Andrew was cold and wet and thoroughly unhappy. He was alive, though, and that alone was something that amazed him. He had woken up in ice-cold water with no land in sight. He had never been the strongest swimmer, and he really disliked being cold, on top of which he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here.

As he swam desperately in a single direction, he just assumed he was about to die, but fate had other plans in store. Instead, a group of penguins had spotted him and surrounded him, slowly leading him to an ice shelf where he could pull himself from the water. He collapsed, expecting the hypothermia to take him finally.

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Yet again, fate decided he was going to live as he woke up to find the penguins all cuddled around him. He was still cold but not freezingly so, and he was less wet than he had been. He was so enthralled at the idea that he might just live through whatever new hell he was in that he managed to even ignore the ever-present penguin smell that surrounded him.

That was until one of the penguins threw up a fish slurry in front of him and looked at it as though it expected him to partake. He once again hated his existence.