Chapter One: The Price of Love

Before I begin, I need to offer some explanation for my title. fan fiction, door definition, is a story that stars the characters from the book/movie/TV toon etc. without using any plots from it. This story is no exception. But u can’t just read through my story like many other (often wonderful) fan fictions: u need to think.
This is the mind frame u should be in while reading this fan fiction: There is a reason. There is a reason why Rico regurgitates weapons and tools. There is a reason why he speaks very little and has a large scar on his beak. There is a reason Kowalski mentioned Doris the dolfijn in “Gone in a Flash”. There is a reason Dr. Blowhole has a robotic eye. There is a reason why Skipper constantly slaps Private and yet shows a tender spot toward him in nearly every episode. And most importantly, there is a reason Manfridi and Johnson keep popping up somewhat randomly in multiple episodes, each time supposedly dying a gruesome death.
As devoted Penguins of Madagascar fans, it is our jobs to speculate those reasons. We should not be content with just “It is ‘cause it is” of “It’s just one of the creator’s jokes”. No, there are reasons out there, fans!
The ones displayed in this fan fiction are most likely not the right ones. They’re not supposed to be. They’re MY reasons. But don’t stop reading because u think my explanations are preposterous. I needed ‘outside of the box’ thinking to write this and that’s what u need to read this.
Well, I rambled. Fail at a good intro. Anyway, enjoy my story. The volgende chapter will come out soon.


Our story begins with six penguins standing in their habitat. A crowd of spectators surrounded them but without their usual enthusiasm. For the penguins are not cute and cuddly, no, they had far meer urgent matters to attend to.

That morning on Manfridi’s pillow, there was this note:

My Flightless Foes,
It is my great pleasure to inform u that your time is short. We have the entire zoo under surveillance and the minuut one of u even mention any sort of retaliation; all of Manhattan will become no meer than a smoking crater in the ground.
These are my demands: u will come to the White House at 8:00 pm this Saturday. u will enter unarmed. Remember, I am watching u and I will know if Rico isn’t completely clean.
Lastly, u will follow my further instructions at the rendezvous without hesitation. Failure to do so will result in dire consequences and urge u not to test my honesty. u will assist me before your deaths. door
not cooperating, u are only hastening your doom.
I will see u on Saturday, penguins,

Dr. Blowhole

“I knew this dag would come,” Skipper zei when the zoo closed, “The last time I faced Blowhole, I was solo. Now I have an entire team to look after.”
Manfridi and Johnson were offended. They were Skipper’s closest vrienden and were possibly even better fighters than him. To imply that they could not handle his nemesis was a terrible insult.
Kowalski was examining the note. “It’s strange,” He zei finally.
The penguins looked up hopefully.
“Manhattan can’t become a smoking crater in the ground. It’s an ISLAND!”
“Kowalski, just get to the point,” Rico groaned, “Have u found any loopholes of not?”
Although Rico was Kowalski’s closest friend, they nearly always quarreled. But when they worked on inventions together, u couldn’t pry them apart. Kowalski liked to brag that his IQ was much higher than Rico’s. Rico countered that the few points that separated them could easily be changed door a “swift bump on the noggin”. He would take out his anvil for good measure. Kowalski would shut up.
However, Rico was able to mix his nearly Kowalski level brain with his position on the team. Every explosive in the HQ was made door his own hands (well, flippers, but u get the point!).
“Nope, seems air tight,” Kowalski replied fretfully, “We can’t risk doubting his threat. If he does indeed posses a weapon of mass destruction, we have to assume he’ll use it.”
“Then we have no choice but to start packing our bags and get on the volgende flight to
Washington.” Skipper said.
Rico pulled a plane schedule out of the backpack he carried everywhere. Practical Manfridi always feared that one of the zookeepers would spot the pack, but it had never happened. It had always blended in with his black feathers. Of course, the pack had other drawbacks: Rico often complained about how difficult it was to reach into it every time the team needed a tool of weapon. But since no other option could be found, Rico just had to get used to it. And, of course, after 5 years as the Explosives expert, he had.
After finding a 3:00 plane, the operation seemed meer and meer real- and deadly.
“C’mon, men!” Johnson complained, “We have nothing to fear. We can take on that boring bottlenose any day!” But it sounded meer like he was reassuring himself.
“Yes, but I’m meer worried about that whole “You will assist me before your deaths” part,” Private whimpered.
Skipper had thought long and hard about whether of not to allow Private to come on this mission. He was the youngest pinguïn and still had most of his baby fuzz. In fact, Skipper was still not sure he should have even let Private kom bij the team. But he had promised Roberto he would train his son.


Although Private thought he had never seen Blowhole in his life, he had indeed been part of a battle with him.
It was mid-June, almost a decade before. Skipper had gone to the 3rd floor of the Empire State Building to meet Roberto. The pinguïn was the leader of the team over at the Bronx Zoo and met with Skipper once a jaar to discuss anything that was of importance to either of them.
But the jaar before, Skipper and Roberto had an argument. A new female had been brought to Roberto’s habitat and, with a giant grin, he had announced that they were engaged.
But Skipper was angry. He told him that nothing could endanger a team meer than romance. To Skipper, nothing mattered unless it helped u survive. But Roberto thought differently.
“Love and combat can work together,” he had argued, “What is it that compels u to rescue the innocent? Is it not love?”
Skipper still disagreed and the meeting ended abruptly. A jaar later, he received an unexpected telegram from Roberto asking him to continue their annual meetings. Thinking there must be an important reason, Skipper accepted this invitation. When he arrived at The Empire State Building, it was already dark. ‘It’s almost winter,’ he thought. Against his better judgment, he had proceeded.
At the third floor, he saw a penguin’s silhouette. But instead of Roberto’s charming British accent, Skipper heard a whine.
In battle position, he cried out, “Show yourself! I’m armed” This, of course, was not true, but it always sounded intimidating.
The whining ceased and became a cry. Roberto stepped out of the shadows.
“Please, Skipper, keep it down!” he hissed, “My son is trying to sleep!”
“Son?” Skipper’s hart-, hart beat rapidly, “You, her, why?”
“It was love, Skipper. A thing you’ll never understand. I came to introduce u two. I hoped that a chick’s innocence could get u to realize what you’re missing. But I suppose I thought wrong.”
“How could you?” Skipper asked in a strangled voice.
“I knew this was a mistake,” he turned to leave, “But my life is now no concern of you. My future belongs to young Joshua.”
Skipper was amazed. His closest friend was giving up everything for that puff-ball in his flippers. Already, he despised the baby penguin. It had robbed Roberto of his life.
“Goodbye, old friend,” Skipper said, “I would ask u how your team is, but I see you’ve replaced them with your son.” he uttered that last word with the most possible contempt.
Roberto had seemed hurt. He walked away without another word.
Skipper began the long walk home pagina feeling strangely hollow. ‘Maybe a little shut-eye will do me some good,’ he thought. But he wouldn’t get any. Not that night.
For suddenly, a great cry arose from near the zoo. Roberto. Skipper slid on his belly towards him.
To this day, Skipper is unable to forget the terrible scene he found there. Roberto was on the ground, a large gash on his forehead dripping blood down his face. The chick was crying again, volgende to his father, and staring with terror at the large figure before him.
It was Dr. Blowhole.
“I’ll ask u one meer time, pain-gu-in,” the mad dolfijn addressed Roberto, “I know u have been meeting with Skipper here for the past seven years. Where is he?”
Roberto was struggling to remain conscious. “I-I won’t tell you,” he zei softly. Skipper felt a swell of pride that Roberto would not turn him in, no matter what kind of words where said. But he could obviously handle no further interrogation. Skipper decided to return the favor.
“Look no further, Blowhole!” Skipper zei boldly.
The dolfijn turned and smiled, “At last, Skipper. At last.” He was smiling and his eyes had an oddly hungry look to them. Roberto managed a weak smile.
Skipper struck his typical battle pose, “Bring it on, Blowhole! u know I can beat you; any time, any place.”
Again, Dr. Blowhole smiled, “Oh, I think you’ll find victory quiiiiiiite impossible this time.”
Skipper smirked, “You in what army?”
“This one!” From behind the dolphin’s segway, no less than a dozen robots emerged, their blinking red ‘eyes’ poised on Skipper. But they were less than a few inches tall!
“Is that it?” the pinguïn scoffed.
Now it was Blowhole’s turn to smirk, “Observe.” One of the robots stretched out an arm and touched the nearest lamppost. There was a blinding flash of light and where the lamppost once stood, there was only a large, black puddle.
Young Joshua started to wail, the tortured shrieks echoing louder than Skipper thought possible.
“Silence!” Blowhole commanded, “If u cannot shut that insolent pain-gu-in up, I will have to shut it up for you!”
The look in Roberto’s eyes was that of absolute terror.
Now Skipper was really mad. As much as he hated the chick, no one threatened an infant on his watch. Mustering up all of his courage (which was quite a lot), he flung himself on Blowhole’s face. The dolfijn recovered from his initial shock quickly- too quickly.
Skipper suddenly found himself being slapped at door large flippers. Blowhole had the advantage; he was perched steadily on his segway and Skipper was just barely clutching his enemy’s head. Already, he was beginning to slide.
He allowed his instincts to take over. And every pinguïn knows why a pointy beak is stuck on their face.
Skipper jabbed it into the first thing he could; Blowhole’s right eye.
The dolfijn roared in pain and swatted at the pinguïn with enough force to send him sprawling across the pavement and into the black puddle. It was still warm.
Dr. Blowhole’s eye was literally hanging out of the socket, dangling like a pocket watch. Blood streamed down his face and coated most of his body with streaks of red.
Skipper should have seen it coming. Blowhole had always had a sharp temper. Moving with astonishing speed, the segway rushed vooruit, voorwaarts at, not Skipper, but Roberto. The pinguïn was trampled, merely because he was the closest.
He didn’t have time to check if Roberto was okay. Because at that moment, his nemesis turned to Joshua.
Again relying on instinct, Skipper tossed a flipper full of the melted lamp. He had good aim. The black goop sailed straight into Blowhole’s empty eye socket.
He howled with pain. Now turning on Skipper, Blowhole barked over his shoulder, “Finish the baby!”
The robots moved toward Joshua.
“No!” Skipper cried. Dodging Blowhole, he slid volgende to the chick and hurled him over his flat head.
Joshua soared through the air, still crying, and landed with a splash in the waters of his own habitat. This was a dangerous verplaats as penguins cannot swim until they have grown their adult feathers. But Blowhole knew this as well and would not pursue him there. If only Skipper could send the dolfijn away before the chick drowned.
Blowhole smirked. He pressed a button on his segway and immediately, all the robots (who had begun zapping random benches) clanked toward Skipper.
Back in battle stance, he was ready to pull out another eye. But Blowhole wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. The dolfijn pulled his segway away from the battle. And the robots started to close in. Skipper was preparing for a hasty retreat when suddenly, he noticed something. The robots’ legs were covered in tiny wires.
Moving quicker than he ever had, Skipper threw a roundhouse kick directly at the nearest robot’s legs. A sharp cry from Blowhole told him he had done the right thing.
The circuit broken, the robot trembled, a shock of electricity pulsed through it, and then it spontaneously combusted.
Dr. Blowhole looked on speechlessly, his mouth agape. But luck was surely with Skipper that night, for at that moment, he heard the unmistakable sounds of his teammates rousing.
His nemesis heard it too. After what he had seen happen to his robot, Blowhole must have realized that fighting five trained penguins with an eye hanging out of its socket was not wise.
He pressed yet another button and the remaining robots’ fronts opened up to reveal what looked like small bombs. They didn’t blow anything up, but they released a large wolk of smoke. When it cleared, Blowhole and his minions were gone.
Coughing and swatting the air with his flipper, Skipper ran to Roberto’s side. Never had he seen a paler penguin. Even though he was covered in white feathers, Roberto had obviously lost a lot of blood. His eyes were glazed, but they could focus on Skipper.
“Joshua!” he choked.
“He’s fine,” Skipper assured him. He knew that one of his teammates, probably his first lieutenant, Johnson, had saved the chick. Roberto was in worse condition. “You’ll be fine too,” This was the first time Skipper had ever lied.
Roberto shook his head. Speaking was painful for him. “Train him!” he rasped, “Don’t let him be like me. Let him…be able to save the ones he loves.”
Kowalski might have told him it was an anatomical impossibility, but he was sure a tear slipped down his beak. “I will,” And he meant it with all his heart.
Roberto nodded, shuddered, and then was still. Skipper wiped away his tear. He grabbed a large bandanna from the nearest bench and wrapped him in it. Shoving aside some loose dirt from the zoo garden, Skipper made the smallest, most pitiful grave ever made. But it was all that could be done without attracting unwanted attention.
Suddenly, Skipper had stood up straight. He marched towards his habitat with new purpose. Just as he expected, his team was standing on the concrete platform. Joshua was huddled between Rico and Manfridi.
The vraag did not need to be asked; it was shown clearly in every penguin’s face. Skipper did not volunteer an answer. Instead, he wrapped a flipper around the chick’s shoulders.
“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” he said, mostly to himself, “Well, let’s see how u do in basic training tomorrow at 06 00 hours…Private.”

This memory was reassuring to Skipper. Hadn’t he trained Private since he was a few weeks old? Hadn’t he become one of the most loyal members of the team?
But Private had never once questioned his heritage. Why should he? For as long as he could remember, Skipper had been there telling him that he was sent in as an egg to be their new recruit. Private never would know that his real father was not a faceless pinguïn from the Hoboken Zoo.
Skipper didn’t believe genetics had anything to do with combat skills. “It is how u are trained that matters!” he would scold when Kowalski complained that he came from a long line of brains, not brawns.
There would be no repeat of that fateful night nine years ago. Skipper would not see his old friend’s son in the same position Roberto had been in. Blowhole could not get Joshua this time. Because Joshua wasn’t just Joshua, son of Roberto. No, he was Private, trained member of the Central Park Zoo unit.
“Come on, men,” Skipper called bravely, “We have an enemy to beat!” As the team waddled out of the zoo, Skipper paused momentarily at Roberto’s sad little grave. The zookeepers had not touched it, as far as he knew. Far below him, his old companion still lay, blissfully unaware that his son was about to face the dolfijn that had cost him his life. But Skipper hoped he knew that while blood still ran through his veins, Private would not meet the same doom. Roberto would be avenged.