AAOOOSC! The Movie!

Underneath the American cabins is the temporal EFP HQs, the GFP and Patrick are locked in their own cells.
"It's your fault! It's all your fault!" Jay yells in rage at Patrick. "You're a spy! You led us to our doom! Die! Die Die!" He rattles the black metal bars.
"Gawh-lee, Jay!" Philip snaps. "Can't you be quiet?!"
Patrick sighs. "I have non idea what's happening, man." He rubs his eyes. "I'm so tried, dude. But you're right--" Patrick turns to Jay. "--I am a spy, man."
"SEE?! I told you!" Jay points to Patrick.
"But I don't know who that dude was. I don't even know who you guys arrrrre..." Patrick yawns.
Tony holds out his hand through the bars. "Tony."
Patrick looks at Tony oddly. "Huh?"
"Tony Romo!"
"Your name's Tony Romo, man?"
"Yup, yup!"
"Nice to meet you, dude. I'm Patrick, Patrick Kane, man." He shakes hands with Tony.
"So you don't work for the EFP?" Jay asks Patrick.
"No, dude, I work for the GHP, man."
Andrew taps Patrick through the bars. "What's the GHP?"
"It means Go Hit People," Jay says matter-of-factly.
"No, it means Go Hipster, Peeps!" Victor corrects.
"It means Great Hippos Party," Joe adds.
"Gorillas Hate Ponies," Tony grumbles.
"Griffin Hates Playing," Jay says.
"Gawh-lee, guys!" Philip shouts over the guessing. "That's enough!"
"It means Good Hockey Players' Society," Patrick tells everyone.
Everyone goes silent for a moment.
"Where's the 'S' in GHP?" Victor asks.
"We don't say the 'S', man."
"It's what we do," Joe tells Victor.
"Oh yea..."
"So you're part of the Good Hockey Players' Society?" Philip asks with his brown eyes widen.
"Yup, dude," Patrick replies.
"Well, let me introduce myself." Philip clears his throat. "I am Philip Rivers, quarterback of the San Diego Chargers, number 17, and the Master of the Good Football Players' Society."
"We were looking for you, man! And I found you, dude!" Patrick exclaims happily.
"Who's 'we'?" Jay asks.
"The GHP, man."
"Great Hippy Philip!" Victor blurts out.
"More like Great Happy Philip," Joe corrects.
"Do you have a Master?" Philip asks Patrick.
"Uh-huh, dude." Patrick nods his head.
"May I speak with him?"
"Trust me, man, he really wants to meet with you, dude. But he's not here right now..."
"He's not here in Sochi?!" Philip makes a worried look.
"No, no, no, man, he is in Sochi, he's just not here...in the room right now." Patrick points to the dusty ground.
"Okay, I get it."
The door to the room creaks open and Peyton walks in.
"Hi, hi!" Tony waves at Peyton.
Peyton ignores Tony. "By tomorrow, you guys will be shipped back to your home country, which wouldn't be that hard to do since you guys are all from the US."
All the GFP, except for Philip, begin to complain.
"Gawh-lee, guys, can't you be quiet?" Philip shouts at them.
"At ease, at ease! Ohmaha!" Peyton snaps.
Everyone be quiets.
"Thank you." He looks to his right and left, looking at the good guys in the cells. "Oh, I don't recognize you." He looks at Patrick.
Patrick points to himself. "Me, man?"
"Yes, you." Peyton slowly walks up to him. "You're not part of the GFP, right?"
"That's right, dude."
"You're part of the GHP!" Peyton roars.
Patrick's blue eyes widen for a moment. "That's...that's right....man..."
"What are you doing these football players?"
"Uh, I got caught with them...?"
"That's right..." Peyton rubs his chin and looks up. "I do remember Drew telling me about bringing in an extra man. I have a question for you, then:" Peyton looks down at Patrick. "Where is El Choowe?"
Patrick makes a confused look. "El Choowe?" He chuckles at bit. "Who the heck is El Choowe, dude?"
"It's his pony--"
"Baby bronco!" Peyton corrects Jay harshly.
"Whatever."
"It's my baby bronco," Peyton says much more calmly. "It is white with orange hair and blue hooves."
"Oh...it is that pony that sneezes on the US team before every game, man?"
"Yes."
Patrick thinks for a moment. "Sorry, dude, I don't know, man."
Peyton raises an eyebrow. "Oh really, you don't know where it's at?" Patrick nods his head. "I know you do!" He speeds up to Patrick, going down to his level, and grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him inches away from the bars in a split second. "Where. Is. It?!"
Patrick leans his head back, trying to be as far from Peyton as possible. "Duuude, what makes you think that I know where that bronco thing is at?"
"You're friends with duck man, right?" Peyton growls.
"You mean Jonas, right, man?"
"Yes. So tell me where El Choowe is at. It was with him last time before it went missing. You can win..."
"But, but--"
"Oh, so you don't want to win?"
"Patrick, don't tell him!" Philip cries.
"You can get the gold medal..," Peyton tempts.
"Don't listen to Manning!" Jay yells.
"You don't want to upset your team, right?"
"No trade! No trade!" Tony makes motions with his hands by crossing and uncrossing them together quickly.
"Or even worse...your country!"
"Don't let him influence yooou!" Joe shouts.
"To be honest--" Peyton chuckles. "--I'm practically working with you."
"Shake it off! Just shake it off!" Victor says quickly.
Patrick gives Peyton a serious look, looking into his blue eyes. "I am not going to tell you where that El Choowe dude is at, man."
"Fine then--" Peyton throws Patrick to the back of the cell. "--you get to stay in here...and lose. I'll find it on my own." Peyton walks out of the room and closes the door with a loud thud.

Notes