The scene opens up to a sunrise which bathes the sand-dusted road of Beale Street, south of Romani, and south-east of the Suez River, with a soft, orange glow. A light haze of sand blows across from a sand dune to the north, spattering the already-yellowing buildings with a fresh spray of parchment color. A loud humming noise fills the dawn air, and the door to the north-westerly most building on this eastern street is thrust open, revealing Frank Daniels in his hairy glory, thankfully wearing a pair of Y-fronts to cover his dignity.
Frank [Ecstatically]: I HAVE A WONDERFUL FEELING…EVERYTHINGS GOING MY WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A silence pierces the streets following Franks outburst. Phil, in the house across the street, opens the blinds of his bedroom and squints, looking out through the glass, a rough, bushy beard now growing across his jaw. Seeing Frank, he kneels up and opens the window, pointing at Frank.
Phil [Mockingly]: And I have an awful feeling you’re pretty damn gay!
Frank: Shut up, Phil! I just had sex!
Phil [Sneering]: ….You disgust me.
Phil shuts his blinds and Frank simply stands there, hands on his hips.
Frank [Grinning]: A glorious day in this mans army!
Sals Voice [Distant, echoing]: It’s not your army!
Frank: Sal? [Angrily] YES, IT IS!!!
Sals Voice [Distant, Echoing]: Not!
Mantis walks out behind Frank, wearing a flowing silk dressing gown in the striking color of dark jet. She places her hands over his eyes, grinning sweetly.
Mantis [Teasingly]: Guess whoooooooooooooooo?
Sals Voice [Distant, Echoing]: Jazzzz Hands!!
Frank [Impatiently]: SAL, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?!?
Mantis taps Franks shoulder and points over his shoulder into the sky.Frank looks north-east, and sees a bicycle flying in mid-air, kept afloat by several hundred fire extinguishers, a can of gas and a set of cardboard wings. He’s clutching a megaphone in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other. Seeing himself spotted, he quickly shuffles the bicycle around, peddling fast.
Sal [Panicking, Slamming his handlebars]: DAMMIT! WHY DIDN’T I FIT THE SALCYCLE WITH A PARACHUTE?!?!?!
Sal screams as the bicycle suddenly plummets downwards due to his feet tiring out from the manic peddling. He hits a sand-dune to the North East with soft, but audible *thud*, screaming as a crunching sound indicates he’s rolling down the dune, possibly with a bicycle covered in several fire extinguishers on top of him.
Mantis [Bemused]: ..Well, that’s the crazy quota for today.
Daves Voice: Well, speaking of crazy..
Frank and Mantis turn around: Dave is standing behind them, looking outside and clutching a steaming mug of black coffee.
Dave: ..Has anyone seen Robbie? His hammocks empty, and his German kriegsmarine uniform is missing from the floor.
Frank: ..Well, it’s obvious--
Dave [Scathingly]: THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION GODDAMMIT!!!
Mantis: But doesn’t a U-boat require a large amount of manpower to crew?
Frank: Come to think of it..don’t the streets look a bit empty?
Mantis: That [Thinking carefully]…is a wonderful point.
Dave [Gasping, Almost mock-hurt]: And he didn’t wake me??!!! I’m offended!
Frank: So what would several mercenaries be doing on a U-Boat in the Suez?
Dave [Bluntly]: That you have to actually ask that question is a testament to your stupidity. All I know is we’ll be getting a swift stock of provisions in a few hours!
Mantis: Are we really that crazy that we’d risk dragging Egypt into a conflict because a couple of nutjobs are playing with a U-Boat???
Mantis, Dave and Frank watch as the door across the street opens, and Phil sidles out, jingling a pair of keys. Jericho follows him out, pulling on his camelskin trenchcoat and slicking back his hair quickly. Both men quickly jog down the steps and climb onto the side of their M1 Abrams tank which lays on the street in front of their house. Jericho climbs up the side carefully and lifts the hatch, sliding in while Phil climbs up, slamming it shut and sitting on top of it.
Phil [Pointing forward]: Alright Jerry, let’s go bring us some supplies back!!
The tank roars violently into life and starts to slowly rumble down the street, the buildings foundations shaking as it does.
Mantis: Sweet jesus.
Dave [Cupping his hands over his mouth]: HEY! PHIL! TRY AND SECURE SOME FUCKING PRINGLES, WILL YA?!?!?!
Phil [Looking back at him]: YOU HAVE MY WORD, DAVE!!!
Phil gives a small salute as the tank rumbles out of sight, becoming nothing more than a distant cloud of sand and dust as it barrels forward mercilessly. Dave blinks rapidly.
Dave: Okay. That’s our day beginning..Whats on the cards?
Frank: Nothing but drinking. God knows all the jobs that CAN be taken, HAVE been taken. Everything from smacking around a group of Praying Mantis to escorting that weird old paedophile who hangs out the Embassy down in Cairo.
Dave: You mean Joey El-Kayef? The American Ambassador to Egypt?
Frank [Blinking, Embarassed]: …….Yeah, him.
Dave: You truly are a fucking retard…If you guys need me, I’m going to be walking randomly around town…[Bitterly]..for no apparent fucking reason!
Dave slides past Frank and looks into the sky, taking a deep breath in and jogging down the steps.
Dave [Desperately]: I HAVE NOTHING!!!!
Dave falls to his knees at the bottom of the steps, smacking his head off of the sandy ground.
Mantis: It’s almost cute the way they break so easily..
Wills Voice [Boisterous]: Of course it is, they are fragile compared to the mighty Will Studlin!!
Mantis and Frank turn around: Will is standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but speedos, aviator sunglasses and a beach towel under his arm.
Will: Now, lets have a parting of the asses, since nothings happening, there is a dangerous mission I need to attend to….Getting a tan!
Mantis: Raven not biting, eh?
Will: Oh, she is! Want to see--
Mantis: Do and I will turn your testicles into ornaments for the mantelpiece.
Will looks around the room, noticing the lack of a fireplace.
Will: We haven’t got a mantelpiece, we’ve got the coffee table, though.
Mantis stomps towards him, causing Will to scream and dive onto the couch, cowering with his hands over his head. Mantis snorts in a raucious laughter, sending a shiver down Franks spine.
Frank: ….Yeah. Look, ignore the asshole, what the hell are we going to do?
Mantis: Eh, want to go work on our tans outside?
Frank: Sure, why not? The others are still asleep..Maybe we can get..nude?
Bricks Voice [Panicking]: PLEASE DON’T!
That Hispanic Guys voice [Also Panicking]: ESE, PLEASE!
Mantis [Angrily]: Fuck off! [Tenderly, stroking Franks cheek] Let’s go, baby..
Frank goes to walk outside, but stops. A faint explosion crackles through the air, barely audible in the street. Frank leans his head out of the doorway, looking to the northeast: A grey wisp of smoke is already barely visible in the direction of the Suez.
Frank: I suppose I should be glad their keeping themselves busy instead of starting a war…..although knowing them, that’s how they are keeping busy..
==PORT SAID, THE SUEZ CANAL==
A huge plume of smoke erupts from the waters of the Suez, followed by violent screaming and the rushing sound of a boat making its way to the riverbed below. Phil and Jericho are sitting on their Abrams tank as they watch, eating bacon sandwiches and watching as another merchant boat, Australian in origin, snaps into two and starts to sink to the bottom of the river. Before it can fully disappear into the depths a cranes clawed hand swoops down, operated by Bill, and grasps the wreckage carefully, hauling it up quickly and placing it onto the shore. Brick and Jon rush over with crowbars from the foot of the Abrams tank, digging them into the four wooden crates which survived the devastating barrage from the U-Boat.
Jon [Excitedly]: BUMPER HAUL! BUMPER HAUL!
Brick: Hotdamn! This makes one..three…eight crates!
Jon: What? This makes eleven! Where the hell did you get eight from?
Brick: Hey, Science is not my strong point, alrighty?
Jon: …Yeah. I can tell.
Jon successfully pries off one of the crates faces, watching as a bundle of straw and brown jars with yellow labels tumble out.
Jon [Disgustedly]: Vegiemite??! WHAT THE FUCK?!??!?
Brick leans down, pulling open the jar and revealing a thick, tar-like substance with a strong, salty smell.
Brick [Pulling back in disgust]: DAMN! What is this shit?!
Jericho: Hey, Marmite!!
Phil: Marmite knock-off, Jerry..Not like our good, British stuff! [Putting a thumbs down gesture in front of him] DUMP IT, BILL! DUMP IT ALL!
Bill and Brick grasp the crate, pushing it across the concrete and over the edge of the Suez, watching as the glass jars break and a mini oil-scum starts to float across the once-flawless waters of the Suez Canal.
Jericho: Beautiful. One of the most important canals in the world concerning trade, and we’re filling it with Vegemite.
Phil: Even the water hates it….
Bill: I think that’s the last of them!
Phil reaches for a pair of binoculars beside him, raising them to his face: Barely visible through the several plumes of smoke at the canals mouth is a small Schooner, lazily bobbing across the Mediterranean Sea as it slowly makes it way for the Suez. Phil reaches across his lap to the other side, grasping a small walkie talkie and clicking a button.
Phil: Alright Robbie, there’s one last bastard coming through the rivermouth. I can see an American flag on it, you know what that means?
Robbies Voice [Crackling on the other end]: Dirty Capitalist Pigs?
Phil: ….Well, yeah, there is that, but it means they’ve got good food! We need good food! Try to make it look like an accident, too.
Robbie clicks off, leaving the receiver filled with static. Phil and Jericho listen as a violent hiss fills the air, followed by an orange explosion which scars the air. The screams of American sailors fill the air as they dive overboard, their precious tugboat swaying as water rushes into its insides. Bill quickly lowers the claw of the crane, grasping the tugboat and hauling it high into the air before swinging around, setting it onto the shore.
Phil: …Robbie, I said make it look like an accident.
Robbies Voice [Scathingly]: How the fuck was I supposed to do that?!?! Nudge him in a friendly manner until he sank?!?!?
Phil: Well, yes, that was what I was thinking!
Dave walks past the side of the tank, leaning against it and folding his arms.
Dave: Sup guys?
Phil looks down at Dave.
Phil: Hey Dave, what’s up?
Dave: Just hanging around. So, anything good hauled up?
Phil: Well, we intercepted a Somali rowing boat. Is that interesting? Turns out it was one lonely guy with an RPG. Did you know if a U-Boat surfaces beneath a rowing boat, it can shatter it and cause the pieces to skewer the rower?
Phil [Grinning]: TRULY AMAZING!
Bill and Brick rush over to the wreckage, pulling away shattered planks and broken plastic, reaching in to salvage and looking around. A few of the crates have been smashed into oblivion, the wooden carnage ensuring that their contents are now destroyed beyond recognition. Both men notice a few crates, though splintered and partly-burnt, are still relatively intact. They reach in, synchronising together to free the crates and pull them free. Bills bare forearm snags on a loose piece of wood, cutting it open.
Bill [In extreme pain]: GAH! FUCK!
Bill pulls back, clutching his forearm as blood flows freely from it.
Jericho [Mockingly]: Awww..has Billy-boy got a boo-boo?
The hatch flies open between Phil and Jericho, revealing the gruff form of Billy, his beard unkempt and his short hair askew, wearing nothing but a tight white t-shirt and a pair of grey boxers.
Billy: …You called?
Phil: Billy..what the fuck were you doing in our tank?!
Phil: Jericho? Did you not notice him?
Jericho: I did, but I didn’t really care.
Bill [Angrily, In pain]: HELLO! COMPLETE AND UTTER PAIN HERE!!
Billy: …Where are we? Suez?
Jericho: Yep. Just destroying boats and stealing cargo!
Bill [Desperately]: HELLO?!?!?
Phil [Losing patience]: Goddammit…Where the fucks our medic?!
Jericho: She’s back at Beale Street!
Phil: ..Oh yeah. Bill, just go back to your fucking jeep, I’ll sort it out you fucking pussy!
Bill [Angrily]: NO PROBLEM, CUNT!
Bill turns around, walking towards a large, beige Humvee parked at an angle a few yards to the side of the jeep, clutching his arm which is now coated with blood.
Bill [Angrily, Bitterly]: Fucking ass..
Jericho: Alright Brick, Billy, lets load this shit into the tank and head on home!
Billy yawns, climbing out of the hatch and sliding down, hitting the concrete with a soft thud and walking over to the pile of fourteen wooden crates, each stamped with various numbers in black ink. Brick walks beside him, both men squatting down and trying to lift one. Brick pulls back, shaking his head.
Brick: Heavier than mama after eatin’ a bucket of hot wings. We gotta put these in the jeeps, Phil dude.
Phil: Alright, load up both jeeps. If you need us, we’ll be heading back to Beale Street..we’ve had our fun.
Brick salutes and Jericho slides into the hatch, followed by Phil. It slams shut and the iron beast roars into life, reversing slightly and turning left, moving forward across the edge of the Suez. Once its comfortable with its position, the Abrams roars forward, eventually leaving the sight of the jeeps and crates. Bill watches from the back of his jeep as they vanish behind a large warehouse used for storage, grinning to himself and quickly binding the cloth he has on his arm in place with a strip of duct-tape before tearing off his long-sleeved beige shirt, revealing a black t-shirt with several hooks dug into it. He reaches into the boot, pulling out a long, maple fishing rod and a fishing hat, setting it over his salt-and-pepper colored hair.
Bill: Fuck that noise, I’m going fishing!
Billy: Eh, go on…
Bill nods ecstatically, rushing over to the edge of the Suez and sitting on the edge of the concrete. Before he can fling the rod, he hears a loud snort behind him from Billy. Bill turns around, watching as Will struts forward, setting down his blue beach towel near him before laying on it, sighing deeply.
Bill: Will..What are you doing?
Bill: C’mon man..At least go to the fucking Sinais shore of the Mediterranean and do it! We’re supposed to be guarding the place and the natives are getting upset because of your chest!
Will: Is it for religious reasons?
Bill: No, man, it’s because your hair has caused two kids to go missing. Holy shit man, there’s this thing called “Wax”. INVEST IN IT!
Will: So…you don’t want to upset the natives, right?
Bill [Nodding]: RIGHT!
Will: So what’s with the fishing rod?
Bill blinks rapidly.
Bill [Mulling quickly for excuses]: I’m…..undercover. As an elite fisherman sent from the CIA.
Will: So nothing to do with the fish in the Suez? Who are you spying on?
Bill: Your mother.
Will: She ain’t here. She hasn’t called me.
Bill [Bitterly]: Shut up and let me fish, for fucks sake.
Will: Just do it, not like we’re guarding anything opponent.
Bill: What about Liquid Ocelot, eh?
Will: What? He’s over there, on that yacht!
Will points over at a white, streamlined yacht, its sails flapping lazily in the breeze. Ocelot is laid on the deck, bare-chested and wearing nothing but horn-rimmed sunglasses and a pair of blue speedos. He looks up, waving at them.
Will [Waving back]: See? Harmless!
Bill: Then how do you explain his armed escort?
Bill points to the mouth of the Suez, where four Patrol Boats have gathered, each with two 50mm cannons erected on the bow. Will responds by standing and pointing in the water: The titanic grey form of Robbies U-boat clearly visible in the silken waters, resting following the capture of its prey.
Bill: …Oh, well that’s a relief.
Bill sits on the shore, grasping his fishing rod, and slowly flings forward, allowing the flied hook to sink into the water. Will sighs and rolls onto his back.
Will: I’m loving this vacation..
Bill: Funny, every newspaper I read says “War is coming”, “Ocelots private military company rolling into so-and-so”, “Ocelot kills more”, “Patriot pigs must die” and the like. Must be some vacation.
Will: Are you complaining that we’re not at the front?
Bill: Yes, it’s a living nightmare..
Bill slips a cigarette into his mouth, placing his fishing hat over his eyes and laying back, keeping his hands on the fishing rod tightly. Billy, Brick and Jon simply sit in their jeep, parked conveniently in a beam of sunlight, laying back in their seats and giving a content sigh.
=Beale Street, Sinai Peninsula=
Back at Beale Street, Laughing Octopus is sitting on the concrete of Franks flat, hugging her knees tightly as she stares ahead. Boredom had truly set in, and there was literally nothing to do. Dave walks past the steps, looking up at Octopus and nodding before walking off. Phil, Jericho, Steve and Ivan are laid on top of their Abrams tank, staring into the sky.
Phil [Tiredly]: ..How many peanuts do you think you could fill the universe?
A small silence fills the air.
Steve: Five hundred and twenty billion trillion trillion trillion billion?
Phil: …Yeah, sounds right.
Another short silence.
Jericho: How many cheese and pickle sandwiches could fill the universe?
Phil: …..Fifty five hundred billion trillion trillion trillion kazillion?
Ivan [Yawning]: I vas thinking someving like Seventy hundred trillion trillion trillion trillion..
All four of them let out a unified sigh. Jericho slowly lifts her head, looking at Octopus who is simply sitting there. Feeling Jerichos gaze upon her, she raises her head, looking at her with her pale blue eyes. Jericho lowers his head again.
Jericho [Bluntly]: I fear she might want to kill us.
Ivan: No shit.
Octopus: No killing, just want something to pass the time..
Ivan: Nah, played zat last night..
Phil: Think my idea of investing in a video games console was still a bad idea?
Jericho [Shiftily]: What about my idea of the flashing neon sign saying “Burgle us”? Considering no-one else knows about the…ding ding ching?
Phil: Good point.
Octopus: What are you fools on about?
Jericho: Absolutely nothing.
The sound of flopping flippers fills the air, marking the appearance of the walking, talking Emperor Penguin himself, Mister Dibbley. Dibbley slowly scuttles out of an alley to the right of Franks flat, sighing deeply and slopping his flippers down to his side.
Mr. Dibbley: Anyone else looking for activities to partake in to avoid dreaded boredom?
Ivan [Starting to get impatient]: Christ, I wish I never left Mother Vussia! At least their mercenaries are getting to kill people!
Jericho [Sarcastically]: Yeah, lets go to the place where the average life expectancy of a mercenary is one hour!
Ivan: ….Vell, not my countries fault we keep trying to detach Ocelot from ze Kremlin..
Jericho: Or Saint Petersburg, or Moscow, or--
Ivan: Yes, I get it! But here…fuck, it’s boring!!
Jericho: Yeah, this is where they send the rejects. Long live the queen and all that shit.
Mr. Dibbley: Indeed, we are the rejects, sadly. I mean, I guess the standard military had no room for an Emperor Penguin..but the jokes on them! Ocelots grip is spreading across the world!
Phil: Yeah, so we’ll be called into opportunity soon, and little miss Octopus down there will have her brain fiddled with and be at Ocelots beck and whim.
Octopus simply blinks.
Phil: Psst. This is where you say what a terrible thing that’d be.
Octopus [Shrugging]: …Eh.
Steve: Poor Bob!
Ivan: Just vat I vas thinking!
Mr. Dibbley: You know, I bet those Mexican Mechanics are having a lot of fun! Imagine it, all the grinding, hammering and bolting they must be doing…lucky buggers..I’d kill to keep busy!
Jericho: Wouldn’t we all….
Phil: I told you we should buy a Blu-Ray player, but noooooooooo!
Jericho [Swiftly]: Cause there’s nothing on telly, plus they still haven’t released classics on Blu-Ray yet, dammit! Besides, we can’t just vegetate when there’s more important things to do!
Phil: With all the..ching ching ding I’ve got, can we at least buy a fucking football?
Steve [Excitedly]: YEAH YEAH!
Jericho: Tomorrow, cause I ain’t travelling to fuckin’ Cairo today!
The door opens behind Octopus, and the lanky, pale form of Bob slowly walks out, rubbing his baggy eyes and yawning.
Bob [Stretching]: Hey guys…what’s up?
Mr. Dibbley: Bored to tears, old bean. There’s nothing to kill.
Phil: We could try and kill Frank? That’s always good for a laugh.
Bob: That’s not nice.
Phil: ..But it’d be funny!
Bob: I guess..Whatever guys, the least we could do is keep busy--
Ivan: Who is busy?!?!?
Bob stops talking for a moment before snapping his fingers.
Bob: I bet those Hispanic Mechanics are busy! We should see what their doing!
=The Chop Shop=
Inside the Chop Shop, a garage situated on the neighbouring street to Beale Street: Walkers Street, the Hispanic mechanics are laid, their heads together and their bodies forming a circle as they stare up at the lights. Even the boiler-suits have gone, only That Hispanic Guy, dressed in a white suit and sapphire tie, is dressed normally. Another mechanic, a tall, African-American male with a shaved head and a straggly goatee adorning his chin, walks forward, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He yawns, falling to his knees and splaying backwards, looking up at the lights.
Man: Fucking bored..
Johan: So are we, Mustafa.
Mustafa: ….When you guys came back, I was hoping for more excitement and guns..
That Random Guy: In our defence..we were expecting it too.
That Hispanic Guy: …So bored..
Stoofer: We could dress up like Vaqueros, go to Port Said and rob a factory?
That Random Guy: We did that last week. They weren’t manufacturing anything but car engines, and we’ve got a fuckload of car engines already!
Stoofer: We need to do something..
That Hispanic Guy raises his legs in the air before letting them fall to the floor.
That Hispanic Guy: ..No.
Johan [Desperately]: WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!
That Random Guy sits up, cracking his back and cricking his neck, getting to his feet.
That Random Guy: Checkers?
Johan [Sighing]: …I’ll be black.
Mustafa: That’s my job, you’re Hispanic.
A small laugh goes through the garage.
That Hispanic Guy [Tiredly]: Ahhhhhh..I want to kill something.
That Other Random Guy: Want to see if the bars are open?
Johan: And risk getting shot?
That Other Random Guy: Want to play Monopoly?
Johan: …Dibs on the race car.
That Hispanic Guy: MERDE! You’re always the car!! I hate being the iron!
Bobby: I am not being the fucking shoe.
That Hispanic Guy: Well, I am not being the IRON!
Bobby sits up too, cricking his neck and thick knuckles.
Bobby: Well, hopefully the bar will open soon..Hopefully.
==The Lamb and Flag==
Like everything else in Beale Street and Walkers Street, the Lamb and Flag was a symbol of desolation. Dick Head, the barkeep, was busy standing at the bar, wiping the same glass tankard over and over with a white cloth, not caring that his own black apron was covered in grime. To the right of the bar itself, the wooden door was ajar, showing Obese Maurice standing before an oven, lazily cleaning a skillet with a piece of iron wool, yawning to himself. Even Maurice was starting to get bored, as evidenced by his usual swinging stomach starting to recede. Moe, the four foot-seven mercenary, totters out of the kitchen door, taking off his chefs hat and throwing it up onto the bar, climbing up onto a stool and sitting there, slamming his head off the bar and laying it there. The only other three inhabitants were the girls from ReLoaded.
Wolf, her skin still as dark tan as before, but now with heavy bags under them, Tavi, the sugar-glider anthropomorphic mercenary whose tail had drooped to near lifelessness, and Courtney, the unusually-bubbly mercenary who was now in the same devoid slump as the others, are busy sitting around a table, looking bored and tired. With no new missions, and no passing military forces, ReLoaded had taken to closing early the past few weeks, and its taken its toll on the women, who are now as bored as sin and are busy taking constant refuge inside the Lamb and Flag. Wolf raises her head from her arms, looking up and watching as Dave pokes his head against the window, looking in before walking away.
Wolf [Dejected]: Even Daves lost….Fuck me, I’m bored…
Courtney: What’s everyone else doing? I mean, it’s empty in here!
Dick: Their waiting for the bar to open. I’d start opening earlier, but their tears always excite me.
Tavi: Charming……So, what can we do?
Courtney: Find a man, abduct him and make him bend to our will and whim?
Wolf sighs darkly.
Wolf [Darkly]: I don’t need a man…not anymore..
Tavi: You do, I can see that look in your eyes..
Wolf [Impatiently]: I don’t need a man!
Tavi: You do, why don’t you go down to the Academy and flutter your eyebrows?
Wolf [Getting more impatient]: ..I’d prefer to be alone.
Courtney: Let her be alone, nothing wrong with being an independent woman!
Tavi: Look, this day was always coming! I mean, it’s not our fault Phil is blind and retarded to our charms! Besides, there’s plenty more fish out there..I heard Ivans single!
Tavi [Licking her lips]: Bald, tight buns, pecs as hard as a diamond..
Tavi shivers, grinning brightly.
Tavi [Teasingly]: I might just stalk him later..
Wolf [Grimly]: Look, I’m done with men, alright? God knows I used to be a Crying Wolf…Might just not wait for Ocelot and go and kill some more..Or un-suppress these memories..
The door to the Lamb and Flag, and three men enter. These men are obviously not mercenaries, judging by their broad shoulders, chiselled jaws, toned arms, their proud stature and the maroon berets adorning their heads. Their rough bodies are clad in desert camouflage and black combat vests, and their stature is tall, so tall it nearly fills the room. Two of the men walk towards a nearby table, sitting down at it and engaging in a deep, unintelligible conversation. The leader of this squad approaches the bar, looking at Dick. Dick slowly looks up at him.
Dick [Surprised, Scared]: …..Oh. Fuck. Me.
Wolfs eyes slowly light up as she scans the leader.
Wolf: …That’s what armed forces look like? Damn, I missed the memo!
Tavi [Grinning]: No way are they mercenaries!
Soldier One: Ya, can ve get some vodka here? Ve heard yours was a bar which ve could visit for alcohol…Damn Middle Eastern laws.
Dick: ….Sure, just don’t kill me!
Courtney: Hey, I thought you said you weren’t ope--!!
Tavi clamps a hand over Courtneys mouth, muffling out her words.
Tavi [Nervously]: Stop kidding, Courtney!
Tavi and Wolf laugh nervously. The other two Soldiers simply sit there, removing their AN-94 rifles from around their bodies and setting them on the linoleum at their feet, sitting back. Dick sets three small glasses, half-full with clear liquid, on the bar in front of them. The soldier instinctively sets down a handful of dollars.
Soldier One: American currency, I trust zats what you take?
Dick: We take anything as long as its got exchange value. So, yeah….Who the hell are you guys?
Soldier One: Ve’re Spetsnaz, crossing through the area on the way up to Cairo..Damn Ocelots been pushing forward again. God knows he’s always got Moscow…
The soldier gives a small sigh.
Spetsnaz Squad Leader: You’ll probably get a few more customers coming in. I know there’s a Polish vegiment passing through the Sinai..
Dick: Let them.
The leader shrugs, taking the glasses and turning around, walking over to his squads table and setting the glasses down.
Courtney: ..So what are these regiments doing passing through the Sinai?
Wolf: Does anyone care? If they all look like this, I might have to start wearing low-cut tops!
Tavi: Maybe they’re actually getting..involved in the fighting?
Wolf: That means that those..those are real men.
The leader glances over at their table quickly before turning back to his squadmates. A small smile creeps across Wolfs plump lips.
Wolf [Seductively]: The game..is on.
Dave walks past the window again, stopping and looking inside before walking off.
Dick [Angrily]: What the fuck is he doing?!
Maurices Voice: OW! DAVE! THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!
Daves Voice: Walking! It stretches the soul!
Maurice leans his head around the doorway, looking at Dick.
Maurice: Ow, bossman, open the fooking bar, will yeh?
Dick: What? Cause Daves being the random wanderer? Fuck no!
Spetsnaz One: Ya, Open the bar!!!
Spetsnaz Two [Pumping his right arm to the sky]: RIGHT! YES! OPEN BAR!
Dick sighs, leaning down and slamming his head off the bar.
Dick: One of these days? The rules of us opening at six really will come true..Alright then, ring the bell Maurice.
Spetsnaz Squad Leader [Smirking]: Let’s see your soldiers, zen!
Dick: …Why? You’ll laugh!
Spetsnaz Two: Ah, ve’ve seen it all! Don’t worry!
Maurice walks out from behind the door, holding a large cowbell.
Spetsnaz Three [Quietly]: …Okay. Interesting.
Dick: Told you..ring that shit, Maur!
Maurice opens one of the windows to the right of the door, leaning out and ringing the bell. The shrill noise echoes throughout the streets.
Dick: Where are they?
The sound of trampling feet starts to become audible in the distance.
=4:30pm – Lamb and Flag=
The desolation has been ruined: The bar is now filled to the brim with mercenaries and The Hispanic Mechanics. The Spetsnaz occasionally stop their drinking, glancing around at their familiars and ensuring none of them could pose a threat. The Hispanic Mechanics on the table to their left watch them suspiciously.
Bobby: …Whats with those guys?
Johan [Grabbing an olive from a jar in the middle of the table and popping it into his mouth]: …Spetsnaz. Interesting.
That Hispanic Guy: Fuck ‘em.
One of the soldiers glances at them.
Spetsnaz Soldier One: Hello!
Spetsnaz Soldier One: So..you’re..?
That Hispanic Guy [Bluntly]: Mechanics.
The soldier nods, turning back to his friends. Stoofer slaps Johans arm.
Stoofer [Hissing]: Put the pipe down, ese!
Johan sighs, slipping a small lead pipe back into his pocket. The double-doors part and Phil slides into the bar, wearing a golden Hawaiian shirt, looking around.
Phil: Well, time to get the party started..
Dick leans on the bar, polishing a glass as Phil taps the bar. Dick looks up at him.
Phil: Yo, Dick, usual.
Dick sighs and slams the glass down, fumbling beneath the counter.
Dick [Scathingly]: One pint of piss coming up.
Phil [Mocking laughter]: OH HOW FUCKING FUNNY!! You really should be on Family Guy, Dick!
Dick: If I was funny, I’d be the opposite.
Tom Morello, lead guitarist of Rage Against The Machine and The Nightwatchman, runs in.
Morello [Cackling]: BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!
The bar turns silent and turns towards Tom Morello.
Morello: Yeah. BURN.
Morello turns around and runs out.
Phil: Make it a glass of Magners Cider, you ass.
Dick: Paintstripper coming up
Phil turns his head, looking back at the Spetsnaz.
Phil: Hey, Dicky, whats with the red beret-wearing guys?
Phil: Hahahaha! No, seriously.
Dick: Seriously Phil. Spetsnaz.
Phil turns around, looking over at their table. They nod quietly at him.
Phil: Do you guys still do backflipping hatchet attacks?
The Spetsnaz soldiers nod once more.
Phil: Posh twats!
Phil squeezes past the Spetsnaz table and the Hispanic mechanics table, sitting down at a table behind them where Jericho, Steve, Billy, Will and Raven are sat.
Phil: Sup? Whats with the posh twats?
Will: Phil, you rude man!
Phil: Talking about the Spatsnaz
Jericho: Spetsnaz. Well, its no secret Ocelots ramping up the attacks around Suez and Port Said, so the superpowers will have to stop him doing so..Why they haven’t asked us, I’ll never know..
Raven: Well, you guys are the rejects, the last line of defence..I mean, sometimes they send you in first to weaken them and to get killed, so the special forces can get stuck in without risking death..
Will: Lovely, isn’t she?
Billy [Sarcastically]: ….Yeahhh..
Will [Mockingly]: Shut up, Scottish peasant!
Phil drains his Magners and nods, slamming the glass down.
Phil: I shall be having several more before the night is done.
Jericho: Hey, dude, you want to go to the Dog and Handgun? Score some vagina?
Phil: Wow, these street drugs are getting awkward names. “Excuse me, I want to sniff some vagina”?
Jericho: Shut up. You know what I mean.
Phil: If I did, I wouldn’t have belittled you! Now sit still and let me taunt you more!
Raven: You guys are such fucking pigs! A womans body is not just made for sexual desires!
Jericho: ……And you do realise who your boyfriend is??
Raven: And? He obeys me, he doesn’t glance at the bodies of other women, does he?
Will [Grinning]: Thanks, babycakes.
Raven: Besides…you never see other women ogle men!
Over at Wolfs table, Wolf and Tavi are busy gazing at the Spetsnaz table, their eyes glazed over. The Spetsnaz haven’t noticed.
Wolf [Almost drooling]: …Wow. They look..hot..
Courtney [Rolling her eyes]: Jesus, eyes in the sockets, please..
Tavi: No. Can’t. Sweating.
Wolf: Should I go over? Should I?
Dave: Just fucking do it!
Wolf looks over at the table beside them: Dave, Bob, Octopus, Sal and Billy are watching them uneasily.
Sal [Right eye twitching]: Holy fuck, woman, just ignore your allegiance so you can shag a Spetsnaz, eh??
Wolf: Sssshhhh! He might hear us!
Sal: Good grief..Like a couple of schoolgirls. What do they have that we don’t?
Courtney: Hardcore military training which allows them to feel virtually no pain?
Courtney: Expert weaponry handed down from the high echelons of Russian military, capable of mincing the most stubborn enemy?
Courtney [Rubbing her temple]: For fucks sake..
Tavi: Should I? Or maybe they don’t like a glider? Aww..so sad..
Bob: …You never know unless you try..
Bob nods at them in a serious manner. Tavi simply twiddles her thumbs, murring nervously. The Spetsnaz look up again, giving the table a quick look before turning around, talking to eachother in hushed tones.
Wolf [Licking her lips]: Mmm..come here baby, you can tame my wolf anyday..
Sal: I might actually..move table..
Billy: I am going…[Lighting up] to get another drink!
Billy stands up, walking over to the bar and slamming his glass down.
Billy: Yo, Dick, fill ‘er up.
Dick grabs the glass, sliding it under a tap of Pabst and pouring some in, setting the glass on the bar. Billy hands Dick a few dollars, watching as the beer starts shaking.
Billy: ..What the fuck?
Dick [Tensely]: …Uh oh. It’s Lynch. He’s back from the Academy.
Billy: Oh fuck, the Academy?
The Spetsnaz slowly raise their heads.
Spetsnaz Squad Leader: What is going on?
The sounds of stomping get louder and the double-doors to the Lamb and Flag fly open. The tall, intimidating form of Marcus Lynch stands before them: His white hair slicked back from sweat on his scalp, and his bronze skin showing a new form of a tan from travelling through the Sinai. Being the newly-placed Captain of this mercenary Company, his vest and shorts have been replaced by a khaki blazer and pants, accompanied by black boots. A lone medal, made with white ribbon with a blue stripe in the middle and the medallion in the shape of a snowflake, is pinned to the breast of his left pocket. He narrows his beady eyes, looking around the bar.
Lynch: …No medal-wearing?
A silence descends across the bar. Only Jericho is wearing his, pinned to the right breast of his camelskin trenchcoat.
Lynch [Scathingly]: Well, you earned them. Let them collect dust, you fucking parasites. You’re heroes, you fucking idiots!
Lynch stops talking, his eyes floating over to the three Spetsnaz soldiers sitting around their table.
Lynch: Wow, Spetsnaz. At last, a fucking equal.
Spetsnaz Squad Leader: Who are you?
Lynch: The name is Marcus Lynch. Captain. Former Navy SEAL and Green Beret.
Spetsnaz Squad Leader: Interesting. Vell, nice to meet you.
Lynch: Likewise. [Commandingly] Now, mercenaries, I command you all to shut the fuck up and put your eyes and your ears ON ME! RIGHT NOW!
On cue, the mercenaries heads snap around, facing Lynch intently. The Spetsnaz simply watch, almost bemused by the sudden shift in attitude.
Lynch: Alright. I’ve been travelling through the Sinai, and to the Academy. Now, I know that all of you have been completely and utterly bored..Well, I have some good news. Great news. I was talking to a squad leader within the Taliban who had visited. Well, Taliban..I’d rather say Mujahidin. Freedom fighters. Also, a guy representing the Irish Republicans…and even a few Chechens were there! Calm down, Spetsnaz guys..Anyway--
Billy: Seriously? Taliban?
Bob: Irish Republican Army? Really? Those cut-throats?
Dave: Yeah, we do have a few Brits in here…making friends with the Irish?
A vein pulses in Lynchs temple.
Lynch [Holding his anger]: You mean none of you have done your research?
The mercenaries shake their heads uneasily.
Lynch [Breathing out, sighing]: Look, the Irish Republican Army are on our side, alright? So are the Chechen Seperatists.. [Bitterly] well, until someone killed two of them.
Phil grins, slapping his thighs.
Phil [Inanely]: That was me.
Lynch: So are the Taliban. Got it? Not one of those psychotic groups like that Ocelot is rubbing his balls in their faces. Irelands pissed that Raven Swords humping them like Britain, Chechnyas pissed about having to deal with Ocelots own Otsetoloya Khavatka using Russia as a base to ship in his own troops by the thousands on them, and the Middle East? Well, you know about the Taliban, right?
Dave: Yeah, we’ve had a few meals and shit with them. The odd meet. Never exchanged weapons though, mainly because we’ve got the better weapons and they’ve got…camels.
Bob [Speaking up]: Hey, those camels come in handy when the petrol ration is running low!
Lynch: And the Irish?
Phil [Grimly]: Haven’t dealt with them. Never.
Lynch: Well, I have. Nasty fuckers. Very nasty fuckers. Driven, but nasty. Would cut your throat if you ever turned your back on them, but they have weapons we need. So, I knew that a few of you needed jobs to keep busy. For you Hispanic Mechanics, the Irish need someone to rig up carbombs. It’s easy, they’ll leave five or six jeeps around the south Walkers Street, you take them, rig them, drive them back into the same spot, they’ll pick them up the next week. Steady source of income, is that alright?
Johan [Ecstatically]: Si!
Stoofer: Rigging carbombs..Well, you’ve got to make a living somehow, as long..as long as it’s killing the right people.
Lynch: Don’t worry, those bombs are going directly to Ocelots own offices and barracks himself.
That Hispanic Guy: Then we duly..accept!
Lynch: Good men! Now, as for the rest of you, I organized three different weapons trades for the comings months. The Irish will be dropping off a supply of AR-15s, Claymores and LPO-Fifty Flamethrowers, in exchange for a cache of M-79s and Javelins. Thank fuck some of us have ties to Vietnam, eh? Hard to get ahold of M-79s nowadays..
Phil: Well, Ivan swears by his.
Ivan grins, waving at Lynch.
Lynch [Perturbed]: …Yeah. The Taliban will give us some AKs and PMN mines, useful for when those bastards roll in on trucks, in exchange for M60s. Again, Vietnam ties..Very good! [Smiling] Finally, the Chechens will be supplying us with Makarovs, Dragunovs and some lovely AK-74s…in exchange for AR-15s, LPO-Fifty Flamethrowers and Claymores! Decent trade, don’t you think?
The mercenaries murmur in agreement.
Lynch: But that’s not all that’s happening. From what I heard, some documentary filmmaker wants to visit us and shoot some footage around this little corner of heaven, something about the government wasting money on mercenaries their not bothering to use.
Lynch waves him arms in mock-joy.
Lynch [Bitterly]: Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Anyway, this also means we’re getting two special visitors soon, President Sears is sending up Ambassador Rosenburg, while…….she..will be vistiting.
Sal: She? Who?
Lynch [Bluntly]: HER.
The mercenaries remain silent.
Lynch [Bitterly]: Mother Mercenary.
A violent ripple of terror shivers through the spine of every mercenary within the bar. Dick simply blinks, while the females and Spetsnaz look around, watching as the male mercenaries suddenly have the color drained from their skin.
Jericho [Quietly, Terrified]: …Mother.
Billy [Murmuring]: I’ve never felt so much fear before..but her…HER!
Lynch: Do you girlies seriously think that you’re the only women in this conflict?
Lynch [Patronisingly]: WROOOOOOOOOOONG!! Mother Mercenary is perhaps the most psychotic, cold-hearted female you will ever see. EVER.
Vince: She doesn’t even leave her office in the Academy unless it’s a special occasion. But there have been a few times she’s left…Remember back in 2011, the massacre at Palestine with all those anti-war demonstrators?
Vince: Not only did she send the units in and tell them to open fire, she took part in it! I mean, the protestors did get their hands on a cache of AKs, but she just opened fire and BANG! Wiped them all out! Fuck me, that was some paperwork, wasn’t it lads? In fact, weren’t you there, Lynch?
Lynch: It was me, Sal, Frank, Dean, Karab, Phil and Steve. Of course, they didn’t open fire…Isn’t that right?
Phil: Look, how many times do I have to tell you: Looting followed by shooting. It’s not my fault some of those guys parked their peace-sign covered trailers near the protest, and carried money and decent food with them! We were living off fucking gruel, Lynch! GRUEL!
Sal [Remembering, shivering]: Jesus, It wasn’t even gruel..Oats and water, that’s it. “Toughens you up” my ass.
Frank: Toughened my ass up. I shat for weeks.
Lynch: Look…She’s visiting, alright? You know what that means?
Lynch [Pointing across the room]: Suits on, mouths cleansed from curse words, this pub serves tea…Remember to wear those fucking medals. You will treat eachother with courtesy and respect, but you will also remember that if any of you are given a skills test to fluff that shit, we don’t want any of you being shipped up to Cairo…or even shipped to Lebanon, South Africa or somewhere where Ocelots dug his nutsack in.
Will [Wincing]: Dude, stop mentioning that old mans nutsack!
Lynch: Alright, so that’s it. I’ll know when she’s coming at a later date. Before her, the documentary guy arrives.
Sal [Excitedly]: Michael Moore?!
Phil [Excitedly]: Louis Theroux??!
Lynch: NO! The guys name is Rex Houghton. REX Houghton. He’ll be arriving in two weeks time, so I want you all to be on your fucking best behaviour, alright? Capiche? If he asks you anything that could make you slander the government..Slander the government, but don’t slander your team-mates, alright?!
Mercenaries [In Unison]: RIGHT!
Lynch; Now that that is all said and done..
Lynch tears off his blazer, revealing a red Hawaiian shirt, and throws it over the bar.
Lynch: Dick, hit me with a bottle of Bud. Make it cold.
Dick leans under the bar, pulling out a frosted bottle of Budweiser and handing it to him.
Lynch: Put it on my rent.
Dick: Will do.
Sal: He gets a tab?
Dick [Angrily]: HE PAYS IT!
Lynch turns to Sal, pointing at him and laughing cruelly before walking forward, sitting down at Phils table between Will and Jericho.
Lynch: So, assholes, hows the fort been holding?
Jericho: Got some supplies from the Suez. Already shipped around, digged into..Should keep us afloat for…five days?
Lynch [Not listening]: Yeah, great to hear.
Ivan: So..Mother Mercenary..
Raven: Is she really that bad?
Jericho: “The Demon of the East.”. That’s what I’ve heard plenty of mercenaries call her. When you’ve got entire battalions at your command..Battalions of mercenaries, no less? You send that shit out and make your name known.
Raven: I’d have heard of anyo--
Phil: Phantom Company. First ones to make their names known. Deployed to Dubai, practically tore the place apart searching for Ocelot. Hotels destroyed, buildings turned into dust. Seventh Polish Squadron. Fighter pilots, known as the “Sky Masters”. Carpet bombed Bolivia upon hearing Ocelot set up forces there. Over five thousand dead. Ghost Company--
Raven: I get it.
Lynch: No, you’ll love Ghost Company. Those cunts massacred ten villages in Lebanon. I hate those bastards…Gutless rodents.
Phil: She’s got plenty more, and each one of them gets nastier..except us, Company Ten and the Egyptian Rats..known as Company Five.
Lynch: Jesus, there isn’t a more incompetent team than Company Ten. Remember the collateral damage they used to pull out? Fuck, they almost destroyed Moscow through idiocy alone!
Frank: HEY! I used to be a part of Company Ten!
Frank walks into the bar, accompanied by Mantis.
Lynch: Yeah, well, they moved you here because you were better, remember?
Frank: ..Oh yeah!
Frank stands there absent-mindedly, his hand on the rear of Screaming Mantis.
Mantis smirks, grasping his hand and squeezing it.
Mantis: Wait until we get home, Frank.
Dave: Please do!
Lynch slams his bottle down, belching loudly and looking around the bar.
Lynch: Right, I fancy checking out the poon, whose with me?
Phil: Sure, need something to fire at, if you know what I mean..
Lynch: ..I don’t. Was that supposed to be a sexual joke?
Phil: I try.
Lynch: And fail. But sure, tag along, rookie.
Phil stands up, cracking his knuckles. Jericho drains the dregs of his glass, standing up and patting Phils shoulder.
Jericho: I’m rocking with it.
Ivan: Yes..me too..me too..
Lynch: Alright assholes, on me.
Bill: Kinky bitch!
Lynch: SHUT UP, HILLBILLY!!
=Dog and Handgun=
The strip club situated just two houses down from the Lamb and Flag is bustling with the few mercenaries who decided to forego the drinking and mindless chatter for something a little more risqué. Lynch, Phil, Jericho and Ivan file in through the double doors and into the darkness which is lit only by circles of pink, blue and yellow light which dart eratically across the walls. A long, varnished catwalk with a strippers pole near a velvet curtain at the back extends from the western wall to halfway across the room, where it ends just a few feet away from the bar. Lynch sits on a deep, blue-cloth chair while Phil walks over to the bar.
Phil: Yo..Brick? Jon?
Vince pops up from behind the bar, his beard trimmed, his hair slicked back and a sky-blue Hawaiian shirt on his back. A small grin peers across his tired face.
Phil: ….Why is it everywhere we go, mercenaries are wearing Hawaiian shirts?
Lynch: Hawaiian shirts are the sign of a man relaxing and having fun. It takes a real stupid asshole to even think of denying a man with a Hawaiian shirt his fun and games.
Brick stops hammering the sign and starts desperately pulling at the nail. Lynch drains the remains of his Guinness and slams the pint glass down, leaving nothing but foam and brown dregs.
Lynch: Not even buzzed yet.
Phil: Can we get some booze? Four pints of anything, as long as its fizzy and makes us buzz like bees on opium.
Vince: …Well, I have opium!
Ivan [Slurring]: FIYUHWATAH!!
Vince: ..Yeah, he’s had enough.
Phil slips his hand into his right pocket, pulling out a wad of dollar notes and slipping them across the bar. Vince snatches up the wad and flicks his fingers through it, eyeing Phil suspiciously.
Vince: You aren’t asking me to put it on your tab. In fact..you’ve just PAID OFF your tab..
A door flies open behind several false shelves of the bar, opening up directly behind Vince. Brick runs over, staring at the wad.
Brick: HOTDAMN! We’re eating steak tonight! No more reindeer meat!
Jericho [Walking past Phil, muttering quietly]: Nice job, dumbass..
Phil shrugs and turns around, sitting beside Lynch and placing his hands on his knees, whistling quietly. Lynch sighs, putting two fingers into his mouth and giving a shrill whistle. Jon runs out onto the stage and looks at them.
Lynch [Slamming his hand on the catwalk]: BOOBS. NOW.
Phil: Can we have the booze, too?
Ivan [Slurring]: FIYUHWATAH!!
Jon: Jesus, none for you Ivan! You just drank candle wax!
Ivan sets down a glass, burping out a red ball and a small flicker of flame.
Ivan [Slurring]: Vell..tastes…FIYUHWATAH!!
Vince strolls over, carrying several glasses and setting them on the edge of the bar.
Vince: Alright guys, here we go…pints and one special shot each.
Phil eyes his neon-green-liquid-filled shotglass uneasily.
Phil [Suspiciously]: The fuck is this?
Lynch: Looks like pus.
Brick: That there’s my special moonshine blend! It’ll put the hairs on yer chest and up your shaft! DRINK UP! MAKES YER BALLS SPIN LIKE WHIRLING DERVISHES!
Sal: I’m not sure I want to now.
Phil shrugs and downs his shot, his left eye twitching as a crotch-length beard shoots out of the lower half of his face.
Phil [Grinning]: AWWW SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!
Lynch: GIMME SOME OF THAT!
Lynch downs his shot..Nothing happens.
Lynch: ..What the fuck?
Lynch looks down at his forearms, which are now criss-crossed with bulging veins.
Lynch [Smirking]: Fucking hell!
The doors open once more and Bill strolls in, hands in his pockets.
Bill: Sup? The tits out yet?
Jon: We’re getting there!
Bill rushes over, sitting next to Jericho who hasn’t touched his shot, instead eyeing it with suspicion.
Jon: Alright, we managed to find a stripper that you guys haven’t ridiculed or belittled. Now..hang on to your hats, because this one is exotic as fu--[Angrily]—IVAN! GET AWAY FROM THE POLE!
Ivan has his hands wrapped around the pole, waving his head from side to side in time to the Techno.
Ivan [Boisterously]: VOOT!! I AM SEXXXYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sal: Wow….dudes got skills. HIRE HIM!!
Jon grabs a broom and shoos Ivan down into his seat. Ivan gives a loud groan and motions a slap at Jon, missing and collapsing off the stage and into his seat.
Ivan [Hiccuping]: Vell hello baby…you’re zoft..
Jon: Well, as I was saying..this one is a hot girl you all know, and I know some of you fantasise about being in bed with!
Phil [Excitedly]: PAMELA ANDERSON?!
Lynch [Excitedly]: HALLE BERRY?!
Bill [Excitedly]: CARMEN ELECTRA?!?
Jon [Sarcastically]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! No. Please welcome…Allura!
Lynch [Mockingly]: BOOOOOOO!!!
Jon jumps off the stage, clapping his hands. The techno music is replaced with a shrill, gaudy Egyptian tune, and a stripper, clothed in a transparent golden cloth, walks out, her eyes painted dark with eyeshadow, her svelte, tanned form snaking up the pole with expert precision, her full hips swaying in time to the music, her waist-length black hair flowing in the neon lights.
Lynch: …Sweet mama!
Phil takes a drink from his pint, watching Alluras hips sway.
Phil: Well, That’s some good shit.
Bill: Urge to spend money..rising.
Bill stands up robotically, handing Allura a handful of dollar bills. Allura takes them, slipping them into the side of her thong before Bill sits down robotically, blinking.
Bill: What the fuck just happened?
Jon: That’s right, Allura! All the way from Johannesburg!
Lynch: Wow. That’s something, alright.
Phil: Yup, this is the life.
Jericho: Ogling a strippers tits? ..I guess.
Vince rushes over, lining up one more of the neon-green shots in front of each man. All of them grasp the shotglasses and down them in unison..
Lynch slowly stumbles out of the doors of the Dog and Handgun, hacking violently and swaying left and right.
He stumbles to the left, slowly walking down the sands towards the Lamb and Flag. Walking past him, Wolf and Tavi are following the squad of Spetsnaz soldiers, giggling like schoolgirls. The Spetsnaz look around, waving them closer and quickly run into an alley opposite the Lamb and Flag.
Tavi: Mmm! The thrill of the chase!
Wolf and Tavi run into the dark alleyway, disappearing from sight as Courtney walks out of the Lamb and Flag, hands on her hips. Seeing Tavi and Wolf disappear makes her tut as the Hispanic mechanics walk out behind her, chatting to eachother.
Courtney: Bunch of fucking amateurs.
Johan: Indeed, because they do not wear..SOMBRERO!!!
Johan points to That Random Guy, who emerges from the bar wearing a straw sombrero with a gaudily-coloured rainbow band across the brim. He grins, waving his arms.
Courtney snorts, turning around and walking back up towards ReLoaded. Phil, now standing uneasily on the edge of the Dog and Handguns roof, looks down at her.
Phil: COURTNEY! COURTNEY!
Courtney stops, glancing up and raising an eyebrow.
Phil: YOU’LL ALWAYS BE SEXY TO ME!
Phil hiccups, stumbling forward and screaming, falling off of the roof, hitting the sand below with a dull crunch. Courtney smirks, shrugging her shoulders.
Courtney: Still got it!
Courtney strolls off, ignoring Phils twitching body. Will and Raven, walking back toward their house, look down at Phil. Will snorts, flicking a coin onto Phils body.
Will: Get a coin, bum!
Brick looks over the edge of the roof, down at Phils twitching body as Will and Raven walk off.
Brick stumbles back, laying on a blue towel. Jericho, Bill, Jon, Vince and Ivan are also laying on towels, arms behind their head, looking up at the clear sky, admiring the sparkling stars embedded into the eternal sheet of onyx.
Jericho: …Well, looks like everythings going to get better.
Jon: That’s what everyone thinks..
Vince: Jerry, do you think life will get better?
Jericho: It’s got to..Hasn’t it?
Bill: Yeah. Too bad the wars starting to spread..
Vince: We’ll stave it off, right? …Right?
They watch as a B-52 Bomber zooms overhead, cutting a swath in the sky above. A few seconds, an explosion erupts nearby, causing their eardrums to rumble violently and a plume of black smoke to quaver barely over the visible horizon to the north-east.
Jericho: No, not really.
Bill, Jericho, Ivan, Vince, Brick and Jon sigh sadly to themselves.
COMING SOON: PART II - A visitor arrives among the mercenaries in the shape of Rex Houghton, who plans to interview the mercs and get a first-hand view of the horrors of Middle Eastern "warfare". As the mercenaries desperately scramble keep themselves busy in the waiting game for Big Shell, witness Falling Shelves, Playing ‘Chicken’ with a tank, Boiled Frogs Legs and A farewell to a certain ‘chilly’ friend!