Tales of Memory
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This is an incomplete story. Tales of Memory is a story that was started by a user some time ago, but wasn't completed, and may never be completed. We're sorry for the inconvenience! However, feel free to look here to read completed stories! |
The account of the Coloured Hats Project, told from the perspective of Mr Trilby.
Chapter One: Train[edit]
"Oi Alfie! What are yeh doin' in my pub?" screeched the barman.
The bar was a hustle of activity, but some of it died down as many penguins put down their Cream Soda mugs and looked to where the barman was pointing. There were some gasps of surprise and some penguins even slopped soda down the front of their shirts.
The barman's accusing flipper was pointed at a penguin huddled at a corner table. He looked like a rich penguin who was now poor but liked to keep well-dressed. His suit was torn in some places, but there was an impeccable sense of neatness around him. The penguin looked up mournfully to the bar, but said nothing.
"Out of the brig already are yeh?" began the barman, sneering. His voice dropped to an audible whisper. "Murderer."
There were more gasps and the penguins nearest to Alfie stood up and moved to further tables, their eyes fearful. There was no sound. You could have heard a pin drop in the crowded pub.
The barman stalked slowly out from behind the bar and walked slowly, menacingly, up to Alfie. "Yeh, that's right. I said it. Everybody knows what you done to that poor girl, Alfred Sanderson. And in you come, waltzing inta my pub thinkin' you'd get off scot free." He reached Alfred's table, still sneering. and lowered his face down to Alfred's watery eyes. "YOU MURDERER!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs.
Alfred stood up quickly and the barman backed away. Alfred's eyes seemed desperate, yet full of angst. "I DIDN'T KILL HER!" he yelled, half-pleadingly. "I SWEAR I DIDN'T! WHY DOESN'T ANYBODY BELIEVE ME?!"
Some penguins turned away, others shook their heads.
The barman stroked his grotty beard for a second, then spoke again, his voice low and full of threat. "Get out of my pub, filth," he spat. "And don't ever show yer face in 'ere again, understand?"
For a few moments it seemed like Alfred was going to defy the barman and remain standing, but he quickly grabbed his cloak and ran out of the establishment as fast as he could.
"Coward," the barman muttered, shaking his head. He went back to his bar.
Alfred kept running as fast as he could, down the main street of his town, past dance halls and restaurants and people enjoying the cold winter night. Tears streamed down his face. Two nights ago he'd been convicted of murder by Amy's father. Her father had never liked him, and since he was the mayor of the town he held a lot of power. Alfred was still awaiting the final verdict, but he knew that he wouldn't win. He couldn't. He had no alibi, and nobody saw him.
He took a left turn and ran down a side street to the new train system. Alfred had decided to escape, get out of the country. All that waited for him here was prison.
Running onto the platform, he rapped on the window of the ticket booth and awoke the sleeping penguin in the rumpled uniform.
"One ticket," said Alfred quickly. The ticket penguin's eyes widened as he saw Alfred's face.
"Hey, aren't you-" the ticket penguin began.
Alfred pulled the pistol from his pocket, grabbed the ticket penguin's flipper and pointed the gun at it. His eyes widened even more in fear.
"G-give me the ticket or I'll sh-shoot," Alfred stammered in fear. He had never shot anybody before, and trembled at the thought.
The ticket penguin nodded furiously and threw a ticket at Alfred, who let go of the hand and grabbed the piece of paper. He stowed the gun away in his pocket again.
A high, shrill whistle made Alfred jump. The train was chugging into the station, black smoke belching from the engine. Alfred waited until the train had stopped, then climbed on, slapping his ticket into the hands of the waiting conductor and running of into a carriage. Once he found a seat, he sat down, breathing heavily. He held his head in his flippers.
The events of last week ran through Alfred's mind as the train started back up again and rolled away from the station. He could still remember it clearly.
The night was dark and the air was crisp. Tiny snowflakes were falling onto the concrete sidewalks, which were empty except for a young couple.
"Are you sure your father's alright with me taking you out tonight?" asked Alfred worriedly, looking toward the large mansion on the other side of the street. A disproving, moustached face peeked out from the curtains, watching them intently.
"Don't worry about it, Alfie," said Amy with a laugh. Her eyes twinkled like stars. "He never really approved when we started dating. He thinks you're a "peasant", and I should be courting a wealthy man."
"But are you sure?" asked Alfred, still looking. The face withdrew behind the curtains and he turned his attention back to Amy. "He seems a bit..."
"Oh, let the old man grumble to himself. Let's go somewhere," gushed Amy. She grabbed him by the flipper and led him down the street. They both laughed as they walked flipper in flipper, passing the lit shops and taverns.
"Well, I was thinking of a good restaurant on the other side of town,"
"A restaurant? Great idea!" exclaimed Amy, practically skipping.
Alfred walked with Amy to the restaurant, which was a small, yet nice place in the corner of town. However, tonight the lights were off and a short penguin with a large moustache was locking the doors.
"Bartholomew?" said Alfred in surprise. "Why are you leaving? I thought the restaurant was open until nine."
The short Khanz Penguin turned to Alfred and sighed.
"I ham very sorry, Alfvred, but I ham closing early to spend time vith my fahmily," said Bartholomew in his unique accent. "Maybe you vill haff to find another venue for this evening." With that, Bartholomew straightened his coat, picked up his suitcase and walked away down the snowy street until the snow blocked their vision of him. Amy turned to Alfred.
"Oh well, there goes our evening," she said.
"No, wait!" exclaimed Alfred. "Why don't we...why don't we go back to my place? Have a drink maybe?"
Amy hugged him. "It's a date!" she said.
Hand in hand, they walked to Alfred's small house.
"It looks so different in the dark," said Amy, shivering and looking around the street. There were faint sounds of puffle squeaks somewhere in the vicinity.
"I'm going to move out of here soon," muttered Alfred, who was struggling with the door.
"Need a bit of help there?" asked Amy, walking up the steps to stand with Alfred.
"Darn thing's stuck. I can usually get it open, but the wood must have swelled or something." murmured Alfred. He gave the door a swift kick, but nothing happened.
"Maybe we should go at it together?" said Amy. Alfred nodded, smiling. They both took a few steps back, and charged into the door.
It flung open unexpectedly and they both went crashing on top of each other. They looked at each other, for a second, lying on the floor, then broke into happy laughter. The suited penguin holding the door from the inside just looked down and grimaced.
"Alfred, I heard you trying to get in and opened the door for you. There was no need for you to be silly and just charge at it."
Amy noticed the suited penguin, apparently for the first time. "Come on, Damien, lighten up. It was just a bit of fun," she grinned.
"Ha ha," muttered Damien sarcastically. He turned to Alfred, who was about to speak. "I know what you're going to ask me, and yes I'm not going to be here tonight." Alfred closed his mouth, and Damien continued. "I have an important business meeting to attend, and I was just about to leave. Good evening, Miss Amanda." He swept from the room, shutting the door behind him.
Amy frowned and turned to Alfred. "Not much fun, is he?"
"Business meeting my flipper," scoffed Alfred. "He's just going out for a couple of drinks at the bar. Anyway," he helped Amy to her feet, "how about that drink?"
"You bet," she smiled.
The street was cold and dark. A thick layer of snow rested on steel fences, street lamps and high garden walls. Every light in the street was out, snuffed out by the cold and the freezing wind. Puddles of ice glistened in the darkness, lit by the half-moon shining like a piece of sterling silver against the black fabric of the sky. The occupants of the street were tucked up safely in their sleeping chambers with their curtains drawn, sleeping soundly. Only one window was lit, casting flickering orange shadows onto the pure snow.
Alfred carefully lit the last candle and shook the match out, turning away from the frosted glass of the window and back to the living room. It was completely dark, but several candles lit up the area next to the window, which included a large couch. A half-empty bottle of Strengthened Cream Soda stood aimlessly on the table, and grouped around it were two glasses, both empty. Amy stirred in her chair, awakening slowly as Alfred returned to the chair. She brushed the hair out of her eyes and spoke to him.
"Why is the power off?" she asked dreamily, her head slumping back into the arm of the chair.
Alfred held the candle in his hand, holding it so that it cast light onto his face. "Damien's idea. Electricity saved if the lights go off after 11 PM. He's a total Naughtzee about spending money, stingy as the day is long. Besides," he placed the candle down on the small table, "I think the candles make it more romantic." He grinned.
"I love you," murmured Amy into his ear. She threw her flippers around his neck and they kissed softly. The candles in the room seemed to flicker slightly, as if a fire was reigniting them and making them burn with excitement and wonder. Amy and Alfred held each other for a long time.
"Look, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," Alfred said, when they finally broke apart, still looking into each other's eyes.
"Well then, tell me," whispered Amy.
"I'll be back, I have to get something first."
Amy seemed to understand. She stood in the middle of the room and nodded, willing Alfred to go on. He grabbed a nearby candle, then bolted up the stairs onto the second floor landing. He was shaking with excitement, fumbling with the latch to his room. He burst inside and threw open his dresser drawer, gently grabbing a small felt box and withdrawing it, cradling it in his flippers.
He opened the box. A small gold ring with a diamond gem glinted out from the middle of the box, seemingly winking at him. It had cost him six month's wages, but it was worth every single piece of gold. He had waited for this moment, when he would finally propose to her, and it was here. He ran out onto the second floor landing and started to run down the stairs.
He was halfway down when he suddenly stopped, staring at a limp shape on the living room floor. He stood still, his face changing from happiness to horror. He flew down the last couple of stairs and ran over, stopping just above the shape. The window was open, the curtains flapping in the freezing night air like tattered white ghosts. The felt box fell out of his weak grasp, hitting the floor with a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.
Her body was cold, unmoving. Her mouth did not move, and her eyes were glassy and silent. There was no twinkle, no spark. Just darkness and coldness, the warmth draining, leaving, letting the cold consume her. He couldn't bear to see the one he loved, not like this. It couldn't be true. It was all just a bad nightmare, and he would wake up in her arms. But no. It was all too real. He just couldn't...It couldn't be....
Seeking a distraction his eyes touched upon a nearby silver object, stained with red. He picked up the knife by the hilt and held it in both flippers as a single tear rolled down his cheek and dropped onto the wooden floor.
The front door swung wide open, slamming against the inside wall. A furious, moustached face swung around in anger, then its eyes touched upon Amy, lying on the floor. He looked from Amy to the knife in Alfred's hands, his mouth open in shock. Alfred dropped the knife and backed away, confused between fear and sadness.
"My...my daughter!" he gasped, shaking as if the words were trembling inside him. He let out an animal-like roar of mixed anger and frustration. His face contorted from surprised shock to deadly anger as he looked to Alfred. "YOU KILLED HER!!" he bellowed, charging towards him and knocking over a candle in the process. He grabbed Alfred by the throat and began punching him in blind rage
The flame from the candle had quickly set the floor on fire, and with the building being wood soon half the room was in flames. Alfred didn't care, pinned against the wall by Amy's father. He just wanted to go, to give up and leave this whole destroyed world behind him. He couldn't bear to live without her. The last thing he saw was a figure appearing at the door, framed by flames and burning wood. Then with another punch, the entire world went black.
He had woken up the next day in the Shirrif's Office, bruised beyond belief. Immediately, he was brought into questioning. He was groggy and exhausted, his mind completely cloudy and unfocused. All he wanted to do was sleep.
The Shirrif kept speaking to him, but it seemed like he was in a bubble. The bubble made all sounds dull and unintelligible. He still had Amy in his mind, cold and lifeless, being consumed by flames. Alfred just kept saying "I didn't do it...I didn't, I swear..." Of course, nobody believed him. The Mayor regarded Alfred with death stares whenever he saw him, and did everything in his power to make sure Alfred was prosecuted.
Tomorrow was to be the final hearing, but Alfred already knew the outcome. He would be found guilty of Amy's murder, then locked up for the rest of his life. So, he decided to escape, and here he was.
That was all behind him, Alfred told himself. It was a new life ahead of him. He looked around at the three other occupants of the otherwise empty carriage. There was a small female penguin with her hair tied back in a bun, dressed in black and holding a single bag of shopping. She seemed sad as well. There was another female penguin, but she was unbelievably attractive and dressed in red. She, on the other hand, seemed incredibly pleased with herself, but a bit guilty. Alfred paid little attention to her, his thoughts still dwelling on Amy. The last person was buff and muscly, and there was just a stupid grin on his face.
Alfred turned back to the window as the train went over a bridge. These people probably went about their lives happily, normally. He was cursed forever to bear the burden of seeing his one true love cold and lifeless, like a dead flower. Suddenly, the carriage shook. Alfred looked out of his window and the others frantically looked out theirs. There was a snap and a groan of breaking steel, and the carriage plummeted towards the river.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Blackness.
Chapter Two: Recycle[edit]
Mr David Halberd's new alarm clock shattered the silence of the morning with its shrill ringing, jerking both him and his wife awake. Mr Halberd scrambled to grab the clock and turn it off while his wife just threw a pillow over her head. When he had successfully stopped the noise, his wife sighed.
"David, these newfangled devices seem like so much bother. You always used to wake up without it, so why buy one?"
"Times change, Claudia," said Mr Halberd, resetting the alarm clock and placing it neatly on his bedside table. "All of the workmen are getting them so that they can fit in more hours and still get to work on time."
"Well if you ask me that's completely dotty," replied Mrs Halberd. "It all worked fine before all this, and now everyone will be more tired than usual."
Mr Halberd ignored her and walked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen with its polished wooden floor. She just didn't understand progress, he decided as he boiled the kettle for a cup of coffee.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door of his house. Mr Halberd wasn't in a rush, so he made sure the kettle was boiling. There was another sharp knock on the door. This caller was persistent, Mr Halberd thought to himself. He waddled over to the door and opened it to reveal a breathless telegram boy, his eyes wide, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in one flipper.
"Rail accident sir," panted the telegram boy, clutching the doorframe with his free flipper as he caught his breath. "Four dead. Coroner says to bring that steam crane of yours 'cause the flippin' carriage is at the bottom of the bloomin' Iceburn River."
Mr Halberd quickly donned his work clothes and hard hat and set off to the back of his house, which also served as his office. His property was over an acre large, most of that acre consumed by old pieces of junk and piles of scrap metal that dotted the snow like rust-coloured flowers. A large sign at the front of his house read "Halberd Scrap Metal Collection".
Mr Halberd was a recycler. Instead of throwing things into landfill like his other competitors in the scrap metal business, he took the junk apart and used the pieces to build something new. In this manner he had used parts from an old wagon, a steam engine and a metal scaffold to create his famed "steam crane", a vehicle that was used for large-scale removals that were impossible to do by hand and impossible for road vehicles to access.
The telegram had just been bad news. The Nine PM express from town had been running across Iceburn Bridge when the new concrete addition crumbled, sending a carriage and its four occupants to a watery death. Mr Halberd shivered. What a way to go.
Putting the steam crane into overdrive, Halberd arrived at the river in fifteen minutes. Large crowds of workers had already gathered, some wearing clunky diving helmets and others securing large ropes. A small crowd of the public had also assembled, but were being kept back by a barrier of Shirrifs. The crowds parted to make way for Halberd and his steam crane and he parked it right near the bank of the river.
As he got out, he surveyed the scene. The high Iceburn Bridge was missing a spot, and the rail tracks were twisted downwards. Mr Halberd looked down into the water and could faintly see the outline of the rail carriage, sunken to the bottom of the slowly flowing river. Large green pine trees bordered the banks of the river, framing the broken bridge like a broken frown.
"What's the situation?" Mr Halberd asked the coroner, who was consulting a clipboard by the bank of the river.
"The divers came back up five minutes ago," answered the coroner, nodding towards a group of penguins that were taking off the bulky diving suits. "No damage to the bodies, but stone dead. It was the fall that killed them, I reckon. Poor people. There was even a youth in there, you know."
Mr Halberd looked down at his flippers, then back up, sighing. "Ah well, you know what they say. Only the good die young."
"Good?" scoffed the coroner, his attitude changing completely. "It was that villian Alfred Sanderson, the one who killed the mayor's girl!"
"Programmers above. The scoundrel!"
"You didn't know?"
"I had no idea!" gasped Mr Halberd. "I've been away on a major project in the Fire Kingdom for the past week. I thought they were made for each other."
"Well, you were wrong," finished the coroner. "Jules knew Alfie always had something funny about him from the moment he started dating his daughter Killed her in cold blood, did that Alfie. Shocking, I know."
The coroner paused to let out a small sniff.
"He denied it, of course, but he was found with the knife in his hand, still fresh with blood. The house went up in flames soon after, he must have been trying to cover his tracks. Old Alfred was let out for one day, and it seems he made a run for it. It would've been firing squad for that. Still, it's a bad way to go, dying in a river."
"Indeed," muttered Mr Halberd. "Well, I'd better get to work-"
A loud splash and a hiss of breaking water came from behind him as the carriage was hefted out of the river. Mr Halberd turned around in disbelief as he saw the lab-coated penguin at the wheel set the carriage down gently on the bank using his steam crane. Water drained from it as Halberd ran towards the penguin.
"Oi, you!" he yelled at the penguin, who dismounted the crane and stood calmly in front of the carriage.
"What do you think you were doing? That was a very delicate job!"
The penguin was wearing a white lab coat and black-rimmed spectacles. An expensive-looking watch rested on his wrist. He stood with a small smile on his face, calm and emotionless, and held out a card for Mr Halberd.
"Doctor Eugene Straithwhite, head of Experimental Laborotories Limited," the penguin announced in a serious, businesslike manner. "You may check my credentials if you wish, but I assure you will find that I am part of a legit, government-funded organisation."
"But you can't just-"
Straithwhite stopped him with one flipper. "Yes, I can." He produced a metal briefcase from nowhere and opened it slightly, pulling out a small sheet of paper and thrusting it towards David Halberd.
Doctor Eugene Straithwhite is hereby qualified in steam-powered crane activities. Signed, the Fire King.
"I think you'll find that this document is also legit," said Straithwhite with a satisfied smirk.
"Why are you here?" demanded Halberd, practically throwing the document back. Straithwhite filed it carefully back into his briefcase before continuing.
"It is my job to extract the brains of the four deceased in this railway carriage, under order of the Fire, Ice, Water and Air Kings."
Halberd's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "EXTRACT BRAINS?!?!" he screamed in disbelief. "That's just sick! I'm not letting you do this." He walked over to the door of the carriage and stood in front of it, blocking Straithwhite from entry.
Immediately, Straithwhite's voice lowered and became more menacing.
"Mr Halberd, I believe you have a wife? And children?"
"Y-yes," stammered Halberd. "Wait, how do you know my name?"
"I am part of the government, Mr Halberd. I also know that your wife's name is Claudia."
"B-b-but, w-w-what, who-"
Straithwhite's eyebrows raised slightly. "Say that you do not cooperate with me. I'm afraid, then I will be forced to take more drastic measures. How about I send your beloved family on a permanent holiday..."
Halberd's eyes widened in fear. "Don't hurt them!" he cried. "Please, I'll do anything you say, just don't hurt them." He stepped shakily away from the door.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Halberd," said Dr Straithwhite, now in his usual businesslike manner. He entered the door of the carriage holding his briefcase, and returned five minutes later, the briefcase seemingly heavier.
"The brains have been removed and replaced with artificial substitutes," he announced, to Halberd only. "You never met me, and this never happened, is that clear?"
Halberd nodded furiously, still wide-eyed with fear.
Straithwhite nodded curtly, then walked briskly off into the pine forest.
There was silence again as Halberd shook himself. He tried to pretend his experience with Straithwhite was all a dream, but it still stayed with him.
"Sir, are you alright?" asked a passing journalist.
"I-i think I'll be going home now," mumbled Halberd.
Straithwhite, after taking the train back to town, went east into the town's snowy wastelands. There was nothing but snow for miles, but Straithwhite seemed to know exactly where he was going. To an outsider, it would have looked like he was walking along an unseen road. Mid-step, he stopped and stared at the ground beneath him. With a quick look left and right, Staithwhite tapped his briefcase three times onto the snow, creating three soft thumps. There was silence for a while, but then there was a sound of grinding gears and a nearby snowbank shuddered. It shook violently, like it was a faulty washing machine, until the snow that rested on it was thrown off.
Hiding under the layer of snow was a smallish hut. An iron door blocked the entrance. Straithwhite walked up to the door and knocked lightly on it. A peephole in the door slid open to reveal a set of brown, searching eyes.
"Name, rank and intention," said the owner of the eyes.
Straithwhite answered without blinking. "Professor Eugene Straithwhite, Professor, Coloured Hat Project business."
"Step inside, Professor."
The door opened with squeaky hinges and Straithwhite embraced the warmth of the small hut.
"You certainly have made this place a home, Bob," remarked Straithwhite. The little hut was brightly lit, with a rich persian carpet and a high-backed armchair. A small fire roared away in the center of the scene.
"Well Professor, there's not really much to do, guarding the entrance all day. Figured I may as well get comfortable, the camouflage is so good nobody even notices this place," said Bob, straightening the tie of his guard's uniform. "I suspect you want to go down to the project?"
"You are correct," said Straithwhite simply.
Bob walked over to the fireplace and pulled a small lever on the side. The wall, hearth and all shifted to the side to reveal a metal business elevator that contrasted with the colourful, homely scene. Bob pressed a few buttons on the control pad, and the lift doors opened to reveal a dark, dingy lift.
"Thank you, Bob," Straithwhite muttered. He entered the lift and closed the doors, descending down into the depths of Experimental Laborotories Limited.
The lift doors opened again to blinding whiteness. Straithwhite walked directly into it and his eyes adjusted, showing the room as a large white-tiled, white-walled laborotory with a one-way mirror looking into a small room. Straithwhite walked over to the mirror-window and looked out onto the room.
A team of scientists seemed to be operating on something, but it could not be seen because they surrounded it. A large test-tube apparatus was set up in the corner, and dripped black goo into a beaker. Every so often a scientist would break away from his colleagues, collect the goo-filled beaker, place an empty one in its place and bring the full one back to his fellows.
Straithwhite was tapped lightly on the shoulder, and turned to see a bright-eyed young lab assistant standing next to him holding a clipboard. The youth offered his hand to Straithwhite, who shook it with a pained expression.
"Professor Straithwhite, it is an honour!" beamed the assistant, smiling and still shaking Straithwhite's hand. Straithwhite pulled it back and wiped it slowly on his trousers.
"Yes yes, we will have time for introductions later," muttered Straithwhite, turning back to the room. "How is Trilby coming along?"
"He is almost finished," said the youth, consulting his clipboard. "There seems to be some kind of primitive eukaryotic lifeform in the blood of the test subjects, and it duplicates very quickly! The others are not too sure about it, though. They have nicknamed it the 'X-Virus'."
"Please go on," said Straithwhite impatiently.
"Here's the weird part: the protozoa seem to be copying the test subject's genetic material and are creating a new body based on it. All we are doing is inserting the powers. Amazing...."
The Professor was eager to cut the conversation short. "Well, my boy, I have the brains here. Why don't you take them around to the other Coloured Hats so the process can be completed?"
"Anything to help, Prof!" The youth grabbed the case excitedly and ran from the room.
Chapter Three: Awake[edit]
Beep.
Silent. Dark. Alone. Traversing that empty void between nothing and everything.
Beep.
I don't want to go back. There's too much pain, too much suffering there to go back.
Beep. Beep.
If I do, what will be there for me? Nothing. I'm not going, just stop while you can.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I told you, I'm not goi-- wait, what was that?
Beep-Beep-Beep.
Forget? Why, I didn't even think of that. I won't be tortured any more by these thoughts...please, do it!
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!
Wait, hold on a minute. Why would you want to...you need me for something, don't you?
'"BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!
YOU CAN'T DO THIS, I'M NOT GOING TO HELP YOU! DON'T MAKE ME--
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
"The process is complete," called a voice. "He's coming to."
He felt cold, detached. Instinctively, he opened his eyes and was instantly blinded by something harsh and fluorescent. Automatically, he raised his hand to shield his- he had hands? Curiously, he stared at them. They were slender and pale, with four fingers and a thumb. He wiggled them experimentally. Cold air blew down on him from unseen vents. There was a small cough from somewhere in the vicinity.
"Are you feeling alright, Trilby?"
Trilby. That was familiar, yet alien. It was as if his mind was trying to concrete the idea and get rid of it at the same time. He accepted it. His name was Trilby.
"Yes," he answered. His voice was quiet yet silky, civilised and refined. He liked it. "I feel...strange."
"Don't worry," said the voice, coming into view. It was a small bird-like creature wearing a lab coat. Penguin, he remembered, the name surfacing instantly. This bird-like creature was wearing black-rimmed glasses and a small smile.
"It should wear off in about a day or two," finished the penguin. He straightened his glasses and the collar of his lab coat before continuing.
"My name is Doctor Straithwhite. I am taking charge of you and your three colleagues."
"Colleagues?" asked Trilby, slightly confused.
"Your teammates. You and they are jointly protectors of our continent, Antarctica. Please, do sit up."
Trilby slowly brought his upper body upright and saw he was in a small room, with fluorescent lights and white tiles. The place reeked of disinfectant and cleanliness. Turning his head to the right, he spotted a mirror and saw himself in entirety.
He was at least twice as tall as Doctor Straithwhite. He had a round, head and a thin, yet strong body. He had two feet with four toes and a big toe and long legs. A white garment was loose on his shoulders.
He moved on to his face. A small crop of parted jet-black hair framed blue eyes. He had no nose. His mouth was twisted in a satisfied smirk. His skin was a pasty white, and he could not deny he was incredibly attractive. He raised his hand and parted his hair as Straithwhite watched in half-hearted amusement.
"Are you quite finished, Mr Trilby?" asked Straithwhite suddenly.
Trilby lowered his hand quickly from his face. "Yes," he said.
"Clothes have been provided for you, please change behind that screen in the corner of the room."
Trilby did as instructed and began suiting up behind the screen. As he changed, Doctor Straithwhite talked to him.
He was part of a race of super-soldiers, sent from a distant land to protect the penguin homeland of Antarctica from threats, outside and in. He was sent with his colleagues, Mr Derby, Miss Fedora and Mis Beret. They were like family to him. Each of them possessed special powers, which, effective alone, were devastating when they were together.
Two
