He arrived back at 'base' and headed down the tunnel. Entering the pitch-black room, he put the soap back in the little cleaning box, and wondered if the handkerchief blanket would block out the lamplight to the tunnel if he pinned it up. He fetched it from his bed and held it up to the doorway. It was a little too small. He returned it to his bed.

Tomorrow he'd find something else to hang up, after he slept. Then he could have a light source indoors while the sun was down. He went to bed.


He crouched behind the pile of discarded concrete blocks and listened. There was at first only the sound of electricity buzzing in the walls of the building, but Private thought he heard the voice of his target in the noise.

He listened to the sounds, concealed behind masonry, hidden from nothing yet, alone in the room. But he could hear a voice. The buzzing was louder, not electric currents now but static. He gripped the walkie-talkie that was suddenly in his hold, desperate for contact with the men he missed.

He tried to speak. He attempted to say, "Kowalski?", but no sound came out. They couldn't hear him.

The voice of his commanding officer came through the device, obfuscated by the static from a bad signal.

"Disappoint-... -fit to be... unit..."

He tried desperately to press down the button to transmit so that he could speak, but it was too stiff. It wouldn't depress. He pressed it harder, to the same result, and became afraid he would be left here to rot among the concrete bricks forever.

Please, he tried again, but still he was silent. The radio wouldn't transmit, no sound would come from his mouth. He had to speak aloud to them, needed to tell them he was and always had been on their side, or they would leave him trapped here in a prison of breeze-blocks and bare wires that hung down from the ceiling around him, blaring static, trying to block the voices.

"Stole... -sisted arrest..."

I had to, he tried to scream. He clutched again at the walkie-talkie, only to realise it had turned to concrete. The voice faded to be replaced with more buzzing, loud, overpowering... he felt the presence of the executioner... they had called it to him, he hadn't been able to explain, he knew it was swinging its axe at his neck-

Private jolted awake with a cry and clutched his left shoulder, where pain shot through his muscle. All he could think was

it missed, he missed my neck, he didn't kill me, he hasn't chopped off my head he hit my shoulder my shoulder my

before he realised he was still in the warren, a small amount of light from the dawn outside letting him see he was no longer in the substation. The buzzing sound came again from beside him. He looked down and saw a small wasp perched on his bed, getting ready to sting again. He reflexively slammed a flipper down onto it and crushed it to death.

Private took a deep breath to calm himself and swiped its corpse onto the floor. Resisting the urge to scratch his tiny wound, he got up off the bed and looked around for the first-aid kit, spotting it hanging from one of the hooks on the wall. He opened it and took out the antiseptic, pouring a little onto his flipper then gently applying it. He yawned as he put away the cream. Now that the adrenaline had faded his tiredness hit him again. He traipsed back to bed, already forgetting most of his dream.


Private stretched luxuriously, the incident now distant in his mind. There was only a little swelling and pain now. The warren was somewhat lit from the sunlight outside, and for a few moments he just admired the cleanliness of the black plumage on his flippers. Then he got off the bed and headed for the fish boxes for breakfast.

As he took the lid off one he saw it was still mostly fresh, but probably a little warm. He counted the portions, and saw he had enough to last him today and for tomorrow's breakfast. He scooped out a large chunk of a fish and ate it as he planned the day.

The reading on a walkie-talkie showed it was five past eight. Looking at the doorway, he decided he first needed to scavenge for a few items.

A thick sheet of fabric to go over the doorway was first on his list. And batteries, in case the ones in his lamp ran out. He quickly checked what kind the lamp took and saw they were D-size cells.

What else, he thought, looking around the room. The popcorn bag pillow wasn't soft like he was used to, but he could sleep on it without any trouble. A new one wasn't necessary. Some sort of icebox for the fish would be good, but of course he would struggle to get it in here even if he did find one, and besides in a day or two he wouldn't have any spare fish to store. He looked at the brown rucksack. It was large and heavy, and what if he only needed to carry a couple of things? He should get a smaller bag. A bum bag or something.

Some salt would be nice, he thought suddenly. If I have nothing to eat but plain fish for days on end I'd get so bored of it. Salt or hot sauce or something to add flavour would be great.

A curtain, D-cell batteries, a smaller bag and some seasoning. He smiled self-consciously. It was a silly-sounding shopping list.

And maybe some snacks - something to keep up the energy and give him a little variation in his diet. A few tins of sardines would do.

He grabbed his rucksack and took out a few things. He left in the Swiss army knife, the pair of binoculars, and a lighter. He doubted he'd need anything else. He re-tied the cloth around his feet to muffle his footsteps. The fabric was torn, but he thought it would last for today, and he had spares to replace them tomorrow.

As he shouldered the bag he realised that he was a little thirsty. Thirst was a problem that should be sorted out as soon as possible. Few things distracted or weakened a person as bad as dehydration did. He dug the empty water bottle out of the water purification kit box and put it in his bag, planning to fill it up from somewhere. He then became anxious when he realised that, besides the lake, he knew no places to fill it up from. Was there a substation thing for water pipes, like there was for electricity? Probably not - he imagined it all just got pumped from one big building somewhere. And water didn't need fuseboxes.

He cast his mind around before remembering the public restrooms in the park. The taps in there had running water. He decided to get water from there and bring it back here before he did any more scavenging - water was vital. If, say, the park became crowded and he couldn't leave for risk of being spotted, he needed water stored indoors. It seemed smart to collect the water first.

He couldn't quite remember where the bathrooms were, but he had seen them when they had visited the snow-cone stalls last week. He also remembered tripping over a root and his rainbow scoop dropping to the grass. Skipper had given his snow-cone to Private, and Skipper himself had gone without one. The young penguin smiled sadly at the memory.

Private went through his shopping list mentally as he secured the straps of the rucksack, preparing himself to head out into the park. At the last moment the stopped, then took off the bag and opened it. He put the two walkie-talkies inside. There was always the possibility of finding Kowalski out there, and he wanted to be prepared. Preparation was key to achieving your goals - that, and teamwork. But he was alone out here so he needed to be even more prepared for absolutely anything... at a second thought, he put the switch-blade in the bag too before putting it on.