AN: I love writing! This is so fun to write! Also, this chapter and next chapter is just going to be really simple, and calm.

Special thanks to Sweet Kneul who's like my sister on this site now :3

Billy's eyes stayed locked on the door. This was the room he would always go to when he needed to talk to someone. It was originally designed to be a garage, but after a few renovations, it changed into an empty room. The walls were painted grey, and the concrete on the floor was just as dark. The whole room was sound proof, so it made it perfect for questioning. There were no items in the room, nothing. There were no windows either, and the only light source was the three ceiling lights hanging down.

It had been a month since the incident with the Penguin unit, and Billy's impatience had taken that time to raise. Assana had come to empty handed. Well, mostly. She had cooked up an excuse of how Timothy- the supposed traitor- had turned against them, shooting four of her personal troops, and knocking her out so the Penguins could escape. He didn't believe the story one bit, but he did appreciate that he had cut out the 'traitor's' tongue to support her story.

Hans was the first to appear in the room. He looked slightly nervous, but tried not to show it. He was dressed to empress, wearing a black dress shirt, jeans to match, and his bronze hair jelled back. He walked slowing to the middle of the room, where his leader was.

"Is... Assana not here yet, Blowhole?" He asked, shaking. It annoyed Billy, the rivalry Hans and Assana had. How they would purposely try to sabotage each other to get in his good books. Hans' accent also irritated him, but he had learned to ignore it.

"Of course I'm here!" A loud, purring voice announced. Assana had burst into the room, because she always had to make an entrance. She was wearing her normal sort of outfit, a tight black dress, and high heel boots. Her hair was curled, and was now dyed a vibrant aqua blue colour, her skin was paler than usual, and her nails were painted a blinding blood red. Knowing Assana, she had probably used real blood to get that colour, Billy grinned at the thought as she made her way over.

"Now, why was I called here? I was planning on interrogating some people today."

Billy frowned more harshly now. "Why are you here? Because you let those Penguins escape, and I'm done waiting for this idiot to catch them." He gestured towards Hans.

"I have been trying-"

"Shut up. Assana, I want you to work with Hans from now on. I know you'll be able to catch them. Hans will serve as your assistant."

Assana grinned. She officially had the upper hand on her rival. Hans answered her look with a glare. It didn't make sense to him. She had gotten the enemy to escape, why did Blowhole put her in charge? She was incompetent to him. He had been trying to track them down, but they were one of the bed military unit. Did Billy expect them to be found in a day? A week?

"Yay. Does that mean I get to play with Hans-y?" Assana asked, leaning over so she was leaning on Hans' shoulder, and put her hand on his chest.

Blowhole rolled his eyes. If she wasn't such a good assassin, he would have fired her a long time ago. "No. I just want those Penguins found. By any means necessary. Found, killed, brought here, I don't care. I've given up a lot to fund this plan, I don't want it to be ruined because my staff or morons."

Assana pulled away from Hans. "Killed? Can't I play with the birdies a little?"

Billy groaned in annoyance. "Whatever. I just want them." He gave a look at both of them. "Even if it's only one body part. I just want them. Dead or alive."

"This is Chuck Charles, on the scene of a chase that went through the streets of NewYork."

Skipper glared. This was probably the hundredth time he had watched this newscast he had recorded. Chuck was standing on one side of the camera, and on the other side and in the background, was the remains of the greenhouse. The camera was positioned in to the spot where the ambulance had broken through, and you could just see the broken skylight at the top. He also hadn't noticed how bland the place looked.

"The supposed terrorists had been in an intense chase through the city, and into the outlining woods. In the process, the four had destroyed a cop car, this greenhouse, an ambulance, and several members of the NYPD had been killed."

The leader's eyes had started to twitch.

"Do you know what the current situation on the terrorists are, Chuck?"

"Yes. The police assume that they have fled the country. So, the American government has asked several others countries to join them in finding them. Turning this into an international manhunt on the case."

"How many people are we manhunting?"

"We had just received information that the assumed number is three to four but-"

The screen suddenly went black. Skipper glared at the blank screen. "Heeey!"

Kowalski shook his head sadly, making a 'tsk tsk' noise. "You really have to stop watching that Skipper, it's making you stressed."

"Is not." Skipper growled stubbornly, crossing his arms and standing up. He saw his lieutenant's disapproving face. He sighed. "What do you want?"

"We're all bored out of our minds. Especially Rico. You should take him out to get a movie or something."

Skipper raised his eyebrow in surprise. It wasn't like they weren't bored yesterday, either. Kowalski returned the look, telling Skipper the reason. His leader nodded in understanding. It was time for Private's bandage to come off, which was the moment of truth for them. If his wrist had healed enough to take off some stitches, they wouldn't have to amputate the little guy's hand. His wrist was so bad, Kowalski had to stitch Private's torn tissue together, so that flesh could regrow. Skipper knew that that must have been painful.

"Okay. We'll be back in a bit. Come on, Rico!"

"Kowalski! It's about to go into the bathroom! Use the pillow!"

"Okay, I got it. Wait, Private... STOP CURLING YOUR WRIST!"

Private quickly hid his right arm behind his back. The stitches was itching. He had gotten how many? It was enough to go around his entire wrist. It felt unfair, that the rest of the team's injuries had healed, but he was the one who had almost gotten his hand taken off. "Sorry." He apologized.

"It's fine." The scientist gave him a reassuring smile. "Can you still see the mouse?"

Private couldn't help but smile. He was scared of a lot of things, but it was nice to know that one of the only things he wasn't scared of, one of the men he admired was terrified of. Kowalski was standing on top of one of beds in their hotel room, scanning the room fearfully for a mouse.

Private started to walk around the room. One mattress was up against the door, making sure the rodent didn't escape. The windows were shut, and the air vents were blocked by cardboard boxes on top of them. All the furniture was pushed to the walls, and a poorly thrown pillow was laying against the doorframe of the small bathroom.

He stopped, putting his hands on his hips. "Where did it go?"

"Fiiiind iiiit." Kowalski whined.

Private giggled. "It's funny because I'm the one who's supposed to be afraid of mice."

Kowalski heard a small noise to his left and he bounced to the other side of the bed. He took a few breaths. Was it him, or was he close to hyperventilating?

"I'm more scared that Skipper is going to walk in here and see this." The scientist finally admitted.