Saga III Chapter III - Gone To Texas

The scene opens up in Nashville, Tennessee, within a gated military compound. A single storey building surrounded by chicken wire, and with two outposts, manned by snipers, flanking either side of the road into the parking lot, this is the Mercenary Academy of the United States. It was built to protect the interests of the United Nations and the Patriots within the United States by training up mercenaries to fight against the PMC's, though now it is secretly functioning as a training base to allow mercenaries not affected by SoP to undermine the interests of both the Patriots and Liquid Ocelot, underneath the eye of all-seeing eyes of Mother Mercenary. A bare minimum of soldiers are visibly guarding the premises, several windows are boarded up and a field in the distance, hosting a metal hut, has the words "ARMORY" roughly painted in black on a wooden sign above it. It makes the Mercenary Academy of the Middle East appear technologically advanced. Standing outside the double doors into the reception are Courtney, now clad in her full military uniform, and Lynch, who looks extremely out of character, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, white vest and jean shorts paired with brown leather sandals.

Lynch: Are you ready?

Courtney: As i'll ever be.

Lynch: Take your experiences in the Middle East and train this lot up. Get them out there and killing the Praying Mantis PMC.

Courtney [Nodding]: I will.

Lynch: Mother will keep in contact with you. She'll make sure you're safe. Just do your best.

Courtney: I will.

Lynch: You're here in your backyard, and that means that the pressure is on your shoulders. Don't fuck it up.

Courtney [Scowling slightly]: You know I won't..

Lynch: I've just gotta make sure. Personally, I wouldn't trust any of you with a can opener.

Courtney [Scoffing]: Gee, thanks.

Lynch: I'm just saying.

Courtney [Sighing]: .....Well...anyway...Lynch, thank you for everything--

Lynch: No, Courtney: Thank you for everything.

Lynch looks at her and gives a bitter sigh, moving forward and hugging her tightly. Courtney stands there, shocked.

Lynch [Calmly]: ....Good luck, I guess.

Courtney: Thank you, Lynch..

Lynch pulls away, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her.

Lynch: You are going to have to bring this Academy up to code. When the war with Ocelot truly begins, at least there'll be one person in a foreign Academy who will bring the fucking war to that cunt. I'd hate to be in your shoes because you're going to have the mother of all targets painted onto your chest, but it's better you than...say, Frank.

Courtney [Smirking]: You know it.

Lynch: Good luck, kid. Train the cavalry.

Courtney turns around, walking through the double doors and shoving them open. She stops, holding them both open and looking over her shoulder, grinning evilly.

Courtney: Whenever you hear of death and destruction against the PMC's, just think of yer little troll!

Lynch salutes. Courtney nods, walking into the Academy as the doors swing shut behind her.

Lynch: Right, well, that's another company soldier i'll be burying in a few months.

Lynch sighs and lets out a shrug before turning around and walking away from the doors. Just five seconds later, a recruit is thrown straight through the window to the left, hitting the ground behind Lynch's feet.

Lynch [Not bothering to look]: Maybe not. We'll see.

Lynch sighs, dusting his hands off and turning around, walking back onto the road and turning right, moving to head out of the Parking Lot, only to quickly step to the left as the "Brew On The Mo'e" Wagon slowly squeaks through the open chainlink gates.

Lynch [In disbelief]: What the FUCK?

Phil [Calling out]: BREW ON THE MO'E! BREW ON THE MO'E! GET'CHA BREW!

Lynch moves around the wagon, glaring inside at Phil, who grins brightly.

Phil [Cheerily]: LYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYNNNNNNNNCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Lynch [Darkly]: Nolastname, what the FUCK are you doing here?!

Phil: Selling tea. There's a huge base of Brits here.

Phil looks up: A line of fifty mercenaries are standing in front of the wagon.

First Mercenary [With a distinct Southern English accent]: Can I have some tea, mate?!

Phil: See? It's the biggest trainer of British ex-military outside of the Military Academy of Mainland Europe in France. Fuck knows why they're all in the American south, though..

Lynch [Sighing darkly]: For fucks sake..

Phil: I think it has something to do with all the Cajuns in the south. They were Acadians from Canada, and it was the British who exiled the Frenchy cunts and sent them to their death. I guess we're here to finish the job. Especially since I can't see any Cajuns around.

First Mercenary: Yeah, we lynched the last cunt who came in here with a stupid accent.

Phil [Slyly]: Then i'm guessing you'll be turning the noose on yoursel--

A magazine from a rifle is thrown through the air from the crowd, hitting Phil square in the forehead. He yelps, clutching his head as Lynch looks at the crowd of gathering mercenaries.

Lynch: So, this is what she's working with.

Phil [Laughing]: Yeah. Hope she enjoys British humour and violence.

Phil turns around, beginning to pour hot water from an iron kettle into various cast-iron cups as Lynch puts his hands on his hips.

Lynch: Better than nothing, I guess.

Phil [Turning around and lining up several cups of steaming hot tea]: Alright, that'll be two dollars each, lads.

Every mercenary holds up dollar bills. Lynch chuckles, shaking his head and stuffing his hands into his pockets as a second recruit is thrown through the window to the left of the doors, rolling across the dirt.

Phil [Pointing at the recruit]: HEY! BUDDY! IF YOU'RE DEALING WITH HER, YOU'LL NEED SOME STRONG TEA! GET'CHA BREW! GET'CHA BREW!

Lynch [Sighing bitterly, before smiling]: What a bunch of fucking characters.

The recruit jolts up to his feet, rushing over to the tea cart as Phil hands him a styrofoam cup full of tea.

Phil: DRINK! DRINK IT UP!!

The recruit screams wildly, drinking half of the tea before pouring the rest over his head, ripping his shirt open. The recruits begin to mass around the cart as Phil repeatedly hands out styrofoam cups filled with steaming hot tea. The recruits continue drinking up the tea, the veins in their necks and arms throbbing as they let loose primal war cries.

Lynch [Eyes widening]: Those fucking Brits really do live off of tea.

First Mercenary [Screaming]: LET'S FUCKING ROLL!!

Phil: Alright, men, you've been given tea, which is to Englishmen what spinach is like for Popeye. KILL! KILL! KILL!

The English mercenaries violently charge into the Academy, followed by the sound of crashing and screaming. A mercenary is thrown out of the broken window, hitting the side of the cart with a resounding crash.

Phil: Alrighty then. MUSH, WINSTON, BORN OF WINSTONS! MUSH YOU MOTHERFUCKER!

An English bulldog appears in the driving seat, panting as the wheel somehow rotates and the gas roars into life, the van dragging the cart slowly turning around and driving out of the compound. Lynch, watching the scene, sighs and places his hands on his hips as he watches the van drive away.

Lynch: I really do want to give up sometimes.

**HOUSTON, TEXAS - THE FOLLOWING DAY**

Over in Houston, Texas, Brick and Jon have decided to take a different approach to their holiday. Within Houston, there are many lots dedicated to providing storage space, with many Texans utilising storage units to store their possessions. When they can't make payment on the units or if they are otherwise abandoned, they are often repossessed and sold at auction. This, apparently, makes riveting television viewing in the modern day but for Brick and Jon, it's also a means of making a small amount of money to take back to the Sinai when they are called upon.

Within the large concrete lot, Brick and Jon are just two of a group of twenty people stood there, in front of a row of six storage units with red roller shutter doors. The auctioneer, a short, fat, balding man with a handlebar moustache, a white cowboy hat and a set of clothing that can best be described as "middle-aged drunken cowboy", complete with a red and black plaid shirt and dusty black cowboy boots, wields a pair of boltcutters as he begins to fumble with a lock on the first storage unit. Jon takes off a pair of aviator sunglasses, looking ahead at the storage unit.

Jon [Quietly]: We can't go above five hundred dollars, Brick.

Jon looks at Brick, who appears pretty much the same, wearing a sleeveless red and black plaid shirt, jeans and a camouflage truckers cap. The only difference is that Brick's left cowboy boot has a huge bulge in its side. Jon sighs, looking down at the boot and shaking his head.

Brick: What?

Jon: We do have wallets, Brick.

Brick: It's safer this way, Jonny boy.

Jon [Sneering]: It's more disgusting.

Brick: Hey, a wallet just makes it easier for people to steal!

Jon: Ah, right, and rubbing your gross foot stank on it will deter them. It makes sense now.

Brick calmly spits tobacco onto the floor, continuing to chew on a large wad in his mouth. Jon shudders.

Brick: What?

Jon [Sighing]: Nothing.....Nothing...you wretched fuck...

The auctioneer snaps the chain of a lock and grasps the shutters, lifting it up and revealing the inside of the unit: A single table. Behind it is something rolled up in a khaki tarp, but the main thing of note is the lone wooden table with thin, spindly legs, simply standing there with plain concrete surroundings. A general mumbling of disinterest rolls across the crowd until Brick and Jon stand in front of the locker, and a grin crosses Brick's face.

Brick: That there locker looks like a winner.

Jon sighs and folds his arms.

Jon: It's got one fucking table inside of it.

Brick [Smirking]: Could be an antique!

Jon: It looks new.

Brick: I say we bid five dollars!

Jon [sighing bitterly]: We've already spent too much on gas just fucking driving here!

Brick: Ten dollars.

Jon [Throwing his arms up]: Is this what we do on our holiday? This shit?

Brick: I've done my research! People make thousands off of this!

Jon [Through gritted teeth]: The reality is different from what you see on television, you fucking dunce. Very few businesses break even on buying storage units and selling what's within them!

Brick [Blankly]: But them there Sheets boys made tens of thousands on Storage Wars--

Jon [Angrily]: AND THEY HAVE FAR MORE BUSINESS SENSE THAN YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON!!! WE DON'T EVEN OWN A FUCKING BUSINESS TO RELIABLY SELL THIS SHIT!!!

Brick: Could sell it on the street.

Jon [Sighing]: Yeah. We could. We fucking could.

Brick and Jon step away from the unit, joining the crowd as the auctioneer stands in front of the unit.

Auctioneer: Well, it's an empty locker. Maybe the table's worth something, huh? LET'S START THE BIDDING OFF!!

The crowd falls silent.

Brick [Raising his hand]: Five dollars!!

A man in the crowd coughs. The auctioneer points at Brick.

Auctioneer [Rapidly]: IGOTFIVEWEGOTFIVECANANYBODYDOTEN?!?!

Man: Fuck off.

Auctioneer [Face falling]: Anybody? Anybody whatsoever?

Jon: That's five dollars fucking wasted.

Brick: Ssshhh!

Auctioneer [Timidly]: ...Ten dollars? Anybody?

The general antipathy of the crowd is shattered as the "Brew On The Mo'e" wagon rolls into the open lot, parking behind them. Phil turns around, ringing the bell within the wagon loudly and somewhat obnoxiously.

Phil [Calling out]: BREW ON THE MO'E! GETCHA BREW HERE! BREW ON THE MO'E! HOT TEA! VERY HOT TEA!

The crowd turn around, looking at the truck. Every single person appears bemused and somewhat angry.

Jon [Crestfallen]: Phil, what the fuck?

Phil [Leaning through the serving window, handing out a plastic cup of tea]: I've got to feed my family, Jonny-boy!

Jon: You don't have a wife or kids!

Phil: HEY! FAMILY OF ONE! Well, two, counting Winston.

Jon: What are you doing here?!

Phil: Business, Jon! Go where business is good!

Jon [In disbelief]: IT'S FUCKING SWELTERING AND YOU'RE SELLING TEA!!!!!!!!!!

Phil: These Southern inbred redneck hillbilly fake-French ugly toothless retarded lazy good-for-nothing fat pathetic pieces of shit garbage wastes of lives like cold tea. I sell cold tea.

Jon: Phil, this is Texas. It isn't exactly Cajun territory.

Phil: So remove the 'fake French' and it's the same! Fake Mexicans!

A crowd stands behind Jon, glaring angrily into the wagon.

Phil [Pointing at the crowd]: THIS WASTE OF A STATE USED TO BE FUCKING MEXICO, AND IT'D BE BETTER IF IT STILL WAS MEXICO!

The crowd keeps glaring at the wagon.

Phil: Winston, Born of Winstons, that was your cue.

The bulldog appears in the driving seat, panting loudly as the wagon speeds off and the crowd open fire on it. Brick and Jon simply watch as several of the bidders begin to climb in their vehicles, speeding off and giving chase to Phil. Jon and Brick stand there, looking at eachother before shrugging.

Jon [Turning to the auctioneer]: Fuck it: Five dollars.

Auctioneer [Shrugging]: Sold.

**AUSTIN, TEXAS**

Old habits die hard for some. With no ruling force in their lives, some mercenaries have decided to go back to earning money in a more unscrupulous manner.

Within a small, local 24/7, the only form of life is a lone shopkeeper. A young, skinny teenager with long black hair and a thin bristly goatee, he appears more concerned with reading the latest issue of Kerrang rather than attending to the shop.

Had he done so, he would have noticed a cherry red 2015 Ram 3500 Pickup truck pulling up outside. In the back where two men: One is immediately recognisable as Bill, due to the fact that his ski mask is rolled up his head and he is wearing it as a beanie. The second figure's face is obscured by his own ski mask, but with the sleeves of a woodland camouflage jumper rolled up, revealing various faded tattoos and gnarled forearms, he appears a lot more weathered than even Bill. Both men are holding AR-15 assault rifles and as the truck pulls up to the sidewalk, Bill crawls over to the rear of the truck, slapping the rear window of the cab. A woman, grotesquely overweight and with light brown hair tied back into a bun, is sitting in the passenger's seat, wearing a horrendously large woodland camouflage jacket and matching trousers. She turns her head, looking out at Bill.

Bill: Hey, Mama, is this the place we're robbing?!

Mama Sykes: Yep, you two are goin' in first!

Bill grasps the side of the truck and hops out of the flatbed, as does the other male.

Man: Alright, Bill, ready?

Bill [Nodding]: Ready for anything, Joel.

Joel: After you, bro.

Bill charges forward, slamming his shoulder into the door and forcing it open. He twists to the right, aiming down his rifle at the shopkeeper who doesn't bother looking up from his magazine.

Bill [Angrily]: DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE!!!

Shopkeeper [Flipping through the magazine]: Alright.

Bill keeps the rifle trained on the shopkeeper, watching as Joel walks into the shop and over to the counter.

Joel: Open the till and we won't shoot you.

Without looking, the shopkeeper taps a few buttons and opens the till. Joel begins grasping dollar bills and coins, shoving them into the paper bag.

Bill [Looking around]: Well, shit, this is easy.

Joel: Hey, makes our job easier. At least somebody's smart enough to realise that it's better to let us steal shit rather than lose their life for a company that doesn't care.

Shopkeeper [Bluntly]: Whatever.

Joel tosses the bag to Bill who catches it in his left hand, holding his AR-15 in his right hand as Joel grabs a few plastic bags, walking towards the back of the store. Bill simply stands there, looking around as Mama Sykes enters the store, beginning to pile several bags of chips into plastic bags.

Bill: Slow night?

Shopkeeper: It was.

Bill [Looking around]: Well, this is easy.

Shopkeeper: Yup.

Bill: Really don't care, huh?

Shopkeeper: Nope.

Bill: Why?

Shopkeeper [Shrugging]: I just don't.

Bill: Man, you're a bundle of energy, aren't you?

Shopkeeper: Uh-huh.

Bill looks to his left, watching as Mama Sykes continues to bundle bag after bag of chips and pretzels into the plastic bags she's holding.

Bill: That's it?

Mama Sykes: It's a corner store, stupid! There's no vaults to bust into!

Bill: But that shit'll barely cover the gas it took to drive here!

Joel [Walking over, holding up three plastic bags]: I've got us some forties and six packs.

Bill [Sighing and rubbing his eyes]: Are you fucking serious? This is what you wanted me for? Robbing a goddamn corner store?

Mama Sykes: Yer brother wanted us to! Now shuddup and follow me!

Mama Sykes rushes out of the door, quickly climbing into the rear flatbed of the truck as Bubba fires up the engine. Bill and Joel quickly rush out of the store, only for Bubba to begin driving away. The pick-up speeds down the street, screeching as it skids to the left and speeds off around the corner. Joel and Bill simply exchange quick looks as police sirens are heard in the distance.

Joel: We best get runnin'.

Bill: Where?!

Joel quickly dashes back into the store. Bill simply stands there, tapping the butt of his rifle.

Joel's Voice [Angrily]: BEST PUT THAT GUN DOWN, BOY!!

A huge blast is heard, followed by screaming. Bill twists around, going towards the store, only to have a shot explode out, buckshot shattering the wall to his left and spraying him with dust and plaster. Bill coughs, twisting around: Across the street is none other than Marcus Lynch. Still wearing his Hawaiian shirt, vest and jean shorts with sandals, he is now carrying a M2 Tactical Benelli shotgun, aiming the barrel directly at Bill. The few pedestrians on the street have frozen, watching as Lynch ejects the shell.

Lynch [Calling over]: BILL! YOU BEST HAVE A GOOD FUCKING EXPLANATION!

Bill: WHAT ABOUT YOU?!

Lynch [Angrily]: I'M TOURING THE GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD, YOU PIECE OF REDNECK SHIT, SO WHAT'S YOUR EXCUSE?!

Bill [Looking at the paper bag filled with dollar bills in his left hand]: ....I.....uhhhh....Well....MY FAMILY MADE ME!

Lynch growls, aiming down his shotgun.

Lynch : Just drop the gun, Bill, and you won't be picking buckshot out of your cock!

Bill gulps, his hands shaking slightly. Lynch remains cool, aiming down the sights.

Bill [Shakily]: Uhhh...

Lynch [Calmly]: Drop the gun. And the bag. Slowly. Very fucking slowly.

Bill slowly squats down, holding out his left arm as his right arm clutches the AR-15. He slowly lowers the rifle onto the floor until the doors burst open behind him and Joel walks out, firing his AR-15 down at Lynch. Lynch swiftly twists to the right, jogging forward and squatting behind a car parked close to the sidewalk. Lynch pressed his back against the front tyre, clutching his shotgun tightly. Joel kicks Bill in the rear and Bill gets to his feet, turning around.

Bill: WHAT?!

Joel: LET'S GET GOING!! MAMA'S GONNA MEET US AT THE SAFEHOUSE!!

Bill: WHAT?!?!

Joel [Impatiently]: MAMA. GOING TO MEET US. AT SAFEHOUSE!!!

Bill sighs, clutching his nose and breathing out as he pops his ears.

Bill: .....Eh?

Joel [Angrily, shaking Bill by his collar]: MEET UP AT THE SAFEHOUSE!!!!

Bill [Eyes widening]: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!........Don't fucking fire a gun above my head next time.

Joel: Shut the fuck up and let's roll.

Joel and Bill turn to their left, sprinting up the street where the pick-up sped off towards. As soon as they reach the end of the street, they turn left, heading up the same street. Lynch sprints after them, twisting around the corner. Bill glances over his shoulder, noticing Lynch almost instantly.

Bill: FUCK!!

Bill inadvertantly turns to the left, running into an alleyway as Joel continues running up the street. He gulps, sprinting up the alleyway and twisting to his right, jogging behind a dumpster and squatting behind it, grasping his rifle and the paperbag. Bill looks ahead of him at a chainlink fence, approximately six feet tall, sectioning off the alleyway from the street ahead.

Bill [Sighing]: ...Not my best decision, to be honest.

**HOUSTON, TEXAS**

Back in Houston, Jon and Brick are standing within their storage unit, complete with their table and the tarp behind it. Jon walks over to the tarp, lifting it and unrolling it, revealing...the fact that it is just a tarp. Jon sighs, throwing the tarp aside.

Jon [Sighing]: Well, this is what we paid five dollars for.

Brick: Cool!

Brick drums his palms against the table before clapping his hands.

Brick [Grinning]: Sweet!

Jon: Hey, look, it's.....fucking nothing!

Brick: Hey, I like it!

Jon: I hate it.

Brick: You hate everything.

Jon: C'mon, let's just drag it to nearby store and get the fucking thing valued.

Brick: Did we pass any stores on the way here?

Jon: Yeah, Louie's Furniture. Turn right, up the road, turn left at the crossroads and it's halfway up the street. But that looked like a high-end place and this looks like a shit table.

Brick: Jon, you gotta have faith.

Jon [Desperately]: Faith is what got me into this fucking mess, you goddamn dunce!

Brick lifts the left end of the table and Jon grabs the right end, lifting it up. Both men slowly scuttle to their sides, carrying the table out and into the lot.

Jon: So, this is it, huh? This is the great idea to bring in the money before we head back to Egypt?

Brick: Well...it worked better in my head.

Jon [Sighing]: I'm....not even going to make a derogatory remark.

Brick and Jon slowly carry the table towards a silver Mitsubishi L200 pickup truck that is parked adjacent the gates nearby.

Jon [Grunting]: Can't believe this is all we got..

Brick [Grinning]: Hey, it could be worth something!

Jon: I doubt it.

Jon and Brick lift and place the table, with the legs up in the air, down into the bed of the truck. Jon climbs into the drivers seat, slamming the door shut and firing up the engine as Brick climbs in beside him.

Jon: Well, let's get this disappointment over and done with.

Brick [Looking over his shoulder]: Shouldn't we tie the table down?

Jon: Who gives a fuck? This place is about a thirty second drive away.

Jon drives the pickup forward out of the gates. He brakes suddenly as a cherry red Dodge Ram 3500 speeds down the road in front of him.

Brick [Angrily]: WATCH THE ROAD!!

Jon [Scoffing]: Man, what a bitch..

Jon edges slowly forward, only for Joel Sykes to sprint forward, grasping the bonnet and sliding over it, continuing to sprint up the street and turn left around the corner of the storage yard.

Jon [Looking in disbelief]: This fucking state, man!

Brick: Hey, there's nothing wrong with Texas, we're just...in a rush!

Jon turns left, driving up the same street and rolling down his window, looking at Joel.

Jon [Angrily]: WATCH THE PAINT, FUCKFACE!!!

Jon rolls up the window, stopping at the red light of a crossroads.

Brick [Looking at Jon]: Jeez, calm down, Jon.

Jon [Bluntly]: Never.

Brick: You might have yerself a heart attack..

Jon: If only.

Brick: You wanna die?

Jon: I'd rather die than go back to fucking Egypt.

Jon turns left, driving down the same street as Joel. Driving forward past a chainlink fence, they drive past a crossing before turning left at a crossroads, driving forward and slowly pulling up outside of a small shop with a red sign, with mirrored letters spelling out "LOUIE'S FURNITURE". Jon parks next to the curb, climbing out of the pickup truck and grabbing the table. Brick walks backwards as Jon walks forward, with Brick pressing his back against the glass door and gently easing it open.

To their right is a small wooden counter, behind which stands a short old man, wearing a thick pair of glasses and a pair of denim overalls. The heavy scent of sawdust and the sound of scraping and sawing indicates that the shop is primarily used for the construction of furniture, rather than simply selling mass-produced items. Brick and Jon twist to the right, slowly setting the table down before Jon turns to the counter. The shopkeeper slowly raises his head, eying the table with some measure of disgust in his face.

Shopkeeper: ....Can I...help you?

Jon [Patting the table]: We want to know how much this is worth.

The shopkeeper looks down at the table, then up at Jon.

Shopkeeper: You're serious?

Jon: Yes, now stop playing around: Is the table expensive?

Shopkeeper: It's a fucking table. Made by..........IKEA.

Brick [Grinning]: Sounds expensive!

Jon [Squatting down and putting his head in his hands]: Why the fuck haven't I shot you yet?...

Shopkeeper: I'm afraid it's worth twenty four dollars and ninety-nine cents at most. Considering it's used, I can give you ten dollars for it.

Brick: SOLD!

The shopkeeper reaches into his pockets, rummaging around before pulling out a crumpled ten dollar bill and handing it to Brick who kisses it, turning to Jon.

Brick [Cheerfully]: LOOK, JON! A RETURN ON OUR INVESTMENTS!

Jon [growling]: But it doesn't cover the costs for gas...

Brick [Shrugging]: Gots to spend money to make money!

Jon growls, looking up at Brick before getting to his feet and rolling up his sleeves..

***

Bill, still separated from his family and still with Lynch hot on his trail, continues to squat behind the dumpster. He snaps his head up to the sky, letting out a deep breath as the AR-15 in his right hand shakes with the fatigue from his body.

Bill [Quietly]: Jesus, if you're up there, please strike down this mad bastard before he shoots me..

A huge blast rings out, the buckshot barely scraping the dumpster. Bill screams, jolting up to his feet and twisting around, watching as Lynch ejects the shell and glares at him.

Lynch [Coldly]: Bill, either you stop running or I turn your carcass into a fucking slice of swiss cheese.

Bill [Gulping]: Hey, Lynch....You wouldn't do that.....right?

Lynch: You know that I fucking would.

Bill: ...Oh...yeah. Hang on, where's Joel?!

Lynch: That retard? He got away. I saw you run into the alleyway and decide that i'd bag some bigger game than a toothless hick.

Bill [Brightly]: You think i'm better than--

Lynch [Coldly]: You're a toothed hick, don't get your hopes up.

Bill: But why are you even shooting me?! And what the hell are you doing with a shotgun?!

Lynch [Shrugging]: I just bought this thing and to be honest, Bill, I have a code of honour to uphold.

Bill: That's it? A code of honour? That's why you're going to kill one of your own fucking company?!

Lynch: Well, if you surrender and show me where your family went..

Bill: I ain't giving up family.

Lynch: Then i'm afraid that i'm just going to have to fucking shoot you.

Bill: Lynch..Please...Let's talk about this.

Lynch [Aiming down the shotgun]: I'm afraid that talking about things is not my area of expertise.

Bill suddenly pales, slowly stepping backwards and pointing behind Lynch. Lynch notices and lifts his head slightly.

Lynch: ..What?

Bill [Gulping]: La...La....La...

Lynch: Spit it out!

Bill [Screeching]: LAUGHING OCTOPUS!!!!!!!

Lynch [Spinning around]: OH, SHIT!!!

Lynch aims down his shotgun, only to see a short and somewhat thin woman with short, feathered blonde hair, wearing a black tanktop and urban camouflage pants standing there. Noticing the shotgun, her eyes widen.

Lynch [Narrowing his eyes]: The fuck? You're not a psychotic woman looking to eat my still-warm entrails. Although come to think of it, you do look like...

Woman [Stepping backwards, letting out a short chuckle]: ...Uh...I was wondering what was happening here...

Lynch looks over his shoulder: Bill has since clawed his way over the chainlink fence, ending up in the opposite street, twisting left and sprinting down the street.

Lynch [Angrily]: BOY, I AM GOING TO LUBE MYSELF UP AND SKULLFUCK YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE IF YOU KEEP RUNNING!!!!!!

Lynch sprints forward, leaping up and grasping onto the top of the chainlink fence, scrambling up and over as the woman simply stands there, letting out a nervous laugh,

Bill continues to sprint down the street, bolting over a crossing before stumbling forward, doubling over and grasping his thighs as he gasps for breathe. He doesn't notice the "Brew On The Mo'e" wagon slowly roll forward to his right, stopping beside him.

Phil [Leaning out of the serving window]: BIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!

Bill lets out a deep breathe, looking up at Phil and giving a small wave.

Bill [Breathlessly]: Hey, Phil!

Phil: What's wrong, little man? Feelin' thirsty?

Bill: Nope, just running away from Lynch.

Phil: Ah. Why?

Bill: Well, I was robbing a corner store and the son of a bitch found me, shooting at me for some reason. Plus there's the whole fact that my mother is apparently on the FBI's Top Ten Most Wanted list.

Phil [Grunting]: Hm. I see. Well, do you want some tea?

Bill [Shrugging]: Sorry, man, I gotta--RUUUUUUUUNNNNNNN!!

Bill sprints down the street as Lynch turns around the corner, firing his shotgun into the air once more.

Lynch [Angrily]: STOP RUNNING, YOU FAGGOT REDNECK!!!

Lynch jogs forward, looking at Phil as he does.

Lynch: What the fuck are you doing here?!

Phil: Plying my trade!

Lynch: Fuck you and your tea, we dumped that shit into Boston Harbour to stop you cunts from selling it.

Phil [Looking around his van before grinning]: And you did a great fucking job!

Lynch continues jogging after Bill, who twists around the corner ahead of him, turning left and sprinting forward past where "Louie's Furniture" is. Bill rushes past the storefront as Brick is thrown straight through the window. Bill skids to a halt, twisting around.

Bill [Eyes widening]: Woah, Brick!

A vicious scream cuts through the air as Jon leaps through the window, throwing himself on Brick and strangling him ruthlessly. Lynch quickly rounds the corner, aiming his shotgun at Bill.

Lynch [Angrily]: STOP RIGHT THERE, CRIMINAL SCUM!!!

Lynch slowly lowers his shotgun, watching as Jon continues to strangle Brick who manages to roll over, trading places with Jon and strangling him as well.

Bill: ...Uhhhh...

Brick [Looking at Lynch, then at Bill]: Hey guys! Don't mind us!

Jon [Choking]: I'LL K-KILL Y-Y-Y-YOU, YOU R-R-REDNECK F-F-FUCK!!!!

Lynch [Sighing]: Jon, why couldn't you spend this time off to get some drugs?

Jon [Angrily, choking]: S-S-SOMEBODY K-KILLED M-MY OLD D-D-D-DEALER!!

Lynch: Mate, if it's pot you want--

Jon [Angrily, choking]: P-POT'S FOR P-P-P-PUSSIES, I W-W-WAS D-DOING M-M-M-M-MUSHROOMS!!!

Lynch: Alright, whatever....ANYWAY, BILL--

Lynch looks up: Bill has since fled.

Lynch [Angrily]: --Oh, you fucking redneck fuck! I am going to be your personal William Sherman when I fucking find you!

Lynch sprints past Brick and Jon, heading down the street as he tries to find Bill..

**AUSTIN, TEXAS**

Bill, having sufficiently outrun Lynch, continues heading up the street he had since turned to after outrunning Lynch. Bill skids to a halt, looking to his left up at a small house with two concrete steps leading up to a wooden door. Bill jogs up the steps and quickly bursts through the door, slamming it shut behind him and breathing heavily. The room he emerges in is a small living room and opposite the door, slightly to the right, is a moth-eaten sofa which Mama Sykes and Bubba, a grossly overweight and pasty skinned individual with thick sideburns, wearing a truckers cap and a red and black plaid shirt. To his right, Joel is standing opposite a window next to the door, peering through the nets slightly. His ski mask rolled up, Joel appears to be a lot more handsome than either Bill or Mama, with a thick black beard around his jaw that has been trimmed into place and long hair, down to his neck, combed back behind his skull. Joel looks at Bill, giving a small nod.

Joel: Nice to see you.

Bill [Coughing loudly]: Y-y-y-yeah,...fucking great..

Joel: Hey, you lost him, so it's all alright.

Bill [Sighing]: I fucking hope so.

Joel looks away, patting the pocket of his urban camouflage pants before moving away from the window.

Mama Sykes: You best be prepared, boys. That thug might come and shoot us!

Bill [Mumbling]: If only..

Mama Sykes: What were that?!

Bill [Hastily]: Nothing, ma!

Joel stands at the couch beside Bubba's side, clutching his AR-15 carefully as Bill himself walks over to the window. Bill grasps the night, looking outside: He watches as a taxi pulls up and Lynch climbs out, pointing up at the house.

Bill [Desperately]: MAN MUST HAVE A SIXTH FUCKING SENSE!!!

Lynch [Angrily]: BILL! YOU HAD BETTER FUCKING STOP OR I WILL SHOOT YOU! REPEATEDLY!

Bill sighs, flipping aside the nets and glancing outside. Lynch fires the shotgun and several pellets shatter the glass. Bill screams, ducking his head back away from the wall.

Bill: Well, he's serious.

Joel: Bill, man, we can't give up. Not with this score!

Bill [Hissing]: I DON'T WANT TO BE BURIED WITH THE FUCKING LOOT!

Lynch [Yelling]: DON'T FUCK WITH ME, BOY, I WILL MARCH INTO THAT HOUSE AND WIPE OUT YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING BLOODLINE IF YOU DON'T SURRENDER!!!

Joel [Rattling his gun]: We'll take 'im!

Bill [Throwing his rifle down]: Fuck it! Just fuck it! I ain't dying like this, i've got a wife to think of!

Mama Sykes: You ain't married!

Bill [Angrily]: I AM! TO THE MERCENARIES!!

Joel: That is SO gay.

Mama Sykes: You step out of that door, boy, and you ain't my son.

Bill turns around, looking at Mama Sykes, Joel and Bubba. He lets out a deep sigh, his brow furrowing as he shrugs his shoulders.

Bill [Quietly]: I can't do it Ma--

A blast erupts and the door behind Bill splinters with buckshot. He screams, diving to the floor and covering his head with his hands.

Bill [Angrily]: GODDAMMIT, LYNCH, I'M TRYING TO HAVE A FAMILY MOMENT HERE!!

Lynch [Calling out]: Sorry!

Bill sighs, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans.

Bill: I can't do it, Mama. The mercenaries are all i've got. They're the ones stopping me from being court martialled just by being in this country. You? You've done nothing for me!

Mama Sykes [Scoffing]: I GAVE BIRTH TO YOU!

Bill: That's all you fucking did! If it wasn't for the fact that Pops could shoot bucks and actually loved me, i'd have gone fucking hungry too! No wonder that son of a bitch ran!

Mama Sykes quickly raises her shotgun, aiming down the iron sights at Bill.

Mama Sykes [Coldly]: You best get steppin', boy, or I'll blow your whole fuckin' chest open for that remark.

Bill [Parting his arms and exposing his chest]: THEN JUST FUCKING DO IT!

A shotgun cocks and ejects it shell. Bill simply blinks, looking over his shoulder as Lynch stands in front of the shredded wooden door, giving a grin before slowly pushing it open using the barrel of his shotgun, aiming it at Mama Sykes.

Lynch [Calmly]: Ma'am, if I were you, i'd point that shotgun elsewhere. Like up your fucking fat ass, you redneck fuck.

Mama Sykes [With a twisted, toothless grin]: I's gots more guns than you...

Bill: She's got a point, Lynch.

Without warning, Joel spins around to Bubba, pressing his Ar-15 against the side of his skull and pulling the trigger. Bubba's skull snaps to the side, the side of his temple blown out and spraying blood and brain matter across Mama Sykes who lets out a horrified shriek, scuttling away as Bubba's corpse falls sideways onto the couch. Joel simply grins, giving a shrug.

Joel: Well, I count three against one now.

Lynch: That's some good shooting, Joel.

Bill [Angrily]: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?

Lynch [Pointing at Joel]: I was lying, Bill, I ain't here on holiday. I'm bolstering our forces for when Mother decides to mobilise. Joel's one of them.

Joel [Giving a small salute]: Lynch.

Lynch [Nodding]: Joel.

Bill [Throwing down his rifle in anger]: YOU ASSHOLES!!! YOU COULD'VE TOLD ME!!

Lynch [Laughing]: Bill, it was a need-to-know basis and you didn't need to know.

Bill: But he shot someone and rubbed a corner store!!

Joel [Clearing his throat]: It was a warning shot and it was all a cover to pin Ma down for a few minutes. Bitch is always on the move, but I managed to convince her to stay in the safehouse after we rubbed the store.

Mama [Angrily]: TRAITOR! BENEDICT ARNOLD! JUDAS!

Joel [Calmly]: I always loved Pa more, Ma.

Lynch walks over to Mama Sykes, gripping her wrists and pulling her up to her feet, forcibly marching her towards the door.

Lynch: Let's move, you fat bitch.

Lynch shoves Mama Sykes through the door, marching her down the steps as Bill glares at Joel, who simply shrugs.

Joel: Hey, don't hate the player: Hate the game.

Bill: Fuck your game. You couldn't even tell your own brother?!

Joel: It's confidential! You're not even supposed to know now!

Bill: Man, fuck you, i'm your own flesh and blood!

Joel: Bill, get out there. We need to get going.

Bill turns to the door, walking out of it as Joel looks down at Bubba's corpse. He fires one final shot down into Bubba's skull, a plume of blood squirting into the air before he walks out. Bill and Joel walk down the steps as Lynch stands in front of the open boot of the taxi.

Joel: So, what now?

Lynch: We head to the airport and fly out to the Middle East.

Lynch grabs Bill, forcing him towards the boot. Bill struggles violently, glaring at Lynch.

Bill [Angrily]: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!

Lynch: Hey, you were breaking the law, and that means you're riding in the boot.

Bill [Struggling]: Fuck off, Lynch! What about Joel?!

Lynch: He was double crossing. What's your excuse?

Bill [Angrily]: You're a fucking asshole, Lynch!

Lynch [Grinning]: That I am, Bill. That I am.

Lynch shoves Bill into the boot, slamming it down shut. Bill begins cursing wildly as Lynch climbs into the passengers seat of the taxi, slamming the door shut and firing up the engine. Joel climbs into the rear seats, slamming the door shut behind him.

Joel [Looking at Lynch]: I look forward to meeting the rest of the team.

Lynch [Laughing]: Oh, you will fucking regret those words in a few weeks, sunshine.

Bill [Angrily, Muffled]: ASSHOLE!! DOUCHEBAG!! FUCKTARD!! GET ME FUCKING OUT OF HERE!!!

Lynch turns on his iPod, playing Bruce Springsteen's "Born To Run" as the taxi drives down the street, with Bill continue to kick out inside the boot as the scene fades to black.