Monday, 4 July 2011

Episode VI - Red Noses, White Knuckles And Blue Bloods

*The English Channel*

The scene opens to where we last left two of the more unstable mercenaries: In the dark, dank control room of a restored U-boat, currently stuck in the middle of the English Channel with two English Destroyers and two French Destroyers bearing down upon its rough position, their depth-charges assumable to be armed and ready to drop upon the U-boat should it move just one inch. Within the control room Robbie, clad in his pressed Kriegsmarine uniform, simply stares at the green radar, which gives a hollow, monotonous beep everytime it flashes across the four dots resembling the destroyers.

Robbie [Calmly]: Fucksticks.

Heinrich: What now?

Robbie: We talk!

Dave: Really? Cause they seem hankering to give us a spankering!

Heinrich: We could torpedo them.

Dave [Angrily]: DAMMIT HEINRICH, THAT’S YOUR SOLUTION TO EVERYTHING!! Penguin? Torpedo! Rowing boat? Torpedo! The Queen? Torpedo!

Heinrich: Oi, blondie, I don’t give a fuck: That was some funny shit when we tried to torpedo the queens private yacht!

Robbie [Smirking]: He has you there.

Dave: He does, actually.


Dave sighs, scrambling forward and grasping the Ham Radio, fiddling with the knobs and grasping one ear of the headset, holding it closely to his ear.

Dave: This is German Screaming Death Eagle, how may we help you? Over.

English Voice: This is Admiral Watson, stationed on HMS Activision. You are impeaching on our waters. Over.

Dave: HMS Activision? Goddamn, Bobby Kotick really bought you guys a warship? Over.

Admiral Watson: Yes. We appreciate the kindness of Sir Bobby Kotick. He is a good man. A good decent, honourable..

French Voice [Angrily]: Shut up you stupid beefeater! Ve French care not vor your…stupid video games! Ve vill crush zese Nazi-sympathising pigs unless zey give us a good veason as to vhy zey are impeaching on our waters?

Admiral Watson: Admiral Rougeau, these are our waters. Over.

Admiral Rougeau: No, zey are our waters! Over!

Admiral Watson [Impatiently]: OURS! OVER!

As the two admirals engage in a feeble war of the words, a uniformed sailor strolls up to Robbie, taking off his white cap and rubbing his saved head free from sweat and seawater before replacing it, standing straight with his chest puffed out.

Sailor: Sir! Torpedos are ready to launch!

Robbie: Excellent. At ease, Rudolf.

Rudolf gives a deep sigh, watching as Dave turns to them, rolling his eyes and opening and shutting his hand repeatedly, indicating his tiredness with the inane banter between the Admirals. He gives a mock snore, mistakenly reminding them of why they are there in the first place.

Admiral Watson [Angrily]: Give your name and rank immediately!

Dave: I’m Dave Jackscar, how you doing? Over.

Admiral Watson [In disbelief]: How you—HOW YOU DOING?! OVER!!

Dave: Fine, thanks. Can we leave now? Over.

Admiral Rougeau [Enraged]: VE SHALL DESTROY ZESE PEEGS!! OVER!!

Admiral Watson: Admiral Rougeau, calm yourself! Over!

Admiral Rougeau [In angered disbelief]: Zey are encroaching on our vaters! Zey cannot be allowed free access! Over!

Robbie [Impatiently]: Dammit, Dave, give me the fucking radio!

Dave [Frowning] Fuck off! I’m speaking!


Dave slams the radio handset down, stomping over to the periscope and folding his arms, pouting as Robbie takes the handset.

Robbie [Impatiently]: This is Großadmiral Steinhatten! What do you want?!


Robbie [Matter-of-Fact Manner]: I shall never! I shall make you fools realise the fear you once felt when you stared down the might of the German Kriegsmarine!

Benito [In disbelief]: Großadmiral! This is complete fucking suicide!

Robbie turns his head to Benito.


Dave [Singing out-of-tune]: We’re gonna die, gonna die, gonna die..Ohhhh we’re gonna die, gonna die, gonna die..Ohhhhhhhhhhh we’re gonna die, gonna die, gonna die!

Rudolf: Should I prepare torpedoes, Großadmiral?

Robbie: Not yet!

Admiral Watson: Steinhatten. If you do not comply with regulations and state your business, then we will open fire immediately. Over.

Robbie: Fine fine…We were patrolling the Atlantic to check for the presence of enemy private military companies, over.

Admiral Rougeau: Zat area is vestricted to our varships! Over!

Robbie: Whose warships? Over.

Admiral Watsons: The warships of the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation. Over.

Dave [Losing patience]: You know, if I have to heard the word ‘Over’ once more, I’m heading down and firing those fucking torpedoes myself.

Rudolf: Just waiting for Großadmirals confirmation.

Robbie: I took it on myself to check on behalf of the mercenary companies under the employment of the very same organisation, over.

Admiral Rougeau [Impatiently]: If zat vas ze case, zen vhy didn’t ve hear anyving?! Vhy was zere no communication! Over!

Robbie slams the handset down, turning to the crew.

Robbie: Fuck this shit. Prepare to dive. We’re not fucking with these dipshits any longer.

Benito: You do realise they’re going to start firing any moment now, right?

Dave: He doesn’t.

Robbie: I DO! Rudolf, prepare to fire payload.

Rudolf [Saluting]: Right away, Großadmiral.

Rudolf turns around, jogging across the floor and through the open blast door.

Heinrich [Bluntly]: Well, we’re fucked now.

Robbie: Not really.

Robbie strolls back over to the radio, calmly picking up the handset and giving a small sigh.

Robbie: We were given orders by the French Prime Minister.

Admiral Watson [Angrily]: WHAT?!

Admiral Rougeau: Veally? Ah, c’est bon!

Admiral Watson: Fuck you, Frenchie! You could have told us!

Admiral Rougeau [Chuckling] Excuse me, beefeater, but I didn’t know! And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!


Admiral Three: Excuse me, but ve aren’t vanishing transmissions vith over!


Admiral Watson [Cackling inanely]: WHY YES I DO!! OPEN FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIREEEEEEEE!!!!!

The crew within the control room remain quiet as the sound of loud explosions emit around them, albeit without the U-boat shaking or rocking violently, evidence that none of the explosions are ripping through their own metal hull. Benito runs forward, grasping the periscope glancing through it. The English Destroyer has turned to both French Destroyers, beginning to open fire with the large-caliber guns situated comfortably on its deck, every hit causing a violent, orange explosion to bite into the polished hull of the French warships. Unfortunately for the HMS Activision, the French are swiftly returning fire, causing the deck of the warship to become smothered in biting flames as its hull begins to buckle and creak violently. Robbie grabs the radio, tuning in a frequency.

Robbie: This is Großadmiral Steinhatten reporting. All hands on deck. We’re going back home. This reconnaissance mission was a fucking waste.

The U-boat creaks violently as it begins its descent below the surface of the Channel. Heinrich clutches his stomach, groaning loudly as the pressure begins to change ever so slightly. Dave belches loudly, quickly stumbling over to Robbie.

Dave [Laughing slightly]: How the fuck did you know? What did you do?

Robbie: My friend, there are three things certain in life: Death, taxes, and the complete and utter hatred between the English and French!

Dave [Shaking his head, Under his breath]: Smarmy cunt.

The propellers on the U-boat begin to whirr violently as it powerfully pushes forward, cutting a line through the briny depths as it begins the long journey home…

*Romani - Beale Street*

The sun gently rises above the horizon, bathing Beale Street in a hypnotic orange glow which sparkles the sands and causes the breath of life to gently flow through the streets once more. The streets which happened to be littered with unconscious bodies, bodily fluids and the occasional broken window. Underneath Sal and Billys wooden stall, the chilli pot has been overturned, laying on its rim. The metal scrapes lightly off the floor before being shoved aside with a metallic rattle, revealing Steve who is busy licking the backs of his hands.

Steve: Me like spicy!

The largest concentration of unconscious mercenaries, whether through overdrinking or violence, is within the Half Moon, which now resembles more of a warzone than a stylised British pub. Only three tables remain intact, with the rest shattered into splinters. Not one door is left standing, nor any windows. The floor is slick with blood, urine, vomit and sweat while several mercenaries remain unconscious, lying amongst the wreckage without a care in the world. A 1928 white-and-black Cadillac sedan is smashed through what used to be the doorway, the windows tinted and hiding the occupants.

Finally, someone stirs. Jericho, wearing only a pair of black slacks and brown leather brogues, slowly sits up, yawning. A goat slowly trots over, leaning down to bite Jerichos slacks, but Jericho simply slams a fist into the goats temple, knocking it straight down to the floor like a bag of potatoes.

Jericho [Groaning tiredly]: Always with the fucking goats..

Jericho yawns, stumbling to his feet and turning around, looking at the Cadillac and cocking a confused eyebrow, stumbling across the hardwood floor and slamming a fist on the bonnet, giving a whistle of admiration.

Jericho [Smirking]: Nice…Classic…Pretty good condition…..

Jericho walks over to the drivers door, slamming a balled fist against the window before cupping his hands over his eyes and pressing his face to the window, looking in and noticing Phil with his head lolling on the wheel as he snores loudly. Jericho knocks again, causing Phil to shoot up, looking to the window and giving a sigh of relief.

Phil [Yelping]: DON’T FUCKING DO THAT!!

Jericho: Phil…Where did you get the car?!

Phil: What ca—[Phil glances at the steering wheel he has ahold of before his eyes dart around to his surroundings] ---Fuck.

Jericho [Chuckling]: Wow. Must have been a good place to steal this from.

Phil cricks his neck, looking over his shoulder at Ivan, who is laying unconscious in the back seat, the only thing visible being his bare midriff as the rest of him is covered in various lengths of sticks of dynamite.

Phil [Slightly disturbed]: Fuck, I think we robbed a bank.

Jericho: Cadillac? Robbed a bank? Well, hello Al Capone!

Phil [Sarcastically]: Oh ha ha.

Jericho turns around, watching as Al slowly rolls off the counter of the bar, hitting the floor with a heavy thud and causing Billy to yawn loudly, opening his eyes and staring up at the underside of the table he is sleeping under.

Billy: …The fuck?

Jericho: Hey, Billy, who’s the lucky dame?

Billy [Eyes widening in shock]:….THE FUCK?!

Billy slowly shifts his head to the right, massaging his aching neck as he does and looking down at a lightly snoring bundle under the khaki tarpaulin he is sleeping under. He grasps it lightly, throwing it to one side and revealing the naked form of Crying Wolf, hugging her knees to her bare, ample chest as she sleeps with a content smile, her hair skewed.

Billy [Panicking]: Oh fucking fuckety fucking fuckety fuckers.

Jericho [Chuckling]: Well, Billy. You had fun.

Billy looks over his shoulder at Jericho, his eyes quickly widening. Jericho turns around, watching as Phil steps out, clad in a zoot suit with the pegged trousers pulled up to almost his chest, revealing a pair of snakeskin brogues, accompanied with a white shirt, black tie and navy-blue padded jacket. Phil yawns, smacking his lips tiredly before staring at Billy who stares back, straight-faced.

Phil: …..What?

Billy [Sneering]: Did you step into that fucking time portal or something?

Phil looks down at his zoot suit.


Phil laughs loudly, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

Jericho: Zoot suit. Very classy. Love the jacket, very nice. Mind if I borrow it one day? Don’t fancy the trousers though.

The rear passenger door slowly opens and Ivan slides out feet first, falling to his knees. He too is wearing trousers pulled up to just under his chest, as well as a black fedora with a white silk band clutching a rose to the hat.

Ivan [Groaning, Belching under his breath]: …Ve drink vay too much..

Phil: Dude. Did we rob a bank?

Ivan: Vell, that vould explain ze dynamite, da?

Phil: Shit. We are going to get our balls busted for this one.

Ivan [Eyes opening in disbelief]: ….Vat ze vuck are you vearing?!

Phil: Same to you, mate!

Ivan looks down at his trousers, quickly grasping them and pulling them down to his abdomen. Billy slides out, looking down at Crying Wolf with his head in his hands.

Billy [In disbelief]: What the fuck happened?!

Tavi: You had sex.

Billy looks over his shoulder as the oddly fully-clothed Tavi strolls past him, whistling brightly. Billy stares at her.

Billy: ….Clothes!

Tavi: Yup, well, I needed something to cover up the tattoo.

Billy [Laughing slightly]: Tattoo? Yer a fookin’ anthro!

Tavi: Permanent hair bleach. Get smart…Hey, Phil, nice suit!

Phil shakes his head, his head also in his hands.

Phil [Starting to panic]: FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckIrobbedabankIrobbedabankIrobbedabank..

Ivan: Look, ve didn’t! Ve couldn’t!

Ivan stumbles over to the trunk, clasping the open passengers door to stabilise himself before shuffling over, throwing the trunk open and staring inside.

Ivan [Shocked]: ….Oh.

Phil [Panicking more]: Oh? OH?! That’s a bad oh, isn’t it?!

Ivan: Da.

Phil clutches his head tighter, following Ivan to the boot as Tavi strolls past Jericho, whistling happily. Jericho grabs her shoulder, stopping her. Tavi looks down at his hand before looking up at him.

Tavi: Hello?

Jericho: Why are you so happy and cheerful towards Phil?

Tavi [Smirking evilly]: When he drinks, he turns into a real crybaby-slash-slave. Got on his knees and begged for forgiveness while crying like a baby. Then I got him to bark like a dog and lick my shoes. Recorded the entire thing….What can I say? He still said sorry afterwards. I can’t stay mad after that!

Jericho: But Wolf hates his guts?

Tavi: Yup.

Jericho: Ah, that’s good. So, hows the tattoo?

Tavi sighs and spins around, slipping off her denim jacket and pulling her white shirt over her head, revealing her back and showing off a large yakuza-style tattoo of an oni demon clutching two katanas, attacking two samurai while riding a tiger over a koi pond.

Jericho [Eyes widening]: Sweet baby Jesus on a turd.

Tavi: Yup. I also got another in quite a delicate place.

Jericho: What’s that one of?

Tavi pulls her shirt back on, grasping her jeans and pulling them forward, looking down.

Tavi [Cocking an eyebrow]: Huh. A skull and crossbones. Interesting.

Billy [STILL in disbelief]: WHAT HAPPENED?!?!?

Wills Voice: We got drunk!

The few people who are awake fall silent, looking around for the source of Wills voice.

Jericho: Will?

Wills Voice: I’m in a dark, mysterious place!

That Random Guys Voice [Yawning]: The ceiling.

Wills Voice [Patronizingly]: How do you know, peasant?!

That Random Guys Voice: Simple!

The awake mercenaries watch as a light fixture crackles and shatters, spraying a bare patch of floor with shards of glass as That Random Guy falls through, landing straight on his feet and raising his arms, the skin and flesh of which now happen to be slashed into ribbons and pouring with waterfalls of thick, dehydrated blood.

Tavi [Staring nonchalantly]: Wow. That was stupid.

That Random Guy [Grinning]: I’ll say. I’m about to faint from the unbearable agony.

That Random Guy laughs inanely, slowly toppling backwards and collapsing to the floor unconscious. A second, bare foot slams down from the ceiling, knocking a plaster ceiling tile to the floor with a small crash, barely missing Stoofers head. Stoofer grunts loudly, sitting up and clutching a bloody machete with a three-foot long blade.

Stoofer: ….Mouth dry….eyes ache…..blood on hands……..Good night..

Wills Voice: Dammit! I’m stuck!....[Panicking] FUCK! THERE’S SOMETHING IN HERE WITH ME!!

Stoofer: Hey, just jump!

Stoofer grins, holding the point of his machete straight up under the rough position of Will.

Wills Voice: Fuck you, I remember what you did to that PMC last night!

Stoofer: It was a PMC?

Billy: Aye…

Stoofer looks down, getting on one knee and grasping a helmet filled with blood, pouring it onto the floor and nodding.

Stoofer [Grinning]: That explains that..Doesn’t explain that….beautiful Cadillac!

Phils head pops from the side of the car.

Phil: You can have it later.

Stoofer [Coming to realisation]; Aw man, you didn’t, did you??!

Phil: Didn’t what?

Stoofer: Rob a bank?!

Phil [In disbelief]: How is everyone guessing that correctly??!

Rex slowly groans loudly, sitting up amongst a pile of splintered wood and cracking his back, wearing nothing but a leopard-print towel over his waist.

Rex [Groaning]: …..Wow…that might just have been the greatest night in my life..But I am going to need…a hell of a detox..

Jericho: Welcome to our life.

Rex hiccups and belches, belching out a few copper pennies.

Rex [Retching slightly]: ….Dude..

Wills Voice [Panicking more]: WHO’S IN HERE?! IDENTIFY YOURSELF, INTRUDER!!

Bills Voice [Tired, Irritated]: look, fuckface, just find your own bed and stop yelling!

Wills Voice: Oh Lord, you live here?!

Bills Voice [Bitterly]: Shut up and fuck off.

The sound of a foot kicking something echoes through the ceiling, followed by several plaster tiles cracking and a loud, girlish scream as Will falls through the ceiling, slamming violently onto his torso on the floor, showering the floor with plaster. Stoofer walks over to him, looking down and tutting.

Stoofer [Smirking evilly]: Not worth the energy for the swing.

Wills Voice [In pain]: ..Fuck you…

Bobby strolls in from the male toilets, yawning loudly and wearing a toilet seat around his neck.

Bobby: Mornin’ guys.

Jericho: Hey, Triple B, you got a toilet seat around your neck.

Bobby looks down.

Bobby: Wow. Good night?

Rex [Uneasily]: Good night..

Rex belches up some more copper coins as Johnny stirs, groaning loudly, his head laid on a cold, half-eaten pizza laying in a layer of hardened grease in its box.

Bobby: Wake up, little men. You wanna be a mercenary, you gotta learn to cope with the morning after…..Speaking of which, who the fuck drove the Cadillac?

Ivan and Phil [In unison]: Us.

Bobby [Laughing slightly]: NICE!!

The sound of a heavy punch thunders against the wooden wall three times before the huge, hulking African-American form of Mustafa strolls through the hole, crouching down slightly to surface.

Mustafa: Hey guys.

Billy: What the hell were you doing in there?

Mustafa holds out a hand, revealing a human tooth.

Mustafa: Lost my lucky tooth. Punched someone so hard last night that it flew out from underneath my knuckle. By the way, who was the unlucky victim?

Sal stumbles to his feet from behind the bar, wearing a monocle and a solid white blazer over his bare chest, which happens to be stained with blood. He spits out a few teeth into a glass stein, coughing loudly and wiping his mouth.

Sal: Me…Remember? Someone bet me five hundred dollars I couldn’t remain standing if you hit me?

Billy: That was supposed to be a fucking easy win!

Tavi: No-one expected Mustafa to hit so hard he knocks people out into a standing position.

Sal: And thanks to you, my Scottish friend, I am richer. So rich, I……fucking squandered it in the Dog and Handgun looking at titties.

Tavi [Folding her arms]: A man of real class. What happened to the brandy, the Cuban cigars, the snotty cunt?

Sal: The snotty cunt dies when drinking is involved! Seriously. I drowned him last night. Poor bastard.

Stoofer: No, that was a PMC, and you drowned him in a puddle of Billys piss.

Sal [Somewhat disgusted and amazed]: …….Wow.

Al slowly sits up, hiccupping and wiping his mouth free from vomit and saliva.

Al: …You all awake?

Jericho: Most of us.

Al [Angrily]: Good, get that fucking car out of my bar.

Phil: Will do.

Phil and Ivan slam the boot shut, strolling around to the front doors of the Cadillac and slipping them open, sliding in and slamming the doors shut before reversing out, causing brick and wood to scatter across the floor and street before they turn right up Beale Street, stopping suddenly as Phil hangs his right arm out of the window, clutching a M1A1 Thompson with a drum magazine.

Ivan: So, ve get zome breakfast?

Phil: Get ‘em, Bugsy.

Ivan drives forward and out of sight, but their departure is shortly punctuated with echoing gunfire. Billy simply shakes his head, kicking away a loose brick as Wolf opens her eyes, sitting up and stretching.

Wolf [Smiling]: Well helloooooooo Scotsman!

Billy: Yeah yeah.

Tavi: Such a cute couple!

Billy [Growling]: Don’t make me unleash hell.

Bill: Is that what you’re calling it now?

Billy: I didn’t ask for your opinion, Yank!

Al: Now now lads, let’s ‘ave no fighting in the pub!

Johnny groans loudly, rolling his head across the cold, greasy pizza underneath his face.

Johnny [Yawning]: more fighting…

Rex [Groaning]: Wake up, numbskull…we have to fight..

Johnny: Why?...

Rex: They hurt Tim…

Mustafa: Where is the little bastard, anyway?

A square of the ceiling crackles above Rex’s and Johnny’s table before spraying them with a plaster of a dust as a figure, bound by the wrists, falls through the ceiling, smashing violently through the table as Johnny quickly pulls back, falling backwards on his chair.

Rex: There he is..

Al: Alright fellas, let’s get this pub emptied for tonight, shall we?

A loud, mass groaning goes up by the more unconscious mercenaries, while a wild rabble erupts amongst the conscious ones. Al simply answers by climbing behind his bar, leaning down and pulling out an ancient Blunderbuss with a rusted barrel.

Al [Impatiently]: I said, let’s get the pub emptied.

Johan groans, standing up behind Al and looking down at him, yawning loudly and simply grabbing the barrel of the Blunderbuss, squeezing tightly and causing it to do nothing more than crumble away in flecks of rusted metal.

Johan: …No..

Al [Staring angrily]: Johan. That was an antique.

Johan: And now it is scrap.

Johan calmly strolls past Al, swinging a leg over the bar before stepping over it effortlessly, cracking his knuckles and stepping over That Other Random Guy.

Al: Right, final warning, get out or I will be forced to take drastic measures!

Mustafa: Yeah, right.

Tavi: And what kind of drastic measures would these be?

Al: I will give you all to the count of five..ONE!

That Hispanic Guy: Oh, please, what’s the Limey maricon gonna do! Swear at us?!

Al: TWO!

Billy: Fuck off of it, ya Sassenach swine!

Al [Getting more impatient]: THREE!

Will: Shut up, goddamn!


Sal [Impatiently]: Dammit, just fucking show us!

Al squats behind the bar, hiding from the view of everyone else. A cracking of a cans tab is heard, followed shortly by a slurping. Al slowly stands up, grasping the bar and vaulting it, hurtling towards the doorframe as fast as he can and sliding roughly, almost falling to his knees as he pulls himself out.

Billy: What the fuck?

Jericho [Chuckling]: What’d he do? Set off a bomb?

Slowly, from behind the bar, Courtney gets to her feet, clutching her favoured, customised M60, the Great Equalizer, in her arms. Her eyes flash dangerously as she stares at them all, who are now staring back.

Courtney: I’ve just drank an entire can of Red Bull.

Sal: Fuck it and run.

Sal runs towards the door, jumping out as Courtney aims the Great Equaliser at the ceiling, firing off a few rounds and causing plaster to shatter and shower the floor. Bill dives out of one of the many holes, naked except for a blanket around his waist, and runs out. Courtney lowers the gun, sweeping it across the bar as everyone starts to exit as quickly as possible. That Random Guy and That Hispanic Guy jolt forward, slamming together as they try to run through the door. Mustafa simply charges through them effortlessly, causing them to collapse onto the sands outside. Wolf yawns innocently, blinking and looking at her.

Wolf: Hello…?

Wolf watches as Billy runs out of the door, followed by That Other Random Guy, Rex, Johnny and Tim. As the four men leave, the only living, breathing things left in the Half Moon, amongst the chaos and the destruction, amongst the shattered tables and splintered wood, amongst the blood and sweat pooling and crusting on the floor, are Wolf, Courtney and the goat.

Courtney [Soothingly]: Hello, Wolfy dear. You sleep well?

Wolf yawns loudly.

Wolf: Yeah..had a strange dream I was in the Scottish Highlands on a rather bumpy ride..

Courtney: That wasn’t no dream, honey.

Wolf sighs, laying back down with her arms behind her head. Manny Pacquaio exits from the mens bathroom, looking at both of them and shaking his head, calmly strolling out of the bar, slowly followed by Jeff Jarrett.

Jarrett: Same time next week?

Courtney: We’ll see.

Jarrett claps his hands together excitedly as he strolls out of the bar, followed by Lemmy Kilmister, Ozzy Osbourne and Chris Sabin. Wolf simply blinks, turning her head to Courtney.

Wolf: That’s the last time I drink.

Courtney [Grinning]: Last time? I’m gonna try it more often!

*Beale-Walkers Square *

As the first hour passes following the movement of life within Beale Street, Rex, Johnny and Tim are in the square, busy setting up for yet another interview. Rex is busy squatting in the upper-left corner of the square, vomiting noisily into an ever-growing puddle of yellow bile, while Johnny and Tim are sat across from him in the sands, eating cold, greasy hash browns, bacon and tomatoes from a polystyrene tray, the thick smell of grease and vomit filling the bitter morning air in Beale Street.

Johnny: Man..this shit works! It actually works!

Tim: Never thought it would?

Johnny: Nope. Told him he should try it, but nooooo. All high and mighty about counting calories and the like.

Rex [Retching violently]: SHUT UP! I FEEL LIKE I’M FUCKING DYING!!

Johnny: And I feel as fine as a bluebird fluttering in the sky!

Tim: Dude, cut out the camp shit, will you?

Johnny [Shaking his head]: Geez, you could be nicer, y’know?

Tim: Yeah, but I’d rather not explain THAT to these guys.

Johnny: Explain what?

Tim [Bluntly]: THAT.

Johnny: Oh.

Johnny burps loudly, causing Tim to slap him on the shoulder. Rex slowly gets to his feet, giving a guttural gasp as he slaps his hand on the sandblasted wall in front of him, steadying himself.

Rex [Calmly]: …Better out than in…. [Retching slightly] OH, COME ON!!

Rex lets out a feral scream as he squats down once more, letting out a belching, noisy vomit onto the floor beneath him. Johnny and Tim laugh loudly as he does.

Johnny [Laughing]: Someone can’t handle his drink!

Rex [Angrily]: SHUT UP!!

Bob [Snottily]: Wow, that’s actually quite disgusting.

Johnny and Tim turn their heads, watching as Bob, clad in a desert camouflage dress shirt with the surname “Benito” stitched on a patch to the right breast and with the Union Jack emblazoned on the right arm, as well as desert camouflage combat pants and a military cap, slowly strolls into the square, his heavy leather boots echoing with every step as he walks towards the chair.

Rex [Grunting]: Yeah yeah….guh..

Rex wipes his mouth, turning around and stumbling towards the camera.

Bob: Are you even going to be conscious for this interview?

Rex: Probably not…but I can damn well try! [Snapping his fingers] YOU TWO! OFF YOUR ASSES!

Bob turns his head, watching as Johnny and Tim throw their polystyrene trays to the sand and quickly get to their feet, wiping their greasy fingers on their t-shirts. Johnny jogs over to the camera, pressing a few switches and removing the screen protector, while Tim grabs the boom-microphone, brushing it free from sand as Bob takes his seat.

Rex: Ready?

Johnny: Yes I am.

Tim: As am I, mister hangover.

Rex [Angrily]: SHUT UP!!

Bob: Not very nice, are you?

Rex: Dammit, leave me alone!

Johnny: Hey, dumbass, we’re ready to go.

Rex sighs as Tim hangs the boom-mic over Bobs head, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Rex: Name. Place of Birth. Rank.

Bob: Thomas Benito. London, England. Private First Class.

Rex: Private First Class. Nice.

Bob: Yes, yes it is.

Rex: Why do they call you ‘Bob’?

Bob: Just a nickname. Got called it once and it stuck.

Rex: Not the most talkative, are you?

Bob: I don’t feel comfortable around here.

Rex [Cocking an eyebrow]: ….Why such a dick?

Bob: A dick? I’m not a dick. Would you feel comfortable with sand blowing in your eyes constantly? How about your underpants turning into sandpaper? Finding it difficult to eat or travel without sand, sand and more sand getting in the way?

Rex: We get it.

Bob: See? YOU’RE a dick! I’m just explaining these things!

Rex: We heard that you have a catchphrase—

Bob [Angrily]: NO! HELL NO! NO NO NO!!

Rex [Grinning cheekily]: Say iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.


Rex [Swiftly losing patience]: Just say the damn line and we can cut this interview short.

Bob: No! Fuck off!

Rex: ….Urgh…alright, why are you here?

Bob [Sighing]: You mean how I suffered the horrifying misfortune to land here--

Rex: Well, what else would I ask for?

Bob: I used to be part of the Royal Corps of Signals. Eleventh Signal Brigade. My job was communications, electronic warfare..Pretty much anything to do with signalling the troops or just basically shutting down an enemies electronic system. I was deployed anywhere where Her Majesty needed..Bolivia, Chechnya, The Balkans, Libya, Turkey..and my final mission in Somalia.

Rex: Pretty prestigious and important, so what happened? What happened in Somalia?

Bob: I ordered an airstrike on a position where we thought that Somali rebels were hiding. [Chuckling nervously] I was..sort of….off.

Rex: What do you mean ‘sort of off’?

Bob [Sighing]: Well, the co-ordinates I gave were wrong..

Rex: How wrong?

Bob: The Vulcans ended up carpet-bombing an orphanage a few miles east of the target.

Rex falls silent momentarily.

Bob [Quickly]: Hey, I ain’t proud of it!

Rex: So you killed orphans?

Bob: Only three or four! It was a small orphanage! It’s the market place that really—

Rex: I get the picture.

Bob: So, rather than court-martial me, or hand me over to the Somalian government, both parties agreed to ship my ass here, since the life expectancy is actually quite low when the wars start.

Rex: I’ve heard. Isn’t it something like a day?

Bob: A day is being generous. I know it doesn’t look like it, but this place is a frontline. We’re situated near desert roads that cut through Romani to the Suez. Now, that is important. VERY important. They form supply lines to the Suez, and everyone wants a supply line to the Suez. PMCs, governments..anyone with a brain. Now, if the PMCs take it, we have to take it back. You do the math.

Rex [Stroking his chin]: A last stand, eh?

Bob: Pretty much. Aside from the occasional bribed shipment driver and supply drop from the Academy, we’ve got jackshit to help us fight these guys. We’re doomed, to put it lightly.

Rex: Alright, enough of the depressing shit..So, what’s your role here?

Bob: Communications. I’m the one who carries the radio and phones in airstrikes and reinforcements, amongst other things.

Rex: Big radio, huh?

Bob: Kind of. Just so long as we can get a bloody signal, I don’t really care.

Rex: What? There’s been problems with signals before?

Bob: Mainly Frank spilling his booze on the radio, making it short-circuit. Generally speaking, I perform better without Frank near me. He’s got the reverse Midas touch: Everything he touches turns to shit.

Rex: Not too fond of him, are you?

Bob [Shrugging]: I like him, but he really shouldn’t be in a commanding role. Lynch? Yes. Sal? At a pinch. Frank? No. Plenty of others who I would risk my life for..Just not the drunken Arizona state idiot.

Rex: Like who?

Bob sighs, scratching behind his ear.

Bob: …Billy, Jericho, Bill..I think Dean could do a good job. So could Ivan if he fixed the whole psychotic break thing he has going on.


A small explosion walks the square, causing a small rain of rubble to fall to Bobs right and hit the sands softly.

Bob: Oh, there he is. [Smiling brightly] HI IVAN!!

Bob waves and Johnny swivels the camera around as Ivan runs into the square, clutching two sticks of dynamite with his mouth agape in a twisted smile.


Jericho quickly leaps on Ivan, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there by his shoulders as Steve runs in, quickly jabbing a small syringe into his neck and pushing the plunger. Ivan stops twitching violently as Jericho lets go, allowing Ivan to stand up and brush himself off, waving at Bob.

Ivan [Breathing out calmly]: Hello.

The camera quickly swivels back around to Bob, returning the wave again.

Bob: See? Good guy.

Rex: I take it you get on with the others relatively well?

Bob; Yeah..but it’s more a case of ‘If I don’t bother them, they don’t bother me.’ I prefer the company of mon cherie more often than not.

Rex: Mon..cherie?

Bob: I’m not telling you her name.

Rex: Dammit. Alright then, any war stories?

Bob: None. Others will tell you, but I have nothing to share. I haven’t done anything extraordinary during my service here..Except that time I almost carpet-bombed the Amazon—

Rex [Shocked]: For the love of GOD, MAN!!

Bob: Hey! I said almost! They corrected my mistake!

Rex: You make some big mistakes, pal!

Bob: I’ve made two in my entire military service. Somalia, and South America: That’s all.

Rex: Yeah, alright—

Bob sighs.

Rex: --So, finally, have any family you want to say hello to?

Bob looks at the camera, smiling slightly.

Bob: I miss you Mom, I miss you Dad. I hope you’re staying safe..Don’t worry, I’m keeping out of trouble here.

Rex: Aaand cut.

Johnny flicks a few switches, cutting off the camera.

Bob: Can I go now?

Rex [Eyes twitching]: …YES!!

Rex runs over to the corner of the square once more, doubling over and vomiting as Bob watches, his left eye twitching.

Bob: Does he always do that when drunk?

Tim: It’s his first time.

Bob: HA! I remember my first time..

Johnny: Really?

Bob: Yeah. That’s how I got the co-ordinates wrong in Somalia.

Bob chuckles nervously as Johnny and Tim laugh loudly.

*Half Moon*

Al [Clapping his hands together]: It worked! Operation Brawl-For-All was a success!

Bill: Looks like the bars been fucking trashed.

Al [Grinning]: EXACTLY!!

Al and Bill are watching over the floor of the Half Moon as several building contractors carry in circular tables and wooden stools, covered in lengths of transparent plastic before setting them down. A few men, wearing overalls, are busy mopping and sweeping the floor, clearing it from the blood, sweat and piss that has stained the varnished hardwood. Bill and Al watch as two other men wearing overalls carry in a green metal door, covered in clear plastic.

Bill [Hesitantly]: ……And that’s good because?

Al: Well, I always did want to replace the bloody toilet doors! That, and we’ve beaten the Lamb and Flag for sheer insanity! We had a bar brawl for the first time in bloody months, kid, know what that means?

Bill: We’re number one?

Al [Laughing cheerily]: We? No no, you’re my little dancing monkey, I’M number one!

Bill [Bluntly]: Whatever. Where’s my pay?

Al gives an innocent whistle, slipping his hands into the inside pocket of his brown suit jacket and taking out a wad of bills, lightly slipping them across the bar to Bill who greedily snatches them up, licking his right thumb and flicking across the bills.

Al: Good enough?

Bill: Yeah yeah, but what now?

Al: SIMPLES! We’ve got moonshine, homebrew, so what better than….home-made snacks?

Bill slowly looks up at Al, a look of absolute uncertainty crossing his face.

Bill [Hesitantly]: What…the…fuck?

Bills words are cut short by a rumbling engine which causes the bar to vibrate slightly as it draws closer, stopping outside the door. Bill and Al turn their heads to the door expectantly before a man, clad in denim dungarees over a red-and-white flannel shirt and wearing a black truckers cap, strolls into the bar, holding four pigs on the ends of leather leashes.

Man: Who ordered the livestock?

Al: ME!!

The man looks over at Al, who quickly runs out from behind his bar and kneels beside the pigs, scratching behind their ears.

Al [Over-Enthusiastically Laughing]: YES! HELLO MY DELICIOUS-LOOKING PETS!!

Bill: …..Oh for fucks sake. Hey, Limey, where the fuck are you going to keep them?

Al: Basement, you stupid Yank!

Bill: You’ve got to be fucking kidding. They need fattening up, feeding, cleaning, and, y’know, somewhere where you can actually clean up the shit without the risk of contaminating the moonshine with it!

Al: You worry way too much! This is a plan guaranteed to succeed!

Bill [Laughing sarcastically]: Guaranteed? GUARANTEED?! Bullshit! Do you even know how to butcher a pig?

Al: No, but that’s why I bought…[Al reaches into his other inside pocket, pulling out a thick book with a yellow-and-black cover reading “Slaughtering for Dummies”]..THIS!!

Bill slams his head off the bar, cradling his head in his arms as Al simply walks past him, whistling energetically and dragging the pigs behind him on their leashes.

*Beale Street*

Out in Beale Street, another truck has surfaced. Instead of being a small, dusty pickup truck, this behemoth is an eighteen-wheeler truck, hauling an unpainted metallic cab behind it which glistens violently in the midday sun, threaten to blind all those who set their eyes on it. Phil, Jericho, Steve and Ivan watch from the shadow of their abode as the driver, wearing a solid black suit with a white shirt, black tie and black oval sunglasses hops out, clutching a clipboard and calmly strolling over to them, handing it towards Steve.

Mysterious Driver: Sign here.

Steve looks down at the clipboard, smiling inanely. The driver simply stands there, bewildered.

Jericho [Calmly]: I’ll handle it.

Phil: What about me?

The Mysterious Driver laughs loudly before his face returns to a neutral, blank expression.

Mysterious Driver: No. Your checks bounce so hard they reach the stratosphere. Not to mention you supply us with phony credit cards. You’re the reason why we introduced cash-in-hand policy.

Phil: Not my fault I was worried about my safety!

Mysterious Driver: That’s why you had a credit card under the name of Hugh Jass?

Phil [Holding back laughter]: …Who?

Mysterious Driver: Hugh Ja--

The Mysterious Driver stops, jabbing Phil quickly in his chin and sending him stumbling backwards, reeling in pain and rubbing his jaw.

Phil: FUCK!

Mysterious Driver: Mr. Kingston. The cash.

Jericho: Hey, why do you think the mercenaries introduced the ‘We see guns first’ law? We remember that one shipment of stealth guns!

Mysterious Driver: They were good guns.

Jericho: It fooled Frank and Steve, but the rest of us realised that those were empty fucking crates you sold us!

Mysterious Driver [Sighing under his breath]: Fine. Follow me, gentlemen.

The Mysterious Driver effortlessly spins around on the balls of his heels, walking around the cab of the truck as his Cuban heels clack off of the concrete. Will slowly steps out of his flat, glancing at the unpainted flatbed before a ray of the sun catches the polished metal, reflecting it at Wills moustache and causing it to set alight.


Will screams violently, running back into his flat.

Ivan: Wow. Secuvity measure?

Mysterious Driver: You won’t believe how many mercenaries grow facial hair. Especially moustaches. They just refuse to shave.

Jericho, Ivan and Steve glance at Phil, whose black, wiry beard is becoming increasingly unkempt.

Ivan: We believe it.

Steve: It scoured me once!

Phil: It’s not the beards felt. It sensed your fear and apprehension, and naturally decided to strike.

Jericho [Scathingly]: Just get a shave, you filthy hobo.

Phil [Bitterly]: Fuck you, just because I’ve hit puberty unlike you.

All five men walk around to the rear of the cab. The Mysterious Driver grasps the steel handle with no regard for the intense heat it must be radiating, and flicks the door open with a rushing clatter as it snaps upwards, revealing several wooden crates stacked uniformly within the shadow of the cab. All four mercenaries climb in as the Driver waits outside, arms folded almost impatiently. Jericho grasps a box, digging his fingernails under the wooden lid and cracking the nails free, flipping the lid up and onto the steel floor, looking into his crate, filled with straw aside from a few glinting barrels and magazines visible amongst the padding.

Jericho: Fuck me, this is some premium shit!

Phil cracks the lid off of a crate, staring into the contents.

Phil: I’ll say…Look at this stuff! M4s, M9s…Goddamn, we even have a few M95s in here!

Steve: I like letter M!

Ivan: So do I, Steve..So do I!

Mysterious Driver: Please accept the shipment soon, or else I will be forced to deliver this shipment to the docks at Port Said as originally promised to my original employer. Cat Taffy is an impatient man.

Jericho: Don’t you mean Gaddaffi?

The Mysterious Driver whistles loudly.

Mysterious Driver [Shouting monotonously and loudly]: I DIDN’T HEAR THAT LA LA LA LA LA!!

Jericho [Excitedly]: Alright, alright, we’ll take it! Goddamn, the coach is going to be pleased when he realises we just scored a massive shipment! NO MORE LOOTING THE FALLEN COMMANDOS, LADS!!

Phil: Damn, some of them carried money.

Ivan: Oh, ve vill still loot zem. Vemember: Some of zem have gold teeth.

Phil nods at Ivan, who nods at Steve as Jericho glances over his head, watching them. All three of them slowly turn their heads to Jericho, stepping backwards and grinning as a drill whirrs ominously out of sight.

Jericho: ….So, cash? Let me get right on it. RIGHT on it!

Jericho quickly hops out of the back of the cab, keeping his lips tightly clamped to hide the golden molars at the back of his mouth. The Mysterious Driver slowly turns his head to Phil, Ivan and Steve, watching as they stare at him, grinning innocently.

Steve: He might have gold teeth.

Ivan: Da.

The Mysterious Driver gulps slightly, his enigmatic shell cracking as all three of the mercenaries step forward towards him.

*Lamb and Flag*

Dick [Grimly]: Sales down ninety percent. We’re done for. No way we can pay rent to Mother now. She’ll force us to shut.

Dick is laying on his back in the middle of the Lamb and Flag, where the square tables have now been stacked around the edges of the walls, while the stools and wooden chairs are stacked upon the karaoke stage, obscuring the foam machine and the fire extinguisher. Maurice simply sits on the edge of the stage, digging his huge fingers into a large packet of pork scratchings and munching them ravenously as Dick whimpers loudly, splaying his arms as if creating a dust angel.

Maurice: If ya get any more pathetic, lad, we can sell ya to ‘Ripleys Believe It or Not’.

Dick [Gasping slightly]: …I feel so cold…

Maurice: And I reckon we could probs get five hundred quid for ya.

The door to the right of the bar opens and slams shut as Moe Zacharius strolls in, clutching a green plastic stepping stool and skidding it across the floor, sending it violently slamming into a stacked table with a small crash.

Moe: Well, it’s official: We’re out of food. Can’t even afford Quorn now.

Maurice [Shaking his head bitterly and sighing]: For fucks sake..

Dick [On the verge of sobbing]: LEAVE ME ALONE!!

Moe: Dicky, you better get your shit sorted out, or we’re toast!

Dick [Calming somewhat]: I’m thinking..I’m thinking..

Maurice: May as well come back next year, then.

Dick: Look, it’s not easy running a bar--

Maurice: You’re right, kidda, but ya did it so well before ya started throwing out completely and utterly stupid ideas.

Dick: They weren’t stupid, they were just beyond their time!

Moe [Bluntly]: Bullshit. They were just completely crap.

Dick blinks rapidly, slowly sitting up.

Dick: I have a plan.

Moe [Frightened suddenly]: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Moe screams violently, running back into the kitchen and slamming the door shut.

Maurice [Hands together, almost pleading]: Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, NO MORE PLANS!!

Dick [Snapping his fingers]: But this one…will work!

Maurice sighs, falling to his knees and rubbing his eyes as Dick starts pacing around the floor, giggling merrily to himself.

*Beale-Walker Square*

Back in the Square, Rex, Johnny and Tim are huddled around the camera.

Rex: Alright, we’re nearly done. We’re over halfway there.

Johnny: Shame. I kind of like it here.

Tim: Me too.

Rex [Bitterly]: What?! What could you two idiots possibly love about this shithole?!

Johnny: The sun.

Tim: The drinking.

Johnny: The feeling of nothing being taken seriously.

Tim: The people.

Rex [In scathing disbelief]: The peop—THE PEOPLE?! Shut the fuck up!!

Tim: Why? Some of them are--

Rex [Glaring at Tim]: Another word and I will smack the crap out of you.

Johnny [Snapping]: Leave him alone, dammit! We both enjoy this place! Just because you’re some kind of weird health-obsessed vegetarian hippie pile of shit!

Rex: I got drunk!

Tim: For the first time in your damn life!

Rex raises his head, clapping his hands.

Rex: Places, people! Another female mercenary is here for the interview!

Johnny and Tim look over their shoulders, watching as Octopus, clad in her skin-tight grey-and-beige protective suit worn by the Beauty and the Beast Unit, slowly walks into the square from Beale Street, watching them.

Octopus: Hello.

Johnny quickly spins around, jogging behind the camera, while Tim squats down and hauls up the boom-mic, hanging it just above the office chair. Octopus slowly walks towards the chair, sitting down on it before standing slightly and pressing a lever below the chair, causing it to rise slightly before sitting down once more, crossing one leg over the other.

Rex: Huh, that was quick--

Octopus [Calmly]: I want to get this done with. The sun irritates me.

Rex: Fair enough. Johnny?

Johnny flicks a few switches and buttons on the side of the camera.

Johnny: Ready!

Rex: Name. Place of Birth. Position.

Octopus: No. No. No.

Rex [Cocking an eyebrow]: …Say what?

Octopus: That’s classified information.

Rex: Surely you can tell me your name?

Octopus: They call me….I have no name.

Rex: So your name is ‘I have no name’?

Octopus: No, I have no name.

Rex: That’s what I said, your name is ‘I have no name’.

Octopus [Losing patience]: No…I have…no name.

Rex: I have no name?

Octopus [Venomously]: I swear to God that if you keep on playing around, I will tear you limb from limb and spray your internal organs across this square while laughing merrily.

Johnny [Confused]: WHO’S PLAYING?!?!

Rex: Alright, alright, alright..So, you’re a mercenary?

Octopus: Yes I am.

Rex: Same unit as the weird black-haired lady?

Octopus: The same.

Rex [Scathingly]: Will we get any fucking useful information for an interview?

Octopus: Ask and receive.

Rex: Why are you here? How did you get here?

Octopus [Sarcastically]: I took the bus.

Rex: You could, y’know, be helpful?

Octopus: I don’t feel like being helpful. You’re interviewing me for no reason. Interview the others, just stop interviewing me.

Rex: Can we at least get some words from you?

Octopus: How about three: Go fuck yourself.

Rex [Sighing bitterly]: I hate my job.

Johnny: What? Do I stop rolling?

Rex: May as well, she’s just going to be a spiteful bitch—

Octopus: You would be one too if you had to murder the people you love by laughing.

Octopus suddenly clamps her hands over her mouth, flushing a beet red. Rex’s eyes slowly widen and he looks at Tim.

Rex: Did you get that?

Tim [Grinning slightly]: Clear as the day.

Rex slowly turns his head back to Octopus, who now has her hands rested on her knees as she stares at the floor, a mixture of embarrassment and fury mixing across her features.

Rex: So, you’ve obviously seen some action, seen your fair share of hell..Tell us.

Octopus slowly raises her said, a look of neutrality crossing her face.

Octopus [Robotically]: The things I have seen would make any man weep in terror. They would make any man fall to their knees, put a gun in their mouth and pull the trigger. I haven’t.

Rex: Why?

Octopus: I’m a woman.

Rex [Confused]: ………..Oooooooooookay.

Octopus: I came here because it suits the current course of action quite well. Once everything falls into place, this is where me and my sisters shall finally open our eyes once again and cleanse the Earth in a baptism of fire. No more shall we chained to these pathetic weaklings, and no more shall we be forced to remain incognito. Once it all falls into place, then we shall rise, and you will finally know my name!

Octopus suddenly bursts out into a sharp, cackling laughter. Tim and Johnny shiver.

Johnny: Shit, she’s scary.

Rex: Alright, so you’re here for a purpose. Any former military background?

Octopus [Cackling suddenly cutting off, revealing a blank voice]: Not in the slightest, aside from my time in the Unit impaling people.

Rex: Impaling?

Octopus: …You do know why Bobs catchphrase is ‘Tentacles’, right?

The three of them suddenly fall silent.

Tim: DAMN!

Johnny: We thought he was only doing it for attention!

Rex [Disgusted]: You KILLED people like tha--

Octopus: No. Not like that.

Rex: So your name must be..squid?

Octopus: No.

Rex: Cthulhu?

Octopus: Not even close.

Rex: Jellyfish?

Octopus [Growing angry]: Shut up.

Rex: Octopus?

Octopus remains silent.

Johnny [Shaking his head]: This shit gets weirder and weirder.

Octopus [Impatiently]: Can I go now?!

Rex: Have any war stories to tell?

Octopus: Not for you or your jelly-spined viewers. I wouldn’t want to scare them to death about my time in Bolivia.

Rex: Alright then. Any final messages for family or friends?

Without saying a word, Octopus robotically rises to her feet and walks away from the camera, strolling delicately out of the square and into Beale Street, giving a small sigh and rubbing her soft brow.

Octopus: ..Too hot..

A horn playing a rendition of the ‘Spanish Flea’ sounds as That Hispanic Guy drives out of the square in a black lowrider, complete with chrome rims on the wheels, black leather seats, a snakeskin wheel cover and a bright yellow-and-red flame motif extending from the streamlined bonnet to the doors of the car. He turns his head, looking at Octopus and sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, looking at her and grinning.

That Hispanic Guy: Well hello there, mademoiselle!

Octopus: ..Hello?

That Hispanic Guy: How are you on this beautiful day?

Octopus: Confused as to why you’re wearing a suit, and yet you’re two friends are wearing workclothes.

Octopus turns her head to Stoofer and Johan who are sat in the back seat, clad in bottle-green repairman jumpsuits, zipped down the chest slightly to reveal white vests, before looking at That Hispanic Guy who is wearing a pure white suit and shirt, topped off with a white bowler hat with a black band. He simply chuckles slightly, tipping his hat at her.

That Hispanic Guy [Grinning]: We are….working.

Octopus: Dare I ask?

That Hispanic Guy: We’re off to the Suez to help our little German military obsessed friends secure some cargo. Want to ride along?

Octopus: No. The sun irritates me.

That Hispanic Guy looks at her, grinning slightly.

That Hispanic Guy: Well, my dear, if it is too about you…step out of that thing?

Octopus: Actually, that is a brilliant idea!

That Hispanic Guy [Eyes widening, grin growing]: SERIOUSLY?!?!

Octopus: Yes. I will do it now. In mine and Bobs bedroom. Where we will both writh on top of eachother. Hot and sweating.

That Hispanic Guy [Sighing sadly]: ..Well, you mentioned Bob naked and sweaty, so that’s my excitement gone for the day.

Octopus: Glad I can be of service, you fucking pervert.

That Hispanic Guy: Hey, a man has to live up to his bumper stickers!

That Hispanic Guy jabs a thumb behind him. Octopus leans back, looking at the chrome bumper which has a small “Pervert and Proud” bumper sticker stuck onto it.

Octopus: I see..

Stoofer: Hey, boss, it’s fucking hot out here. Can we get a move on so we can get back to toiling inside a red-hot garage?

That Hispanic Guy: I pay you, don’t I?

Johan: Only once a month.

That Hispanic Guy [Angrily]: FINE! I’LL DRIVE!

Octopus turns around nonchalantly, only for That Hispanic Guy to cough loudly, leaning a hand over the side of the rolled-down window and drop a penny to the floor.

That Hispanic Guy: Damn, I dropped a penny. Little help?

Octopus turns around, bending over and picks up the coin as That Hispanic Guy stares down her jumpsuit at her cleavage, quickly averting his gaze as she picks up the penny, turning around.

Octopus: I think I’ll take this as payment for you being such a fucking disgusting man.

That Hispanic Guy: Indeed.

Stoofer: Can you stop perving on women for a second and can we just get to the Suez?!

That Hispanic Guy [Angrily]: FINE! FINE!

That Hispanic Guy fires up the engine of the lowrider, turning right and driving down the street, quickly braking outside of ReLoaded as he watches Wolf sweep away the sand from outside the door, wearing nothing but a white shirt cut off at the midriff and a pair of small denim shorts.

Stoofer [Slapping his hands off of the drivers seat]: MERDE!!

Johan [Growing angrily impatient]: GODDAMMIT, *BEEP*!!

Wolf slowly looks up, cocking an eyebrow and looking at That Hispanic Guy.

Wolf: Can

That Hispanic Guy [Winking]: You can—

Stoofer leans over the edge of the drivers seat as Johan pushes down on That Hispanic Guys shoulders, causing his foot to press into the accelerator as Stoofer steers.

Stoofer [Hastily]: NO! YOU CAN’T! THANKS ANYWAY!

Wolf watches as the lowrider drives off into the distance, kicking up a cloud of sand.

*The Suez*

After two hours of driving, the lowrider grinds to a halt mere feet away from the edge of the Suez Canal within Port Said, in the shadows of the various monolithic structures, cranes and the shipyards which dominate the port. That Hispanic Guy grasps the edge of his door, hopping over and hitting the concrete, jogging over to the edge of the Suez and looking down into the crystal-clear waters, slowly flanked by the heavy-footed Johan and Stoofer.


That Hispanic Guy takes a deep breath of the crisp air, letting out a happy sigh.

Johan [Sniffing]: Smells like dead fish.

Stoofer: Smells like rotten bodies.

That Hispanic Guy [Scathingly]: Well, sorry that we’re here on a fucking job and not here to build fucking sandcastles and have ice cream!

Johan: Whatever. Where are they?

That Hispanic Guy: There they are! Right there!

That Hispanic Guy points at a dark, glittering shadow which remains firmly underwater, not moving one single inch as the crystal waters dart over it.

Stoofer: What now?

That Hispanic Guy [Snapping his fingers]: Open up communications. NOW!

Johan walks over to the lowrider and opens the boot, revealing a large, metal khaki ham radio. Johan tunes the knob on the ham radio until the annoying buzz of static disappears, grasping the radio.

Johan: This is Mexican Destroyer.

Robbies Voice: Mexican Destroyer? This is German Death, reporting in.

Johan: Why did you radio us?

Robbies Voice: Simple: We got word that a shipment is heading up the Suez. This shipment is filled with ammunition and weaponry to help supply the Praying Mantis PMCs. I don’t like the Praying Mantis. I hate the Praying Mantis. I VIOLENTLY hate the Praying Mantis—

Johan: Get on with it.

Robbies Voice: It’s simple: I blow them up, one of you used that crane to pick up the carcass, drop it on the port and examine it for anything salvageable.

Rudolfs Voice [Angrily]: You don’t even fire the torpedos!!! ‘I blow them up’? Really? Damn you! Damn you to hell!

Robbies Voice: Excuse me one moment.

The sound of a radio being set down, followed by the cracking of a whip and violent yelping.

Robbies Voice [Bellowing angrily]: INSUBORDINATION! IS! PUNISHABLE! BY! DEATH!

Johan sets down the ham radio, walking back over to That Hispanic Guy.

Johan: We grab the crane, wait until he blows a boat up, and then grab the shell.

Stoofer: Why?

Johan [Muttering]: Who cares? He is paying us good money for this.

That Hispanic Guy: Where did he manage to find nazi gold, anyway?

Stoofer: Let’s not ask: Let’s just do, alright?

Johan: So, who will operate the crane?

That Hispanic Guy looks at Stoofer, grinning. However, Stoofer and Johan look down at That Hispanic Guy, imitating his grin. That Hispanic Guys grin is quickly wiped from his face as his head darts around, looking at both of them.

That Hispanic Guy [Laughing, but quickly looking shocked]: OH, COME ON GUYS!!

Stoofer: Someone needs to protect and scan the merchandise.

Johan: If the enemy floats down the river and opens fire, it is best we are here to take the fight to them, as opposed to you, who would run away screaming like a tiny little girl.

That Hispanic Guy grumbles loudly, turning around and walking towards the corner with heavy feet, occasionally and angrily kicking up a dust of sand. Stoofer and Johan look at eachother, giving eachother a hard hi-five.

That Hispanic Guy [Angrily]: I heard that, you putos!

*Beale Street*

Back in Beale Street, Phil, Jericho, Ivan and Steve are now in the back of the truck containing the weapons shipment, ignoring the fact that it is pitch-black within the sweltering, humid interior of the truck and instead holding a small discussion.

Jericho: So that’s the plan. We keep ten crates and sell the rest.

Phil: What about the gold teeth?

Jericho flips open the back of the truck, staring down at the Mysterious Driver who is lying face-down in a pool of blood, presumably dead.

Jericho: ….Sell them after we burn the body.

Steve: He screamed. Loudly.

Ivan: No shit, ve kinda did blowtorch his gums.

Jericho: Alright guys, shut your fucking mouths.

Phil [Bitterly]: Y’know, you could try being nice instead of some kind of enormous asshole!

Jericho grasps the top of the truck, throwing down the door and slamming it shut, engulfing them all in darkness once more.

Jericho: One of us is going to have to drive this away. We don’t want anyone noticing.

Ivan: Ve set Vills moustache on vire. I vink they know.

Steve: I could drive!

Jericho: Then it’s settled! We start unpacking, hauling this shit into our house, and then Steve drives off.

Steve: Where to?

Phil: Dump it in the middle of the desert. Someones bound to pick it up.

Ivan [Laughing slightly]: Like who? It’s not like there’s gypsies out there!

Phil: Someone will, I know it!

Jericho: Look, let’s just unpack these things, alright?

Jericho flips open the door once more, grabbing a crate near the day and pushing it out onto the sands with a heavy thud. Phil, Steve and Ivan grasp one crate each, shifting around and pulling them, dragging them across the floor and onto the sands, turning and dragging them just outside their flat before letting go of them.

Phil: Should probably check the gear, lads!

Jericho: May as well.

Phil grasps the crate he dragged out, slipping his fingers under the lid and pulling upwards, snapping off the lid with a giant crack and rummaging through the straw, pulling out a PKM Light Machinegun.

Phil [Nodding happily]: Wow, this is some nice shit!

Ivan: Tis Vussian, Tis versatile and it kills like a dream!

Phil: PKMs…Love these. No mercenary should be without one.

Steve [Ecstatically]: HI!

Ivan: Hi.

Jericho [Slowly looking up]: ….Ahhhhhhhhh shit.

Ivan and Phil look up, watching as Tavi, Wolf and Courtney stroll smugly towards them, hands on their hips. Tavi extends her right hand, palm up.

Tavi: Alright boys, hand it over. Let the girls handle the guns!

Phil: Fuck off! I’d rather stick my cock into a blender than let you have this PKM!

Tavi [Softly]: Oh, that can be arranged..

Phil: Why do you have to bust my balls?!

Jericho: Look, ladies, we’re good, honest businessmen--

Courtney: But these are guns. We sell guns. Guns are our territory. You’re invading on OUR territory.

Jericho: YOUR territory? Who said anything about YOUR territory, eh?

Steve: I sense hostility! Bad hostility!

Wolf: Just hand over the crates, and we’ll be on our way.

Jericho [Venomously]: If you think for one second that we’re just going to hand the guns over, you must be fucking braindead!

Wolf lets out a calm sigh, pulling a Glock from the rear of her denim shorts and aiming it squarely between Jerichos eyes, clicking the safety off.

Wolf: Then I have no choice.

Jericho [Angrily]: GO ON! DO IT!

Phil: She will, you idiot!

Wolf: Just hand them over, NOW.

Phil reaches towards the back of his jeans, quickly pulling out a SIG P226 Equinox pistol, turning off the safety and cocking the hammer, pointing it at Wolf.

Phil [Calmly]: Can’t let you shoot him, dear.

Wolf slowly turns her cold eyes to Phil, turning her Glock to point between his eyes.

Wolf: Nice gun.

Phil: Found it on a dead British soldier. It’s chambered with fourty-fours, and is more than enough to turn your face into a crater.

Wolf: Always compensating for something, aren’t you? It’s about time you owned one big gun.

Jericho quickly reaches into his trenchcoat with his left hand, pulling out a Browning L9A1 pistol and pointing it at the side of Wolfs head.

Jericho: Put it down.

Wolf: A Browning? Nice.

Jericho: What can we say? There was more than one dead British soldier lying around.

Tavi [Taken aback]: Alright guys, calm down. Surely we can work this out diplomatically?

Jericho reaches his right hand into his coat, pulling out a second Browning L9A1 pistol and pointing it between Tavis eyes.

Jericho: Fuck diplomacy.

Tavi steps back slightly.

Tavi [Somewhat angrily]: Are you guys fucking nuts? We’re supposed to be team-mates, dammit!

Steve: She’s got a point! Come on, guys!

Phil sighs, slowly lowering his weapon to his side. Wolf keeps her Glock pointed at him, causing Ivan to reach into the side of the waistband of his combat pants, pulling out an MP443 Grach and pointing it at Wolfs chest.

Ivan [Demanding]: Put it down. NOW.

Courtney: Do it, Wolf.

Wolf: Nah.

Ivan cocks the hammer.

Ivan [Narrowing his eyes]: Drop it or I vill fire.

Wolf: Do it—

Ivan swings the Grach up, pulling the trigger and hitting the Glocks barrel, causing it to shatter. Wolf curses, the sudden shot causing her to drop her now-shattered Glock into the sands.

Ivan: I learnt that in Vussia.

Ivan lowers his Grach, turning his head to Jericho.

Jericho: I ain’t lowering them.

Phil: Jericho, be nice.

Jericho [Smirking cruelly]: I am being nice. Why do you think their brains aren’t on the wall?

A shot echoes out, hitting the concrete between Jerichos feet. He quickly lowers his pistol, looking up at the roof of their flat where ten Praying Mantis PMCs are now standing over them, aiming their Mk. 23 Assault Rifles down at all seven of them.

Praying Mantis PMC Squad Leader: DON’T MOVE! That shipment is property of Liquid Ocelot!


Tavi: It’s ours!

Praying Mantis PMC Squad Leader: You have ten seconds to abandon the area around the truck, or else we will use deadly force!

Ivan [Flipping the bird at them]: FUCK YOU! Ve vere given this shipment in good faith!

Praying Mantis PMC Squad Leader: That shipment was meant to arrive in Libya, and was meant to be given, by proxy, to Liquid Ocelot. That is our shipment, and it was one of our drivers whom you bribed. The same driver who bugged the truck so we could find it!

Jericho: Aren’t we supposed to just get along?!

Praying Mantis Soldier One: Not when our weapons are being stolen by you Godless sons of whores!

Ivan slowly slinks his hands around his back.

Steve: Let’s just get along!

Praying Mantis PMC Squad Leader [Growing impatient]: We will once you abandon the area around the truck. You have ten seconds.

Ivan pulls a pin, quickly hurling a cylindrical flashbang onto the roof. Several of the PMCs open fire, their shots spattering against the concrete beneath them before the flashbang erupts a blinding flash of white light, causing the PMCs to scream, clutching their eyes. Five of them quickly move behind the truck, while Jericho and Wolf dart into the alley beside the flat and an abandoned, desolate, destroyed building. Ivan quickly readies his Grach.

Ivan: Veady?

Courtney: We don’t have our weapons, smartass!

Ivan looks to the left, noticing a small cloud in the distance to the north of Beale Street: PMC reinforcements.

Ivan [Face dropping]: Vell…ve’re fucked.

Phil: Nope. Let’s just shoot first and ask questions never.

Ivan: I like that plan!

*Beale-Walker Square*

Ignorant to the gunshots exploding around them are Rex, Johnny, Tim and Bill. Bill is sat in the seat, grinning as he wears a dress shirt, jeans, shoes and tie, every single item of clothing patterned in the Stars and Stripes, topped off with a bootlace tie with a silver bullskull hanging around his neck.

Johnny: So..excited for Independence Day?

Bill: Very.

Rex: You couldn’t wear army fatigues?

Bill: Nope.

Rex: Wouldn’t it make sense to wear them as a proud member of the Armed Forces?

Bill: I prefer wearing my flag over my body. It makes me feel like my blood is red, white and blue!

Tim: Might want to get that checked out--

Bill [Left eye twitching]: Do you want to be fucking slashed to pieces?! I’m mad! I’ll fucking do it!

Rex: Shut up, and let’s get this interview done. Sounds like there’s a war going on, anyway.

Johnny flicks a few switches on the camera, giving the thumbs up.

Rex: Name. Place of Birth. Rank.

Bill: Bill Sykes. Houston, Texas. Corporal.

Rex: Corporal Sykes! So, what’s your role within the company?

Bill: Me? I’m a Mobile Armour Driver.

Rex: Mobile Armour Driver?

Bill [Chuckling]: Yep. I’m a MAD man!

Rex remains silent. Bill gives a small grin.

Rex: How long did you spend practicing that?

Bill: Five hours.

Rex [Bluntly]: Ouch. So, what are your duties as a Mobile Armour Driver?

Bill: Jesus fucking Christ, what do you think? I dance around, waving my wand and making things turn into pink sparkly unicorns! I FUCKING DRIVE! Hummers, Cobras, Tanks..You name it! If it can move, I can fucking drive it!

Rex: A person like you must be invaluable, so how did your sorry ass end up here?

Bill: Long story.

Rex: Well, let’s start from the beginning: Where were you stationed?

Bill: 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment as part of Tiger Squadron. Down in Fort Hood in my beautiful home state of Texas.

Rex: Tank Commander?

Bill: Yes.

Rex: What happened?

Bill [Scratching the back of his head]: It’s…slightly complicated.

Rex: Really?

Bill: During a parade, I kind of…lost control of my Abrams.

Rex [Cocking an eyebrow]: ..Lost control?

Bill: Opened fire on the headquarters. I was trying to control it with my knees, y’see? I had two Buds in my hands. Wanted to drink them during the parade. Except I accidentally ended up firing the main cannon.

Rex [Quietly]: …Ouch.

Bill: I’ll say. Blew a nice chunk out of the wall. Right where the officers offices were.

Rex: Double ouch.

Bill: No-one got killed, but they called me completely inept and stupid for thinking that I could drive a armoured killing machine at the same time as drinking. Needless to say, it turned out I was too risky to have around.

Rex: What? You did it again?

Bill: We were in Afghanistan and it was fucking boiling in the tank!

Rex: But why two?


Rex: So, it got you sent here?

Bill: Indeed. Better than being shot, worse than being court martialled.

Rex: Do you like it here?

Bill: For now, yeah! We drink, drink, drink and fight! Oh, we occasionally stop and eat as well. Mother sure knows how to take care of her mercenaries!

Rex: So, you like the command from the Academy?

Bill: Hell yeah! I enjoy taking orders from that cold, ruthless woman! It’s about time we got ordered by someone who knows what it takes to get shit done, as opposed to someone who dances around doing absolutely nothing.

Rex: I see—

Bill: No, you don’t. It’s simple: Mother orders someone dead, so she sends in her companies. Said person winds up dead. There’s no messing around waiting for confirmation, she gets shit done by herself. I love that! No fucking around, just getting stuck into the action whenever possible!

Rex: What about the personal command here? People like Frank and Lynch?

Bill slaps his thigh, grinning.

Bill: Like ‘em both. Both good men.

Rex: Like the others?

Bill: Oh yeah! [Under his breath] Except Will. I hate him.

Rex: A common theme amongst mercenaries stationed here, it seems.

Bill: We’re on the front line. When the shit goes down in the Suez, we’ll be there. We want to live for the moment, cause we’re going to get fucked up when we go down there. We live for the moment, but Will? He’s a giant asshole. A giant, groomed asshole who needs a fucking slap!

Rex: Not a good man to be stuck on the front with?

Bill: No. All he does is preen himself, eat and have sex. He’s basically a cat, except less useful.

Rex: But you get on with everyone else?

Bill: Indeed I do. Can’t say there’s anyone else I hate. They’re all fine soldiers. Sure, they’ve been tossed aside by the army, but who hasn’t? I’ve been through training with every single one of these guys..Places like Bolivia, Somalia, Chechnya, The Balkans, Sweden, North Korea, wherever shit has went down thanks to Ocelot moving his PMCs in..We’ve been there, and every single time, these guys have done the job well. Fuck, those were just training missions!

Rex: I’m guessing they break the rules?

Bill: No. We don’t murder civilians, asshole. We don’t burn villages and we don’t burn towns. We do break the rules occasionally, capture a PMC and torture him, but that’s about it.

Rex: Torture?

Bill: Don’t act so shocked! Our boys used Guantanamo Bay for a while, and that got results! To make a great omelette, you gotta break some eggs and the occasional bone, so fucking what?

Rex [Shrugging]: ..I see the point.

Bill: Yeah yeah. It’s necessary to survive. If we don’t torture people, they’ll just torture us. If we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us. Circle of life.

Rex: Alright, let’s wrap this up: Anything to say to family or friends?


Bill leans forward, grasping the camera and kissing the lens.

Rex [Folding his arms]: Bill. Stop kissing the camera.

Bill stops as Johnny switches off the camera, looking slightly disturbed. Bill stands up straight, grinning.

Bill: Can I go?

Tim: If I were you, I’d stay here for a while.

Bill: Why?

The four men remain silent as gunfire echoes in Beale Street near them.

Rex: Anyone for a game of poker?

Bill [Ecstatically]: DOES IT INVOLVE DRINKING?!?!

Rex: No.

Bill [Bluntly]: Then count me out.

Bill whistles a small tune, slipping his hands into his pockets and strolling out into Walker Street.

Rex: I’m surprised people here aren’t pickled.

*The Suez*

In Port Said, That Hispanic Guy has taken position, seated in a large, bright-yellow crane to the east of the Suez Canal, checking his watch nonchalantly. Stoofer and Johan remain bored, leaning against the lowrider as they glance out to sea, watching the various fishing boats haul in their catches of the day, but not much else.

Below the surface of the Suez, the U-Boat has also ground to a practical halt as Benito keeps his eyes fixated within the periscope. Robbie is busy pacing impatiently around the control room, hands clasped behind his back as Dave is sat down, reading a Playboy magazine.

Robbie [Angrily]: Anything? ANYTHING?! The recon I got this morning told me that four ships were supposed to here!!

Dave: Maybe your reconnaissance was..I don’t know..wrong?


Benito [Growing impatient]: We’ve been waiting here for five hours.

Robbie: Be patient.

That Hispanic Guy, up in the crane, sighs loudly, folding his arms tighter across his chest.

That Hispanic Guy: What a fucking waste of time…

Down on the shore, Johan and Stoofer are simply left to wait, beginning to grow impatient.

Johan [Cracking his knuckles]: He said there would be a job for us..

Stoofer: Yeah, well, there looks like there is no job.

Johan: How about we piss in the canal on them?

Stoofer: …No. How about we piss on them when we next see them?

Johan: Good plan!

Johan and Stoofer turn their heads, watching at the mouth of the canal as four small flatbed metal boats lazily begin to float up the canal with what appears to be zero armament. Stoofer quickly jogs over to the boot, grasping the radio.

Stoofer: Hey! HEY! Are these the boats coming up now?!

Stoofer listens to the static on the other end, which quickly dissipates into Robbies voice.


Robbie sets down the radio, slapping Benitos shoulder roughly.

Robbie [Giddily]: Where are they? WHERE ARE THEY?!


Robbie: How big?

Benito: ….Small, actua—

Robbie [Sadistically]: OPEN FIRE! SHOW NO FUCKING MERCY!

Benito: Boss, are you sure? That’s weaponry on those boats. Blowing it up might cause the ammunition to cook—


Heinrich scuttles over to a large grey steel box embedded in a wall hanging over a large metal desk. He leans over the desk, snatching a handset from the box.

Heinrich: Permission to open fire granted.

Rudolfs Voice [Half-obscured by static]: FIRING TORPEDOS!!!

Benito: Oh. Wait.

Robbie [Impatiently]: Wait? WHY?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!?!

The front boat of the small pack is swiftly torn from the water by the three-fingered metal claw of the crane as it dives down, snatching the metal boat with relative ease. The captain of the vessel quickly dives out into the Suez as the metal creaks violently. That Hispanic Guy grins brightly, swinging the crane around and setting it down several metres north of Johan and Stoofer before swinging it around to the mouth of the canal. The other three flatbeds quickly begin to manoeuvre around, trying desperately to escape as That Hispanic Guy rubs his hands together giddily.

That Hispanic Guy: Just like a claw machine! Except this time, I’m guaranteed to win!

Robbie: THAT CUNT! We were supposed to destroy them!

Dave: Why?

Robbie: ..Because!

Dave: Why?

Robbie: Because it would look good!

Dave: Why?

Robbie [Impatiently]: SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!!!

Dave: Why?

Benito: He’s doing it again!

Benito watches through the periscope as a second flatbed is hoisted out of the water effortlessly as That Hispanic Guy whistles a tune to himself, swinging the crane to the right and quickly grinding to a halt, hanging it above the first flatbed left stranded upon the concrete dock. That Hispanic Guy jars a few levers, pulling it back and lightly lowering the second flatbed beside the first one. Stoofer and Johan are already beginning to pile several of the crates into the back of the lowrider, stopping and chatting amongst themselves as they look at the second flatbed.

Johan: You know, I can see why the sadist wanted to blow them up. How the hell do we get these home?

Stoofer: …..Who said we have to take That Hispanic Guy home?

Johan [Grinning slightly]: …I see your point.

Their words are cut short as a violent fizzing sound, followed by a large explosion, fills the air. They turn their heads, watching as a glowing orange and black plume of fire extends into the air from what used to be a flatbed. As acrid smoke spirals into the air, the destroyed flatbed begins crackling violently as the ammunition heats up, causing the powder within to explode and set off the bullets. Several of the bullets crack the concrete around Johan and Stoofer, causing them to leap over the lowriders bonnet, taking cover behind it.

That Hispanic Guy [Angrily]: …FUCKING PUTO! HE’S ONTO ME!


Benito: Sir?!

Dave: Oh look, he’s going insane. Are you really that surprised?

Benito: At what?

Dave nonchalantly flicks the page.

Dave: At them screwing you out of several crates of weaponry.

Robbie [Sighing]: I am. Am I not loveable?

Dave: Absolutely not.

Heinrich: Nope.

Benito: Not even a little.

Johans Voice: No.

Robbie blinks rapidly, his head snapping violently to face the ham radio before rushing over to it, grasping the handset.


Stoofers Voice [In the background]: Have you seen this shit?! It’s just AKs! Thousands of AKs!

Johans Voice: Apparently, the shipments are mainly AKs—Hang on, we’ll share them.

The feed cuts off into nothing more than static. Robbie slowly sets the radio down, turning to Dave who coughs loudly, setting the Playboy down on the table behind him as the U-boat begins to rock as its pounded by the force of several wooden crates, throwing into the canal by Stoofer and Johan.

Robbie [Angrily]: THOSE FUCKERS!!

Dave [Calmly]: Could see this coming.

The U-boat begins shaking violently, the thuds amplified throughout the metal and audibly resembling explosions as each crate smashes into the metal hull of the u-boat.

That Hispanic Guy [Yelling]: HEY! HEY! WHAT ARE YOU TWO MORONS DOING?!?!

Johan turns to the crane, which That Hispanic Guy is currently leaning out of, waving his hand inanely down at them.


That Hispanic Guy: I SEE!! DUMP IT ALL, THEN!!

Stoofer [Hastily]: Wait a minute!

Another explosion fills the air as the final flatbed is consumed in a cloud of bright orange flames, a result of a torpedo onslaught from the U-boat.

Johan: What?!

Stoofer reaches into a crate he is about to shove into the Suez, pulling out a polished M4 Carbine and holding it to the sky.

Stoofer: Beautiful!

Johan: Fuck, we had better start checking crates!

That Hispanic Guy swings the crane door open, beginning the slow, uneasy descent down the ladder attached to the side of the body as Johan cracks open a crate.

Johan: AKs.

Johan pushes the crate into the Suez as Stoofer tears the lid off of another crate.

Stoofer: More AKs.

Stoofer shoves the crate into the Suez as Johan tears the lid off of a second crate.

Johan: …SCARs! Fuck me, this is some premium shit!

Stoofer: Definitely good to sell!


Stoofer [Not paying attention]: ALRIGHT!!!

Johan grabs a third crate, prying the lid off and looking inside.

Johan: Frag Grenades.

Stoofer: Twenty crates left. Fingers crossed.

Johan: Fingers crossed that tonight we will be laying in piles of money!

Johan and Stoofer hi-five. On the U-Boat, however, the mood is absolutely sour.

Robbie [Head in hands, tearing at his hair angrily]: Those cunts, they fucking double-crossed us! THOSE BACKSTABBING BASTARDS! THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO WAIT FOR US TO SURFACE!

Heinrich: Why don’t we surface now and talk to them? Diplomacy works well on team-mates--

Robbie [Impatiently]: SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!

Dave: He’s got a point. Rather than brutally murder them while they sleep, we could possibly try talking to them?

Robbie [Scathingly]: One more word and I will cut your throat!

Dave: Man, I thought we were supposed to be bros, man!

The U-boat rocks violently once more as several crates pound into the hull.

Benito: Y’know, that is actually getting kind of annoying.

Robbie [Screaming violently]: KILL THEM ALL!!!!

Dave: They’re on dry land, you idiot!

Robbie stomps violently over to Benito, shoving away from the periscope and grasping the handles, twisting it around: Johan and Stoofer are down to the final two crates, both of which are set down on the rear seats of the lowrider which is now leaning backwards thanks to the immense weight. That Hispanic Guy slowly strolls over, clapping slowly with a grin brighter than the stars, opening his arms.

That Hispanic Guy [Happily]: My compadres! Brilliant haul! Absolutely brilliant!

Johan: Yes. Yes it is.

That Hispanic Guy: So, where do I sit?

Stoofer glances at Johan, nodding as he hurls a tarred rope from one side of the lowrider over to the other, sliding beneath the lowrider to it into place. Johan simply shrugs.

Johan: Please forgive me.

That Hispanic Guy [Worried]: ….For what?

Johan grabs That Hispanic Guy by his collar, opening the trunk of the car and bundling him inside. He struggles violently, clawing at the outside, but Johan keeps a hand pushed against his chest, stopping him from doing so.

Stoofer: DONE!

Stoofer slides out from under the lowrider, climbing into the drivers seat. Johan and Stoofer turn their heads, listening to a violent rushing and fizzing sound as the U-boat surfaces, spraying copious amounts of seawater across the docks.

That Hispanic Guy: STOP! STOP YOU LOCO PUTAS!!

Stoofer: Sorry boss, but there was just too much actual good stuff to allow you to sit in the back.

Stoofer fires up the engine as Johan slams the boot shut, strolling calmly over to the passengers side and swinging a leg over, climbing in. The rusted hatch of the U-boat creaks violently, swinging open as Robbie surfaces, aiming his Mauser at the lowrider.

Robbie [Angrily]: YOU ALL DIE NOW!!


Robbie begins to fire repeatedly as Stoofer pushes down on the accelerator, driving off as fast as he can between two shipping crates and thus away from Robbie who lowers his gun, snorting loudly as Daves head peers up from the hatch.

Dave: Y’know, I heard talking to people actually really does he—

Robbie kicks the hatch, causing it to slam down on Daves head. Dave yelps violently, falling down the metal rungs as Robbie gives a small, satisfied grin, nodding to himself.

*Beale Street*

Back in Beale Street, Ivan, Phil, Tavi, Steve and Courtney are huddled behind the truck, keeping in cover away from the PMCs who are on the roof of Phil, Steve, Jericho and Ivans flat, waiting for them to surface.

Ivan: Vight, ve need to lay down covering fire.

Phil: Why?

Tavi: So we can grab some weapons!

Courtney: And an RPG. A long, hard, cold metal RPG..

Courtney shudders slightly, grinning brightly.

Phil [Hastily]: I’m going in.

Ivan: NOW! GO GO!

Ivan and Phil twist around the side of the truck, aiming upwards and firing several shots from their sidearms. The PMCs are forced to take cover, but Ivan manages to hit one between the eyes with his Grach, causing a small spurt of blood to fly over the edge of the roof and to the sands. As they open fire, Tavi quickly crawls under the bottom of the truck, dragging herself forward and quickly leaning down into the open crate, pulling out two of the PKM Light Machineguns and sliding them both under the truck.


Ivans gun clicks, letting him know he’s out of ammunition. He curses loudly, quickly sliding back behind the truck.


Tavi looks at the two crates beside the PKM crate, shrugging and grasping under the stiff wooden lids, thrusting up and causing both lids to crack, splinter and fall to the ground. She rummages through the straw of the right, pulling out an unloaded RPG tube before leaning in, rummaging towards the bottom and pulling out a bundle of the grenades, kissing them.

Tavi: GOT THEM!!

Phil quickly ducks behind the side of the truck as the PMCs resurface. One shoots down at Tavi who quickly dives on her stomach, skittering under the truck. Courtney kneels down, holding out a hand which Tavi takes, allowing Courtney to drag her back to the other side of the truck. Courtney grins, taking one of the PKMs, but her face falls suddenly.

Courtney: Where’s the ammo?

Tavi glares at the PKMs, noticing they are missing their box magazines.

Phil [Glaring at her]: They don’t ship loaded!!

Tavi [Extremely frustrated[: SHIT!!!

Courtney: I’ll take ‘em out with the RPG!!

Phil [Shaking his head rapidly]: FUCK THAT!! THAT’S OUR FUCKING HOUSE!!

Ivan: Vell, vat now?!

Phil: Hang on, let me reload!

Ivan: It vill just be you! I’m out!

Phil: You only brought one clip?!

Ivan: Sorry.

Phil curses loudly, slamming the back off his head off of the van. Steve clicks his fingers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small PMM Makarov pistol, handing it to Ivan.

Steve: Just in case!

Ivan snatches it, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and kissing his forehead.

Ivan [Ecstatically]: YOU LIFESAVER!!....But vhy aren’t you providing covering fire?!

Steve: Makarovs too small. Hurts fingers!

They listen as the sound of a thud fills the air. Phil lays on his stomach, watching as a PMC jogs over to one of the crates. However, Jericho quickly lunges out of the alley, wrapping both arms around his neck and dragging him backwards into the alley. Before the PMC can call out, a sickening snap fills the air and Phil watches the PMCs left leg twitch violently as Jericho lays him down on the ground, having snapped his neck.

Phil: Wow. The mans not very nice.

Ivan: Covering fire?

Phil [Nodding in agreement]: Covering fire round two!

Ivan and Phil quickly turn out from behind the truck, watching as two PMCs surface. In the blink of an eye, followed by the sound of two distance gunshots, both PMCs collapse onto the roof, presumably dead.

Steve [Laughing gratefully]: DIBBLEY!!

Phil [Clapping his hands and pumping his left arm]: That magnificent bastard has our back! IT’S GOOD SOMEONE DOES!!

Wills Voice: I can’t hear you! I’m having my daily wax, you village idiot!

Courtney kneels down, watching as the cloud moves closer and slips one of the grenades into the tube of the RPG, lifting it onto her right shoulder and carefully placing her finger near the trigger, closing her left eye and glancing down the scope.

Courtney: Just a few seconds more..

Praying Mantis PMC Squad Leader: OPEN FIRE!!

Several of the PMCs get to their feet, aiming their rifles down at Phil and Ivan. Both men open fire, but are forced to move behind the truck as soon as the assault rifles open up with a blaze of gunfire. Tavi kneels down, crawling under the truck and watching as Wolf surfaces behind the PMCs, grabbing the Squad Leader and dragging him away, holding a large Bowie Knife to his throat. The PMCs turn around, aiming their rifles at her.

Wolf: Move and I slit his throat.

Praying Mantis PMC Squad Leader [Determined]: KILL HER AND ME!! I WILL WILLINGLY DIE FOR OCELOT!!

Wolf [Slightly nervous]: …Did not see that one coming.

Before the PMCs can open fire, Phil and Ivan quickly turn the corner, opening fire. Jericho, hearing the verbal exchange, runs out of the alley, jogging backwards with both his Browning Pistols aimed at the roof, pulling the triggers as quick as he possibly can. Between the fire of all three, as well as the presumed help from the distant Mister Dibbley, the PMCs are quickly cut down in a swath on top of the roof, their bodies exploding in a mess of vibrant red holes. Wolf throws the Squad Leader off of the roof, causing him to stumble over and hit the concrete below with a sickening crack, breaking both his legs and his right arm.

Ivan: Wow. That looked painful.

Courtney [Smirking]: And boom goes the dynamite.

Courtney pulls the trigger of the RPG just as a troop carrier truck surfaces over a small sand dune several yards north of Beale Street. The RPG whistles through the air, cutting it apart and slamming into the front of the troop carrier, causing it to explode in a plume of vibrant orange and black, the pungent smell of burning petrol and incinerated flesh filling the air as a burning tyre slams down onto the roof of the truck with an echoing crash. Courtney sets the RPG down, sniffing the air deeply.

Courtney [Sighing happily] ….Smells like heaven…

Wolf re-appears from the alleyway, having climbed down from the roof. All six of them slowly approach the Squad Leader who is now trying to crawl away.

Ivan: So, vat do ve do vith him?

Jericho [Bluntly[: Kill him

Wolf calmly walks over to the squad leader, placing a foot under his chest and kicking him onto his back.

Tavi: Who gets the honors?

Wolf [Hastily, gasping slightly]: I do..

Wolf kneels down, straddling the waist of the PMC and leans down, pressing her lips to his and snaking her tongue into his mouth. The others watch in disgust before Wolf pushes in harder to the kiss, pushing the blade of her Bowie Knife into the side of his neck, swiping it upwards and severing his throat, causing him to choke up blood. The soldiers eyes widen, but slowly close as his eyes roll back into his head as the cold grip of death takes him. Wolf gives a muffled, erotic moan, pulling away and lifting her head up, gasping loudly and spitting out a mouthful of the soldiers blood onto the floor beside her. She looks around at the completely shellshocked and disgusted faces around her.

Tavi [Left eye twitching]: …..Wow. That’s….actually disturbing..

Wolf: What?!

Phil and Jericho turn away, doubling over and vomiting on the floor. Steve simply falls backwards onto the floor, fainting.

Courtney: ..Is there something you like about killing?

Wolf [Groaning gratefully]: Yes..It’s been too long…MUCH too long..

Wolf lets out a deep, blissful sigh, running her bloodied hands down her chest and smearing her shirt with blood. Phil and Jericho both stand up as Ivan turns away, slapping their backs.

Ivan: Shall we get a drink?

Jericho [Mumbling]: We’re going to fucking need it.

Wolf [Giggling slightly]: …I need to change my clothes…

She purrs slightly, getting to her feet with the help of Tavi and Courtney.

Tavi: Hey, guys, what are we gonna do about these?

Jericho turns around, half-glancing at Wolf before looking away.

Jericho: Fuck it. We keep ten crates, that’s five each, and we sell the rest to a fifty-fifty profit. Hows that?

Wolf: …Make it seven for us and three for you with a seventy-thirty profit in our favour.. [Wolf strolls over to Jericho, resting her head on his shoulder and snaking her fingertips around his chest] ..And you won’t wake up with me straddling you with a knife in your throat..


Wolf pecks his cheek lightly, grinning and turning to Tavi and Courtney, strolling past them as they watch, wide-eyed.

Tavi: ..Courtney…What the fuck just happened?

Courtney: …I’m not even going to venture a guess.

Phil: I will: We’re all fucking screwed.

Steve: You always say that!

Phil: I’m right this time though, aren’t I?

Steve stops for a moment, smiling and nodding.

Steve: YUP!

Phil rubs his eyes in despair, jogging up the steps into the flat.

*The Lamb and Flag*

As the crates are packed away and the truck dumped, night begins to slowly fall over Romani. As it does, several of the mercenaries surface for another drink, and perhaps even another brawl. The mood is unusually high amongst the American mercenaries, who are marching down Beale Street waving sparklers. Dean himself is carrying the United States flag draped over his shoulder, while Bill stops to occasionally set a rocket in the sand, lighting it and allowing Beale Street to glow in a flood of red and blue.


Bill [Laughing at the top of his lungs]: YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Jericho, Phil, Steve and Ivan slowly exit their steps. Steve jogs down the steps, joining the small crowd of proud Americans.


Samuel quickly jogs out of the Kebaborama, leaving a lone Karab to man the shop, running beside Dean.

Samuel: Happy Independence Day!

Dean wraps an arm around Samuels shoulder, pumping his fist.

Dean [Happily]: FUCK YEAH!!

Jericho: So, the Yanks are celebrating winning the war over us, eh?

Billy walks past them, shrugging.

Billy [Grumbling]: Sadly…

Phil: Eh, whatever.

Phil, Jericho and Ivan jog down the steps, joining the crowd as they gather outside the Lamb and Flag, filing in as they talk excitedly amongst themselves. Bill quickly runs out, firing off a rocket into the air and raising his arms.

Bill [Ecstatically]: FUCKING AMERICA! FUCK YEAH!

Billy: Well, this is gonna be fun.

Johan squeezes past them, shrugging his shoulders.

Johan: Doesn’t matter. Just as long as they don’t cause shit.

They walk into the Lamb and Flag. Johan joins Stoofer, Mustafa, That Hispanic Guy, That Random Guy and That Other Random Guy at one of the tables. Billy, Jericho, Ivan and Phil sit at a table by themselves as Dick coughs loudly, standing before the bar.

Dick: Now, I know you are all happy, for today is Independence Day!

Bill [Inanely]: WOO! YEAH!!

Steve: AMERICA!!

Dean [Whooping]: WE KICK ASS!!

Dick: So what better way to slay your thirst than..

Jericho: Please be something cheap and acidic!

Dick holds up a small, brown bottle, covered with a gaudy golden label. The bar falls silent almost immediately.

Dick: Ladies and Gentlemen..Ubermenschfuhrer! The beer that slaps you around!

The patrons simply sit there, dumbfounded.

Dick: Smoother than silk! It only costs five dollars a bott--

Dean grabs a pint glass, hurling it towards Dick, only for it to smash off the wall to his right.

Billy [Angrily]: You pathetic-armed little Yankee twat! Let me try it!

Billy hurls his glass violently through the air, hitting Dick square in the middle of the face and causing him to stumble backwards as the glass bounces off with a sick, sharp thud and hits the floor, smashing into several shards.

Dick [Starting to panic]: Stop! I can explain--

Sal: Five dollars? Am I made of money?

The bar falls silent, and everyone turns their heads to face Sal. Sal simply sits there, eyes darting around as his fingertips lightly rap the table.

Sal: ….Well, I’m not paying, alright?!

Courtney: I say we smack the crap outta him!

Raven: I say we tie him up and set him on fire!

Phil: I say we tie him up, smack the crap outta him and THEN set him on fire!

Ivan: I say ve do vat zey do in Greece!

Jericho stands up, lighting the chair beside him on fire and raising it above his head.

Jericho [Yelling at the top of his lungs]: YOU HEARD HIM!! REBEL AGAINST THE FASCIST PIG!!!

Ivan: ..I vas suggesting valking out.

Jericho simply stands there, throwing the chair to the floor.

Jericho [Sadly]: Oh.

Maurice strolls out from the kitchen beside Dick, clutching the hose.

Maurice: I suggest you all get out! I’m not abandoning my friend!

That Random Guy suddenly bursts in, throwing the door to one side.

That Random Guy: Pig barbecue at the Half Moon! Bacon, pork chops, pulled por--

That Random Guy screams, turning around and sprinting out as Maurice runs out, waving his arms and yelling gibberish. Frank slowly stands up, looking at Dick and shaking his head.

Dean [Melodramatically]: Your stupid ideas are just..too stupid to love.

Dean pushes himself away from the table, turning around and walking towards the door. He’s quickly followed by Will, who looks back at Dick, sneers and walks out. Raging Raven quickly flips the table, throwing it onto its side and following Will out.

Dick: No! Wait! I can change!...I can hire a clown! A good clown!

Jericho: We didn’t want change, you ass! We just wanted a pub we can believe in and use to show the Yanks just what they’re missing!

Phil: And now look..Fire extinguishers? Dance floors? Imported beer? Fuck that! We want a place where we can hurls chairs, throw tables, and drink cheap, acid-like beer without some stupid fucktard singing “Living On A Prayer”!

Ivan: It vasn’t meant to be sung by anyvone else.

Phil: Exactly!

Jericho turns around, walking towards the door. Phil and Ivan follow as Frank, Will, Raven and Jericho file out there. Steve instinctively stands up.

Dick [Pleading]: Steve! Please! You still like me, right? I give you wowwypops when you get boo-boos!

Steve: …But Phil gives my wowwypops and whiskeypops!

Phil: C’mon Steve. I’ll buy you some real hard liquor if you follow us.

Steve whoops happily, running out of the Lamb and Flag and following Phil. Dick looks over the rest of the bar, who are now glaring critically at him, waiting for him to do something special to prevent them from leaving.

Dick: ..I love you guys?

Billy [Scathingly]: Go fuck yourself.

Billy slams his fists on the table, standing up and storming towards the door. Sal stands up, pointing at Dick critically.

Sal: You sir, are a shit! I demand cheap beer when I visit this establishment! I only drink expensive beer that’s either imported by Tibetan monks, or at my home!

Dick: I’ll give you Tibetan monk beer if you stay!

Sal: It’s specially made for me, cockmonkey!

Sal turns his nose up, ho-humming and stomping towards the door, only to walk clumsily into the wall beside it.

Sal: Hey, who put that there?

Sal laughs nervously, strolling through the door as Tavi, Courtney and Wolf stand up in unison. Dick gives a pathetic, guttural weep, falling to his knees.

Dick [Starting to weep]: PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!!

Wolf: You know..I like men sobbing on their knees, but this doesn’t do anything for me.

Courtney: Maybe because he’s too pathetic to love?

Wolf [Calmly]: Maybe..

Tavi: Nah, he’s just not loveable. C’mon, I’m sure Al will have something at the Half Moon for us.

Tavi, Courtney and Wolf stroll out of the door, thus being the final patrons to abandon the Lamb and Flag. Dick simply stands there, a tear rolling down his cheek.

Dick [Sadly]: ….I’m all alone..

Moe and Maurice walk out from the kitchen, taking off their aprons and throwing them at Dicks feet.

Maurice: No, now you are laddo. I’m sick of this shit, aye? The wasting of cash, the late payments, and now expensive beer? This ain’t you, kidda! This is not the man I know! You best sort ya shit out, or this place is gonna be left ta rot!

Moe: I mean..Come on, Dick. You had it all, and then you changed it for no fucking reason! Get a grip, man! You best start selling things and getting the good ol’ days back, or I’ll be the one bulldozing this place into smithereens..

Dick simply watches as Moe and Maurice nonchalantly walk out of the door, shutting it behind them. Dick sits down, cross-legged and looks across the bar, tapping his chin in thought..

*Half Moon*

Once again, the Half Moon is packed to bursting point. Despite being modelled after a British-pub, there is now red, white and blue bunting across the ceiling, as well as an American flag on the wall opposite the door. A hi-fi stereo is situated just in front of the bar, which is now dotted with bottles of Pabst Blue Label, Budweiser and Coors. Al stands behind the bar, grinning widely as he dons a top-hat, suit jacket and pants all emblazoned with the pattern resembling the flag of the United States of America. Several of the patrons look ecstatic with the surroundings, while some look extremely gloomy, while others just don’t care.

Billy: What the hell is this?

Billy stares at the bottle before him with such intent that it seems like he wants to make it explode with his mind.

Ivan: Coors.


Al: Now now, Billy, it’s the Fourth of July, know what that means?

Steve [Ecstatically]: American Independence DAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

Al: Exactly! Now, I figured it would only be fair dues if we had a little bash to celebrate this day, I mean, we celebrated the Queens birthday, the Royal Wedding, Saint Georges Day, so why not Independence Day?


Phil gets up from the table where him, Billy, Jericho, Steve and Ivan are sat, strolling over to the bar and setting down a handful of dollar bills.

Phil: Well, we do nick their currency.

Al: Exactly!

Phil takes a bottle of Pabst, cracking off the top and taking a quick swig.

Phil [Shrugging]: …..It’ll do.

Phil sits down back at the table as Jericho snatches the bottle, taking a quick drink and smacking his lips.

Jericho [Purposefully raising his voice]: Nah, sorry, prefer an ENGLISH BITTER!! OR A SCOTTISH SINGLE-MALT WHISKEY!!

Dean: Will you shut the fuck up! We’re trying to celebrate our Independence here!

Ivan: How?

Dean holds up two sparklers in his hands, waving them.

Dean [Grinning brightly]: By setting things on fire!

Steve: It’s the only way to celebrate!

Sal: Exactly! Here’s hoping we’ll see some fireworks later!

Billy: Dude, I thought you were Hawaiian?

Sal: Yeah, well, I’m closer to them than to you, Scotty.

Al gives a shrill whistle, causing the bar to fall silent. As they do, he raises a hand in the air, grinning brightly.

Al: Here’s to the American Independence Day! When we Brits secretly spit on the Stars and Stripes while you Yanks set off fireworks!

Sal [Sarcastically]: Wow. You people are too kind.

Al: In the spirit of friendship, I will now play the “Star Spangled Banner” on a loop for the rest of the night!

Jericho [Desperately]: No! NO!

Al: Yes yes! It’s all about friendship, lads!

Al clicks the button on the hi-fi system, allowing the smooth, blaring sounds of “Star Spangled Banner” to erupt from the speakers. Sal, Bill, Dean, Samuel, Bobby, That Random Guy, Will, Courtney, Rex, Johnny and Tim rise to their feet, hands over their hearts as they begin to sing along heartily to the lyrics.

Billy: Booooooooooooooooooo!

Bobby suddenly stops singing, glaring down at Billy.

Bobby: Are you disrespecting my country?

Billy shoves his chair away, standing up.

Billy: What if I am?

Bobby [Venomously]: I’ll fucking cut you, bitch.

Bobby reaches into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade and flicking the switch, causing the blade to extend.

Billy: You call that a knife? [Billy grasps his pint glass] THIS IS A KNIFE!

Bobby: That’s a glass.

Billy smashes the top of the glass off of the table, causing it to smash. He holds up the bottom of the glass, the shattered end pointed at Bobby.

Billy [Angrily]: Now it’s something to cut your fucking face off!

Courtney: Hey! Leave him alone!

Jericho: Oh, fuck this, and fuck America!

Rex: Hey, fuck you! We saved your asses in World War Two!

Jericho: That was the Russians, you cocksucker!


Ivan [Slamming his fists on the table]: I’ll vrong you, cunt!!

Bobby lifts up his chair, flinging it across the room and hitting Billy square in the mouth with it, causing him to collapse backwards. Jericho responds by picking up his glass, hurling it across the room and into Bobbys face, causing it to smash violently.

That Random Guy [Pointing across the room and waving on to the Americans]: AMERICA VERSUS THE WORLD!! LET’S SHOW THEM HOW WE FIGHT, BOYS!!

That Random Guy vaults his table, tearing off his shirt and punching Jericho in the jaw, sending him to the floor. Phil quickly lunges to his feet, smashing his chair over the back of That Random Guy. Dean lunges at Phil, diving onto his back and locking him in a Sleeper Hold. In a sudden fit, both sides of the bar run forward, vaulting over tables and chairs as glasses, fists, stools and the occasional table are thrown through the air. Al sits behind his bar, grinning happily.

Al: And this is how any country should celebrate Independence Day!

Al quickly ducks as Jericho is thrown over the bar by Johnny and Tim, sending him into the rows of bottles behind Al. Al stands up, but quickly steps back as Johan slams Dean stomach-first into the bar, grinding him against the shards of broken glass before sliding him off of the end. Al quickly sidesteps as Sal runs forward, leaping up and slamming his chair off of the top of Johans head, sending him stumbling forward and onto the bar.

Sal [Whooping]: I AM KING!!! I AM KI--

Sal turns around as Mustafa hits him so violently into the jaw he falls unconscious standing up. Samuel and Bill run forward, wrapping their arms around Mustafas waist and tackling him straight over the bar. Samuel quickly stands up, brushing his hair free from glass shards and patting Bill on the back, pointing at Ivan who is busy strangling the life out of Will with a snakeskin belt.

Samuel: C’mon! Let’s get ‘em!

Bill: I like your thinking, boy!

Bill and Samuel jump onto the top of the bar, leaping off and tackling Ivan to the floor as Al stands back, hands on his hips.

Al: Yup. A guy could get used to this.

Al watches as the door opens, revealing Kurt Angle and Jack Swagger who both run in, tackling Billy to the floor and beginning to stomp him. Phil is quickly thrown out of a window by Courtney, who dusts her hands off, grinning and giving a swift thumbs up, followed by a thumbs down before turning around and kicking a subdued Billy swiftly in the testicles. Billy lets out a high-pitched squeal before being dragged to the floor by Swagger and Angle, both of whom lock in an Ankle Lock on both of his legs. Dean quickly stands up, raising a fist filled with his own bloodied teeth in the air.

Dean [Ecstatically]: LONG LIVE THE UNITED STATES!!

The scene fades as a chair is thrown through the air at Dean, who quickly catches it and twists around to his left, smashing it into pieces over Als head.

- With Independence Day celebrations going smoothly and two shipments of weaponry now making their rounds across the mercenary camp, it looks like the mercenaries are now perfectly armed for a possible conflict with Liquid Ocelot. When will Lynch and Frank return, and what will they reveal about their meeting with Mother Mercenary? Will Robbie ever attend anger management? Has Wolf finally gone off the deep end and taken a plunge into the pool of insanity? Will Dick ever restore the Lamb and Flags shattered reputation? Visit us next time to witness the bowling tournament, an Israeli secret agent, even more candid interviews, and a general feeling of serenity. Ahhhh…

Be sure to visit our brand new forum at! Remember: That new forum smell only lasts so long, so log on as soon as you can! forum smell!

No comments:

Post a Comment