Caretaker of Madagascar: Full Moon

Last Judgment

This is the part where four sleeping penguins are locked in a cage within a darkly lit kitchen. Slowly, one by one they wake up.

"Status report?" Skipper groans.

"I'm okay, I have a little nick but it's already scabbed." Private sits up.

Rico whimpers slightly, catching the attention of the others. "Ail."

"Your tail?" Skipper glances over.

Kowalski slowly gets up and woozily waddles over to him and helps him roll over so he can take a look. "Ah. Looks a little out of whack..." He pauses. "Okay, this is going to hurt," he says before jerking his tail to the right.

Rico muffles a squawk of pain before looking back at his tail and trying to move it. "Oh dat's be'er."

With Rico's tail fixed, the boys glance around outside the cage. Their surroundings can be described as a small rundown kitchen, past meals, and baking stains smeared on the counter yet to be cleaned. A strong aroma of burning oil and nail polish remover, and a set of nicely sharpened kitchen knives set far beside the cage they're in.

Upon inspection beyond the kitchen views a smaller living room. Newspapers were all over the floors and walls of the living room, strings connecting from one place to another. Broken wine glasses around the living room table. A family photo's frame smashed, slightly tilted as it hangs on to a rusting hammered-in nail.

Private moves closer to Kowalski and Skipper.

"Where the deuce are we?" Skipper grumbles.

"...A run-down apartment?" Kowalski suggests, before receiving a light slap to the back of the head.

"Not in the mood for the mouthing tonight, soldier."

The final detail to notice was how all the strings connected to one photo. A photo of...themselves. With a knife stabbed into it.

"I don't like this, Skippha," Private whimpers.

Kowalski rubs the back of his head. "Whoever this apartment belongs to is perhaps in a race with X for creepy and obsessive."

"Now that I can agree with."

"I will admit," a voice from the shadows of the apartment starts. A voice that can belong to an older man, for how low and very slow-toned it is. Melancholic. "I was expecting you all to be more trepidation...but...I shouldn't be so surprised," says the mystery man from somewhere in the room.

"This must be very run of the mill for you."

The penguins look over at the voice.

The figure steps out from the shadows, an old man who hasn't aged well. His maroon eyes look so desperate...mournful. The stranger walks over to the cage until he's hovering over them, a single light shines on the penguins, though is blocked by the man. The corner of his lip curls.

"So...you're the penguins that run around and 'save' New York? How impressive of a title must that be?"

Skipper raises a brow. "Do we know him?"

"Uhhh no, sir?"

"Well, I don't like how much he knows about us."

Upon their exchange, he gives out an amused chuckle. "I see your confusion. You wonder why you're here, why I know you, what am I going to do with you? And while your heads are filled with questions and desired solutions to escape me...why don't we take a pause...and I give you your answers straight,"