Tuesday, 30 June 2015

Saga III Chapter V - Shades of Eternal Battlefields (Our Academy Fell)


San Francisco: Even in this strange new world of global war and PMC's, San Francisco remains a bastion of culture and acceptance. In comparison to the world outside of it, in fact, San Francisco may be one of the last surviving bastions of kindness and humanity left on a planet ripped apart by war.

On Union Street, sitting outside Rogue Ales, in a wooden chair at a small square wooden table, is Frank Daniels. His usual untrimmed moustache appears to have been overwhelmed by a full beard, and he's wearing a garish combination of a tweed grey flat cap, a red Hawaiian shirt, barely buttoned to reveal a hairy chest, and a pair of red bermuda shirts, as well as white socks and leather sandals. Uncaring as to his fashion faux pas, Frank simply sips at a pint glass of Chocolate Stout and watching the world go by.

Frank [Quietly]: Ah, yes, a man could get used to this..

Frank's moment of zen is disturbed as a flier blows past him. Reaching out, Frank swiftly grabs it and turns it over, glancing at it. The black flier shows a picture of the moustachioed face of Will Studlin, his fellow mercenary, surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women. The title, written in pink, states crudely "Will In Pussy Wonderland 8". Frank looks down at the flier in disbelief at the fact that such pornography would be openly advertised, accompanied by a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this is some kind of sign that his day is about to be ruined quite swiftly. That feeling, alas, is completely correct.

Will's Voice: Get off that flier! I wanted a pretty lady to catch it!

As if by the cruelty of some vindictive bastard of a God, Frank looks to his left, watching as Will Studlin walks towards him. Wearing a vile suit of bright lime green with a black shirt and white leather shoes, Frank winces from the very sight. Will puts his hands on his pockets, looking down at Frank.

Frank: Look who escaped jail from the fashion police.

Will: God, I thought i'd escaped you.

Frank [Scoffing]: I'm on holiday, Will! I need this!

Will: So, this is where the fifty thousand Ocelot gave us is going?

Frank [Shrugging]: Nothing wrong with Cali.

Will: I was talking about the beer.

Frank: Nothing wrong with the beer, either.

Will: Tell me, Frank: Do you like or....hell, DO anything other than drink?

Frank [Shrugging]: I collect firearms.

Will: That's it? Booze and guns? That's your life? Fuck, you sound like the average Marine. All you need is the inflated sense of self importance and you'll be all "SEMPER FI HOO-RAH".

Frank [Impatiently]: Look, I don't know you being a fuckwit around here, so tell me: What are you doing here?

Will: What are you doing he--

Frank: I asked first.

Will: ....Alright, I'm here in San Francisco to promote my.....new film.

Frank: Wow. That's awfully progressive of you.

Will: Say what.

Frank [Glancing down at the flier]: Well, we're in San Francisco, one of the most progressive cities on the planet and renowned for homosexual acceptance and its allegiance with the Pride movement--

Will [Quickly]: Woah, woah, woah! Don't get me wrong, i'm not a homophobe, but it's not that kind of film!

Frank: ....It's not?

Will: Nah, just kidding, it is. But there's only one other guy in it!

Frank [Shaking his head, laughing]: Say no more, Will, say no more.

Will: What are you doing here?

Frank [Holding up his beer]: Holiday. I'm drinking across California! Next stop, the big one: Los Angeles!

Will: Well, good for you, I best be off now--

Frank [Quickly]: Why don't you pull up a seat? Maybe i'll find you less of a asshole if we talk! I'll get you a drink, even.

Will [Sneering]: I already have a drink.

Frank: So, that's what's in your purse?

Will [Angrily]: It's a fucking satchel!!

Will reaches in, pulling out a transparent Starbucks cup filled with a lurid pink liquid. Frank winces slightly, looking at it.

Frank: Damn, didn't realise Starbucks had the market cornered on sugary shit. I thought it was just bitter, burnt and overpriced coffee filled with cream, sugar and syrup.

Will: This isn't just any drink: It's a Cotton Candy Frappucino. From their SECRET menu.

Frank: The secret menu? REALLY?

Will: Quiet, peasant.

Frank [Laughing]: You know who orders stuff from the secret menu? Fourteen year old girls and fat, lonely, middle-aged women.

Will [Angrily]: I SAID QUIET!!!

Frank: Fuck, you're pathetic. I bet they hated you and spit in your cup for ordering it.

Will: They made it, that's all that matters.

Frank: Not if they dunked their balls in it.

Will: Will you shut up?!

Frank laughs, only for a familiar figure to stroll past, wearing a grey t-shirt, a black M82 military jacket and a pair of jeans with sneakers: The skinny figure, with his glum face and demeanour, is unmistakably Thomas "Bob" Benito.

Frank: Hey!

Bob stops beside them, looking down at their table and forcing a small smile.

Bob: ...Oh...hi guys....

Frank: Hi Bob.

Bob: ........So....

Frank: Pull up a seat!

Will [Sighing]: Really? With the manic depressive?

Frank: Be nice! It's nice to be together. After all, we fight together, why shouldn't we have a few drinks together?

Will: We only fight together because we got strongarmed into fighting for the Reject Company.

Bob: ......Well, alright.

Bob sits in the seat at the foot of the table, looking at both Frank and Will.

Will: ....So...

Frank takes a sip of beer.

Frank: Why don't you order drinks? This place does some amazing beer.

Will: Not for me.

Bob: I'm fine.

Frank: Well.....we're here.

Bob: Yep.

Frank takes a drink of beer. Will looks around and Bob shuffles uncomfortably.

Will: Well...

Bob: It's...It's Steve!

Bob points across the street: Crossing over the road towards them is Steve, wearing a rainbow tye-dye shirt, a pair of jeans and sneakers, his rucksack still slung over his shoulders. The rucksack is bulging, and now appears to be covered with several badges, the decor complimented by a rainbow LGBT Pride flag wound around one of the straps over his shoulder. Crossing over the road, Steve glances at them, nods and walks up the street to his left.

Steve: Hi guys.

Steve whistles to himself, walking past their table.

Steve [Stopping and looking over at them]: ...Holiday?

Frank: Holiday.

Steve: Yep, holiday. Just crossing places off of my bucket list.

Steve stands there, looking around and nodding slightly.

Frank: ....Join us for a drink?

Steve: Sorry guys, i'm heading off to snap a few pictures of Alcatraz before heading off to Mexico.

Will [Pointing at the rucksack]: Didn't know you were gay.

Steve: Bisexual. Besides, It's nice to have mementos of your trip. Better than drinking yourself into a coma.

Frank [Raising his glass]: Only mildly buzzed but i'm hoping to fix that!

Steve: Frank, man, you really should get checked out for PTSD, we're all sure you're just drinking to forget.

Frank: In my defence, I forgot was I supposed to forget.

Bob: He's got a point: Frank remembers nothing.

Frank: I don't even remember if I have a mother or a father.

Steve [Sighing]: That's definitely PTSD.

Will: Frank, man, you should find a woman. That'll help.

Frank: Why?

Will: Well, you won't be drinking yourself to death because you're a lonely, pathetic loser.

Frank [Scowling]: Fuck off, Will, i'm fine. Besides, I had--

Will: Don't you start that stuff: That was a symbiotic relationship and you know it. She was fucking psychotic.

Frank: Oh yeah? And what about Raging Raven?!

Will: That was...................fun.

Bob: Yeah, righ--

Will [Angrily]: And don't you start that stuff either, you were with a woman who took pleasure from pain! I'm guessing she tied you to the bed and dripped hot candle wax onto your chest too while she had your balls tied in--

Steve [Pushing his chair away from the table]: Right, well, I'm going to go. I've heard enough for more than one lifetime.

Steve gets to his feet, hauling his rucksack up and walking down the street.

Frank: For fucks sake, Will!

Bob [Calmly]: And for your answer: She did.

Frank [Wincing]: You motherfuckers need Jesus.

Frank shudders slightly, continuing to drink his pint as a woman walks out of the shop. A pale Hispanic woman, with jet black hair slicked up and back over her scalp, strolls out, wearing a black tanktop with thin shoulder straps and a pair of urban camouflage pants with black leather boots. Walking past Franks table, she sits at the table to his right, clutching a pint of lager. The woman glances over at Frank who gives a small nod back.

Will: Try tipping your hat.

Frank: Fuck off.

Will: Men's rights activist.

Frank: Ugly fuckface.

Frank [Smirking]: She's pretty hot.

Will [Laughing]: Like you have a chance with any woman who isn't psychotic and wants to kill you.

Frank looks over at the woman, who is busy drinking her beer, before sighing and looking at Will.

Frank: Y'know, your words hurt--

Will: They're supposed to. Tough love, sunshine! If it wasn't for me, all of your egos would block out the sun!

Frank [Laughing in disbelief]: OUR egos? You have an ego the size of Jupiter! You're the most arrogant son of a bitch i've ever met!

Will: And women love it!

Frank: They don't.

Will: They do.

Frank [Impatiently]: They don't!

Bob: Why can't we just be nice to eachother?

Will [Getting to his feet]: You want nice? YOU WANT NICE?!

Bob [Looking up]: ....Well, yeah.

Will: ....Alright, follow me, you two little bitches, we're going to Las Vegas!

Will snaps his heels together, spinning around and walking up the street. Bob and Frank get to their feet, looking at eachother and shrugging in unison.

Frank: As long as he's paying.

Bob: And taking us there.

Frank: Maybe he'll gamble too much, get in trouble with the Mafia and end up being shot!

Bob: Uh, sure, that too.

Bob and Frank jog up the street after Will..


In Whitby, Jericho and Emilie are together within a small bedroom. This little hotel bedroom, situated in The Marine Hotel, is the perfect place for the unorthodox couple. With a sizeable queen bed decorated with white and black linen and beige pillows, flanked by two black endtables with lamps upon them and a desk at the foot of the bed, the room is decorated impressively. A floral red couch sitting close to the foot of the bed, turned to face a small black table which a flatscreen television is perched on, standing beside a wardrobe with a mirror attached to the front of it. Emilie is busy curling locks of her bright red hair, gazing into the mirror as Jericho sits on the edge of the bed, tying the shoelaces of his brown leather brogues.

Jericho [Quietly]: I wish we could stay here.

Emilie: One day, we will be able to. Until then, let's just enjoy the moment.

Jericho: I'm trying, love. I really am.

Emilie: Then try harder. We're here: Ignore whatever torments you.

Jericho: I just don't fancy going back into the bloody Middle East.

Emilie: None of us do.

Jericho: Don't mind saying that i'm getting sick of this global war malarkey. Can't wait until it's all over.

Emilie [Chuckling]: Don't we all, dear?

Jericho stands up, walking behind Emilie who turns around, giving a small smile.

Jericho: So, what do we do?

Emilie: Enjoy it.

Jericho [Quietly, leaning forward]: When the fuck do we tell the others that you know how to access the Dejanel family fortune?

Emilie: We don't. We keep it for ourselves.

Jericho: Seriously?

Emilie [Smirking]: Yes. When this global war ends, we retire with it. No more of this dreadful killing business and certainly no more vile sand in my hair. Enjoyable for the both of us, don't you think?

Jericho: Sounds right.

Emilie: Good. Now, let us go: I'm hungry.

Jericho: Alright, i've heard of a place Phil recommended here.

Emilie: I do hope it's good.

Jericho: Well, Phil recommended it so..................Fuck it, let's just see it and hope it isn't filled with drunks trying to kill eachother.

Jericho and Emilie leave their room, heading outside and onto Pier Road, the main road

Heading left out of the doors, Jericho and Emilie  walk forward, sticking to the path in front of them and strolling past a small shop selling various beach equipment including buckets, spades and quaint handheld windmills. Continuing forward past a small kiosk selling ice creams, the town itself appears quite empty in spite of the summer, leaving somewhat empty paths stretching ahead of them with the few tourists sat outside restaurants and pubs across the road from them.

Jericho [Looking around]: Huh. Not so full.

Emilie: Strange, isn't it?

Jericho: Normally it's crowded in summer...It was yesterday..

Emilie [Shrugging]: Such is life: It ebbs and flows.

Jericho: It's just....strange.

Emilie: Don't let it bother you, dear. You let too much bother you.

Jericho: When you're fighting to save the world, you kind of have to let everything weigh on your mind.

As they continuing walking down the street, Jericho stops, looking up at a looming white building across the street, the words "THE MAGPIE CAFE" clear on the side of the building in large black letters. Though a queue normally extends up the stone steps outside the door and into the restaurant itself, the queue appears to be, thankfully, absent as Jericho and Emilie cross the road, walking towards the restaurant.

Jericho: Well, here it is: The Magpie Cafe. Phil always recommended this place and I guess we'll see the hype.

Emilie: It does look quite nice.

Jericho: Well then...let's check it out.

Emilie [Smirking]: Maybe you shouldn't doubt your friends.

Jericho: Come on, i've seen the man eat baked beans out of a tin. Cold. With his HANDS. He's hardly a culinary genius.

Walking up the stone steps and into the cafe, Emilie and Jericho approach the counter, where a young woman with blonde hair, wearing a black polo shirt with the Magpie Cafe logo on it.

Jericho: Table for two please, love.

Hostess: Right this way, sir.

The hostess leads them into a small room to the left with five circular wooden tables. Led to a table beside an unlit iron fireplace with two seats, Jericho and Emilie sit down at the table. The hostess sets down a pair of menus, as well as two laminated sheets that make up the drinks menu, which they take.

Jericho [Looking around]: Bloody hell. This ain't half bad. Even got flowers on the table.

Emilie: And they're not plastic, either.

A waitress approaches the table.

Waitress: Can I get you any drinks?

Jericho: Aye, sure, get me a bottle of Baytown Bitter.

Emilie: And i'll have a glass of the Sauvignon Blanc, Gran Hacienda white wine.

Waitress: Got it.

As the waitress leaves the table, Jericho looks blankly at the ceiling. Emilie watches him, curling one of her locks slightly as she does.

Emilie: Penny for your thoughts.

Jericho: Nothing, just daydreaming of the day when we can move out together.

Emilie: That reminds me: Those men you live with......Do you not like them? You seem to have grown distant from them lately.

Jericho [Sighing somewhat]: ...They....They're brothers to me. Y'know...it's complicated....I mean, to me,they are brothers. Me and Phil, we actually go back. Way back before being mercenaries. Before the company was a thing, even. Do you know when we first met?

Emilie: Go on.

Jericho [Laughing slightly]: On a piss-up in Manchester. Me and a few lads are sitting there, having a drink, and there's this lad sitting in a corner. On leave from the Royal Engineers, so he's in uniform, and he's quiet. Real quiet. He had two drinks on the table in front of him, and he's sitting there. A few moments later he gets up, pats me on the shoulder and points over to the table, saying that I can have the drink cause he got stood up by a mate of his. Can you believe that?

Emilie: What happened?

Jericho: Told him to bring the drink over and he did. And we talked. And got completely hammered. And that's it, really. We met a few times after that, actually. All involving alcohol.

Emilie: And you were in the Academy together?

Jericho: Phil was sent over to the Academy about...a month....two months?......after I arrived. Around a month and a half, let's say. Guess it was fate that we got lumped together in the same class.

Emilie: What about the others? Steve and Ivan?

Jericho: Steve? I've never got to talk to Steve much. But I do love him like a brother too. He's a rare breed: Never really loses his temper, takes everything in his stride. Probably one of the strongest of our company mentally, which is saying something, considering his past brain damage BUT...he's a nice lad. He was quiet in the Academy, too.

Emilie: Good..

Jericho: And Ivan? That lad is a goddamn hoot to be around, he really is. Honestly, ever since meeting him, he's amazed me. Lovely lad. We have history too, first met him in the Academy, we were there since day one when they were pumping him full of nanomachines just to stop his brain from melting. He's a bloody laugh riot, one of the strongest lads there. Man, there was this time when he snuck into the cafeteria and blew up an industrial blender using dynamite. It was after that when we FINALLY stopped getting served shitty creamed corn in the Academy and started getting proper frozen stuff in.

Emilie: Isn't he the one subjected to frankly lethal doses of radiation?

Jericho [Quietly]: .........Yeah.....The nanomachines are keeping him alive...Stopping the cancer from multiplying and overwhelming his body...

Emilie: I'm sorry..

Jericho: Don't be, he's going to remain alive for a good while. I hope we grow old together, cause I can imagine that crazy Russian bastard as an old man. He won't tell kids to get off his lawn: He'll use dynamite and blow them away! Man, I remember the time we were on a training mission in Japan. We were in a hot springs and the son of a bitch used a grenade to create a geyser. Then he stands in the middle of the plume, singing "It's Raining Men"! Man, we weren't allowed into ANY hot springs after that.....mostly because Coach Fury was trying to relax in the same hot springs....but it was fucking funny! And that time in Libya where we had the sheep and--

Emilie [Calmly]: Sounds like you're not ready to leave them..

Jericho [Sighing quietly]: .............I'm not....I just wish....I could tell them how much I liked them. I really do.

Emilie: Why can't you?

Jericho: I dunno. It's difficult.

Emilie: How so?

Jericho: It just feels forced from me, honestly. Like...sarcasm....Like I wouldn't be able to convince them that's how I feel.

Jericho sighs, glancing down at his plate.

Jericho: I just wish....I could tell them...

Russian Voice: But you already have.

Jericho slowly raises his head, looking over his left shoulder: Standing behind him, with a napkin tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt, is Crazy Ivan. Still bald, still stubbled and still scarred, Ivan gives a bright grin, looking down at Jericho.

Ivan: And here I vas, eating, ven I heard your voice. And all the things you said about me. Vell, I love you too.

Jericho [Shakily]: How..long...were you listening?!

Ivan [Grinning]: Heard it all.

Jericho: Oh, bollocks.

Ivan: You are good man, friend.

Jericho: Uh...yeah...sure...

Ivan places his hands on Jericho's shoulders.

Ivan: Ve are good friends.

Jericho: Yeah...

Ivan [Leaning down, pulling Jericho closer and kissing his cheek]: I LOVE YOU, ENGLISH!!!

Jericho [Quietly]: I need a fucking vacation.

Emilie [Smiling wryly]: You're on one: Enjoy it.


Over in New York City, Dean, Karab, Samuel, Bobby and Kane are busy on the hunt for the succubus, having failed to reach a resolution to their case in the last episode. For now, the four men and one man-dog...thing...are lounging in the suite of the Adamska Hotel, where Dean and Samuel found the murdered victim of the supposed succubus.

On the first floor, their room is fit only for two people, leading to a somewhat cramped situation. A single bed, which Dean is sat on, lays against the wall to the right upon entering the room. Across the room for it, beneath a single window, is a couch that Samuel is laying on, gazing at the ceiling. Between the bed and couch, Karab is sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking across the room and watching a television perched on a small desk. Bobby is sat on the edge of Dean's bed, while Kane is laid on the floor at the foot of the desk, gazing at the ceiling.

Kane: What are we doing?

Samuel: Trying to find a succubus.

Kane: ....That's just stu--

Dean [Interjecting]: Before you finish that sentence, I hope you're aware that you're a walking, talking dog.

Kane: ............Point taken. But we're not doing anything.

Bobby: I'm waiting for a call.

Dean: Regarding what?

Bobby: Anything. I've got a contact in the NYPD who's promised to give me any information as it comes up regarding bodies in the area.

Dean: What if the succubus has moved--

Bobby [Angrily]; JUST TRUST ME, DAMMIT!

Dean: Hey, Bobby, you know I do, it's just--

Samuel: Don't, Dean. Just.......don't.

Bobby's mobile phone rings suddenly. Bobby quickly answers it.

Bobby: What is it?..............Right.................I see.........................................I see. Okay.

Bobby hangs up the mobile phone, appearing oddly calm.

Kane [Looking over]: That doesn't look good.

Bobby [Quietly]: They've called in another body.

Dean: Drained?

Bobby: Drained.

Samuel: Where is it?

Bobby [Angrily]: IN THIS FUCKING HOTEL!!!

Dean: Wait, WHAT?!

Bobby throws the phone onto the floor, storming up to his feet and unsheathing a bowie knife from his waist.

Bobby [Angrily]: Third floor. They just called it in!!

Dean: Aw, piss, we're not very good at this hunting lark.

Bobby: You're goddamn right you ain't!

Dean: Why didn't you sense it?!

Bobby: Why didn't you?!

Dean: Why didn't Karab?!

Karab: Don't bring me into this!

Bobby snorts, storming up to his feet and walking towards the door.

Bobby [Impatiently]: Follow me, you waste of space!

Bobby kicks the door open, storming over to the elevator as Karab gets to his feet, automatically following Bobby. Dean sighs loudly, shrugging.

Dean: I don't want to be a hunter anymore..

Samuel: Too bad, this is the life that you chose.

Dean sighs, rolling off of the bed and landing on all fours before pushing himself to his feet, sighing loudly.

Dean: Well, I don't want it anymore.

Samuel [Getting to his feet]: Too bad.

Dean walks over to Kane, tapping his feathery tail with the tip of his shoe.

Dean: Oi, furball, get up.

Kane [Calmly]: My name is Kane, if you don't mind.

Samuel: You'll have to forgive Dean, he's from a different time.

Dean: No i'm not--COME ON! He's a fucking furry! He's a walking talking Saluki! It's not fucking normal!

Kane: I know that, but you could at least call me by the name I was given.

Samuel: Come on, Dean, just use his name.

Dean: Fine. Kane, get up, you fucking fur--

Samuel clasps his left hand over Dean's mouth as Kane gets to his feet.

Samuel: Forgive him.

Bobby [Angrily]; MOVE IT, YOU PAIR OF BABIES!!!

Samuel, Dean and Kane hurry out of the room, crowding into the elevator as Bobby presses the button for the fifth floor. The elevator goes up two floors before stopping, the doors opening: For some reason, the NYPD aren't stationed on the floor, and the door ahead of them is slightly ajar with a simple orange traffic cone standing in front of it, as if to deter visitors. Bobby steps out of the elevator, walking forward, grabbing the cone and throwing it aside, pushing the door open.

Kane [Stepping out of the elevator]: Is it..normal for there to be no police around?

Bobby: NYPD isn't paying much attention to this case anymore. They've got bigger fish to fry.

Dean: Side effect of having PMC's running around and shooting shit. Always got to clean up after them.

Kane: Why even have a police force anyway if Praying Mantis runs this place?

Samuel [Walking out of the elevator]: We don't know. We guess it's to keep up appearances, mostly. Some even think that the NYPD is their own little PMC.


Dean: Well, it'd explain the average mortality rate of the streets being two hours.

Dean, Samuel, Kane and Karab walk into the room. To their left lies a single bed and, as they suspected, a naked corpse, with a thin blanket thankfully covering its groin region, is laying there, the pale skin sunken and almost leathery, but with an oddly serene grin on the corpses face.

Karab [Looking at the body]: Again, the dead look happier than me.

Samuel walks over to a table opposite the bed and against the wall, searching through a pile of various papers as the others walk into the room, looking over at the body.

Kane [Looking at the body]: Oh, there it is!

Samuel: Yeah, he's dead.

Bobby walks over to the body, gripping the head of the corpse and pulling it back, revealing a deep vertical gash from beneath the chin to the top of the windpipe, practically drained of all of its blood.

Bobby [Quietly]: Pretty much identical to how the others were killed.

Dean audibly sniffs the air, looking at Kane who is wrinkling his nose somewhat irritably.

Dean: Do you smell that too, furry boy?

Kane: Mm. Rotten eggs.

Samuel steps away from the table, squatting down and picking up what appears to be a very small bundle of leather fabric. Getting to his feet, Samuel unfurls them, revealing them to be very skimpy leather panties.

Samuel: Uhhh....this is new.

Dean: What have you found?

Samuel: Panties. Used panties.

Dean: Well, sniff 'em.

Samuel [Taken aback]: What?!

Dean: If they smell of sulphur, they must be succubus panties.

Samuel [Holding his hand towards Dean]: Fuck you, YOU smell them!

Dean: Alright.

Dean takes the panties and lifts them to his nose, taking a deep breath. Samuel, Bobby, Karab and Kane watch in shock and disgust as Dean's right eye twitches and he starts coughing before nodding.

Dean [Retching slightly]: Yep, sulphur!!

Karab: What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?!

Dean: We had to check!

Karab: Surely there was another way, you sick fuck?!

Dean: Oh, did you have a better way of checking?!

Samuel walks back over to the table, grabbing a sheet of paper and holding it over to Bobby who snatches it up: A bloody fingerprint is marked on the map, which appears to be of the mainland United States, directly within the state boundaries of Louisiana.

Bobby: Only one marking. Deliberate?

Samuel: Conveniently so, I guess.

Dean: Are you fucking kidding me?

Samuel: No, the map's marked for Louisiana.

Dean [Sighing]: Great, we're heading deep into redneck country.

Bobby: Come on, we've got to put this fucking thing down.

Bobby shoves the door open, walking out and towards the elevator.

Dean: No, we're not going to fucking Louisiana!

Samuel: We have to.

Karab: Yes, because we're hunting a succubus. For some reason.

Samuel: This was the life you wanted to follow if you weren't a failed soldier, Dean. You wanted to be a hunter, and now we're hunting.

Dean [Whining]: But it's shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!!

Karab: Oh, man the fuck up, will you?!

Karab storms outside as Dean watches in surprise.

Samuel: He has a point, Dea--

Dean [Coldly]: Fuck off. I'm onto you.

Dean follows Karab outside, and is followed by Samuel and Kane. The elevator doors have shut, indicating that Bobby has already decided to leave the bickering children alone and go for the Impala without them. After a few seconds, the doors open and Karab, Dean, Samuel and Kane step inside. As Dean steps inside, Samuel sniffs the air audibly.

Karab [Sniffing the air as well]: You smell that?

Samuel: Yeah, it's.....................it's.......................................[Somewhat disgusted] Dean, did you pocket those succubus panties?

Dean: I thought Kane could track the scent.

Kane [Coldly]: I will claw out your fucking colon if you put those things anywhere
near my nose.

Dean [Angrily]: LET'S JUST GO!!

Samuel: Dean, why do you still have them?

Dean [Angrily]: SHUT UP!!!

Dean punches the button of the elevator, inadvertantly breaking the control panel.

Samuel [Calmly]: Well, that was foolish of you. Now we have to take the stairs.

Dean screams, running out of the elevator, twisting left and sprinting down the hallway.

Kane: Is he always like this?

Karab: An angry manchild?

Kane: Yeah.

Karab [Nodding]: Pretty much.


Outside Memphis in Tennessee sits the Mercenary Academy of the United States. Churning out recruits slowly and used mostly to host those even too useless to be shipped off to the Middle East, the Academy is little more than the United Nation's idea of planting a flag in American soil. Though the Academy has regularly been fought over by Ocelot's own PMC's, it faces an entirely new threat from a war machine heading from the South.

Roughly a mile east of the Academy is a small hill, standing on which stands a young man, clutching a pair of binoculars and looking directly at the front doors of the Academy. The man, oddly enough, is wearing a garish, full length officers coat which is leather and dyed with multiple vertical stripes of varying colours, making it resemble a rainbow. With smooth and heavily tanned skin, a scalp of spiked black hair and a soul patch hanging from his lower lip, the figure looks truly out of place in the middle of redneck country. This is emphasized by the fact that, behind him, countless men and women are dressed in flak jackets, with alternating military jackets of yellow, blue, green and white over them. The dull chatter in Portuguese across the contingent of soldiers suggests that this is a Brazilian PMC.

Nodding his head, the man slowly lowers his binoculars.


The group falls silent as, to their right, the "Brew On The Mo'e" wagon rolls up beside them, the serving window facing them as Phil's grinning face leers out.

Phil [Ecstatically]: DANIEL, YOU CUNT!!! IT'S ME!!!

Daniel: Oh God.

Phil: Well, if it ain't the Rainbow Warrior himself! Planning to storm the Academy, I see.

Daniel: We're neutral, friend. We need the weaponry and they have it. Once we have seized their weaponry, we will leave them alone, BUT WE WILL ANNEX TEXAS, TENNESSEE AND NEW MEXICO FOR THE BRAVE SOUTH AMERICAN PEOPLE WHO FIGHT EVERY SINGLE DAY OF THEIR LIVES!!!!!

A huge roar goes up from Cobras Fumantes as they raise their rifles into the airs.

Phil: Good luck: With that fucking coat, they probably know you're here.

Daniel [Coldly]: I like this coat.

Phil: Why not join us, man? Don't attack the Academy!


A huge roar goes up from Cobras Fumentes once again.

Phil [Raising his arms]: Alrighty then, i'll let you get on with what you've got to do.

Daniel: Good. You sit there, white boy, and watch as the proud Latinos and Latinas make their--

Phil: Woah, let's hold off with the racism there.


With a bellowing war cry, Cobras Fumentes begin to sprint down the hill. Wave after wave of this armed group consisting mostly of young men and women head down the hill. Daniel aims down his pistols, firing both rapidly and cackling loudly. Phil simply stands there, watching as even more of Cobras Fumentes charge forward, the number of soldiers clearly in the thousands as a huge wave of bodies heads down the hill and towards the Academy.

Phil [Taken aback]: Motherfuckers mobilised an army.

Daniel reaches the chainlink fence surrounding the Academy. He stops suddenly, watching as the guards in the two guardtowers flanking both sides of the gate simply disappear from view, the gate swinging open mere seconds later.

Daniel [Calling up]: THANK YOU!!

Guard In Right Guard Tower [Yelling down, in distinct Liverpudlian accent]: GO'WAN LAD, ASSAULT THE FOOKIN' ACADEMY! WE FOOKIN' HATE IT HERE!!!


Phil [Watching]: Welp, I heard that the Academy had trouble with morale, but this takes the biscuit.

Daniel and several of the Cobras Fumentes soldiers charge through the open gates, amassing outside of the doors. A towering man, at least seven feet tall whose skin is deeply bronzed and his hair slicked back in a ponytail, stomps forward, ripping off his white military jacket and grasping the handles of both doors, practically ripping them open. As soon as Cobras Fumentes rushes into the Academy, gunfire explodes out momentarily before stopping just as quickly. Out of the front doors stroll several figures wearing urban camouflage, indicating that they are students within the Academy. Carrying M16A2 rifles on their back, they simply walk out, shrugging and shaking their heads.

Phil: So much for fighting, then.

Pounding drum and bass music begins to play, accompanied by the sight of strobe lights emitting from the windows of the Academy. On the roof, Daniel emerges, waving a Brazilian flag as several more students simply begin to file out of the Academy. One of them, a young African-American woman, has an American flag draped over her shoulders. The students simply head up the hill, walking past Phil's van.

First Male Recruit [With a Brooklyn accent[: Well, that's the Academy dead. Guess that's what happens when all of your Drill Sergeants--Oh, sorry, COACHES....are too busy drinking themselves into a coma.

Second Male Recruit [Laughing, with a Scottish accent]: Aye, all feckin' four of the wankers. Feckin' United Nations, I'm gonna feckin' join Praying Mantis.

African-American Female Recruit [With a light Texan accent]: Not me. I'm going to get shipped out to France or the Middle East, where the real action is, not here where all we do is watch Praying Mantis get shipped out to fight some backwards PMC in Cuba.

First Hispanic Male Recruit [With a distinct Cuban accent]: Leave Cuba alone!

Second Hispanic Male Recruit [Laughing, with a Californian accent]: Man, Cuba's being teabagged by Praying Mantis as we speak!


As soon as he calls out, several recruits quickly amass outside the van.

Blonde Female Recruit [with a Cockney accent]: Finally, some proper tea, and not the icy shit these bloody Yanks love!!

Phil [Grinning]: Nothing like the death of an Academy to bring business up.

Phil begins to serve several polystyrene cups of tea as a large explosion blows out all visible windows on the top floor of the Academy, causing Daniel to stumble forward slightly.


Daniel flips the bird at him before raising his arms, cackling loudly as the Mercenary Academy of the United States sees the UN and American flags on its roof lowered....


Las Vegas, Nevada. Similar to San Francisco in that it has been untouched by PMC's. However, this could be because most PMC's make a visit to Las Vegas a mandatory holiday at least once a year. The strip still glitters with neon lights, the casinos still stand tall and resolute and the sleaze and vice still penetrates the city to its very core.

Will, with Bob and Frank in tow still wearing their ordinary clothes, strolls in through the front doors of the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino. This titanic entertainment complex, providing restaurants, a hotel, a casino and more, is one of the true highlights of the Las Vegas Strip. The huge circular lobby greets them, a graphic of a lion on the floor and a golden statue of a lion ahead of them on a circular plinth, surrounded by a variety of vegetation. Behind the statue, on the rear wall, blink several screens flashing graphics and advertisements at them while, to their left, the casino unfolds and to their right stand several desks, including the front desk. Will grins brightly, his arms opening as he walks into the casino.

Will: Here we are, gentlemen!!

Frank [Looking around, scratching his right ear]: It's awfully noisy.

Bob: And bright.

Will: That's Las Vegas, peasants.

Bob: So...what do we do?

Will [Scoffing]: Party! We party! Gamble! Drink! Screw! Shop!

Frank [Shivering]: But it's.....fancy.

Will: Yeah, it is--Hang on a second, Davidoff?!

Bob: Who?

Will: Clothes! Beautifully expensive clothes!

Will rushes over to the outlet: Outside of the Davidoff outlet emerges a somewhat tall man. Shaven headed with immaculately sculpted facial hair and a fine physique, clad in a solid black suit with a red dress shirt, the man cuts an imposing figure. Behind him is a bodyguard, thick and heavy set, also shaven headed with a pencil-thin goatee. Wearing a tight black t-shirt, a pair of black dress trousers and a beanie, with arms like gnarled tree trunks, the bodyguard of the man appears even taller and bigger than his client.

Will [Surprised]: It's....It's Maynard Hetfield. And his bodyguard, Dave Markinson.

Bob: Who?

Will: Former professional wrestler. Used to wrestle across the world in various small promotions. Rumour has it that he's linked to biker gangs and the Mafia.

Frank: Isn't that the guy who used to have a Roman soldier gimmick?

Will: The very same.

Bob [Shaking his head]: I....don't know what we're talking about.

Will: He's a very rich man. Very rich, and he loves flaunting his wealth. So i'm going to go and make friends with him.

Frank [Laughing]: And how do you know he won't just kill you? Or that Dave guy? Bald with the beanie? Yeah, that Dave guy could shit you out. Literally shit you out after eating your whole.

Will [Dusting off his lapels]: The rich love pornstars, and he'll love me. Later, peasants.

Will grins, walking forward confidently towards Hetfield. Behind him emerges a third figure, carrying several bags in his hands: Unlike the other two, this figure is skinnier, wearing a plaid blue and white dress shirt, jeans and with his spiked hair gelled up, with a thin soul patch beneath his lower lip. Hetfield looks over his shoulder at the figure.

Hetfield: Come on, Mr. Cornell, time waits for no man!

Markinson: Move it, Zack, we've got a party brewing upstairs.

Hetfield [Suddenly noticing Will]: Speaking of parties....

Will [Grinning]: Hey, Maynard Hetfield! Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge fan of yours!

Hetfield [Laughing, pointing at Will]: Shit, it's that pornstar! What's his name....one who got banned from visiting Japan because of indecent exposure.....Will! Will Studlin! Fan of your work too, lad! Just seen your newest DVD!

Will: Well, I'm here from the Pussy Wonderland! Figured i'd fly myself in from San Fran and see what the fuss is about in this little ol' place.

Hetfield: Welcome to Las Vegas! Enough booze to drown heaven and enough poon to smother hell!

Will: My kind of town!

Hetfield: Hey...Hey! Hey! I've got a party up in my room: One of the SkyLofts, just a little classy shindig, some champagne, few nibbles, just to celebrate me heading back here from purchasing a little wrestling company that started up around here: Ever heard of TITAN? Just purchased it from some guy named Ashton Matthews. Poor sap.

Will: Can't say I have...

Hetfield [Shrugging]: Never mind. Anyway, mate, come on up! Could use a male pornstar, there's about six female ones up there anyway.

Cornell: It's gonna be a blast!

Hetfield: Yeah, yeah, it will be! What do you say?

Will [Laughing]: Well, who am I to deny an invitation from a celebrity? I'm in!

Hetfield: Sweet! So, you bringing up any friends?

Will: Well--where the fuck did the drunk go?!

Will looks around as Frank is nowhere to be seen. Bob himself has disappeared, leaving only Will with Maynard Hetfield and his entourage.

Will [Turning around]: ....So...

Hetfield: Leave 'em. Let's rock. And show me that trick with the lady and the melon baller.

Will [Laughing, walking away with Maynard Hetfield]: Of course, friend! Of course!

Bob is ambling aimlessly around the floor of the MGM Grand casino like a lost little puppy. Walking past Beacher's Madhouse, Bob is somewhat overwhelmed by the noise and the lights, gazing at the ceiling and walls as he stumbles forward.

Bob [Mumbling to himself]: Fucking hell..

Ahead of him and slightly to the left lies the Tap Sports Bar. Bob walks into it, where Frank is sat on the right-side of a bar which forms a square around a central display of liquor. Frank looks to his left, giving a tired smile at Bob who wanders over to Frank through the crowd, pulling out the wooden bar stool to Frank's left and sitting on it, resting his back against the small backrest and letting out a small sigh.

Bob [Calmly]: Vegas, eh?

Frank: Not your idea of fun?

Bob: Not really.

Frank: Yeah, I hear you: Gambling ain't my vice. Drinking is.

Bob: Same here. Just seems....pointless.

Frank: Here we are, in the middle of one of the most famous cities in the world. And we're not doing anything.

Bob: Yep.

Frank takes a drink from his bottle as Bob watches.

Bob: Frank, honest question: Do you have PTSD?

Frank slowly sets the bottle down, giving a small shrug.

Frank: Never thought about it.

Bob: Frank, will you please see a psychiatrist or something while we're on holiday?

Frank [Chuckling]: That concerned with my drinking?

Bob: I'm just concerned, Frank. You really do drink heavily: No-one else does.

Frank: I just like drinking....Bob, man, I appreciate you being concerned. Honestly, I do, but at the same time....It's nothing. I like beer, it's that simple: I like tasting new beers. Like this! [Holding up bottle] Hoegaarden White Ale! Tastes great. Don't worry about me....Worry about Lynch. Lynch has PTSD, I can see it in his eyes and I don't think he realises it--Hell, I think he's too fucking busy to realise it. I think......well, it may even be nanomachines.

Bob: Nanomachines?

Frank: Lynch has seen a lot of shit in his life. A lot of shit. There is no way a man like that has been through so much while appearing untouched. Willpower doesn't do shit for PTSD: It HAS to be nanomachines. Has to be.

Bob [Blankly]: Fucking hell.

Frank [Taking a drink]: Yeah.

Bob [Leaning over the bar]: Hey, can I get a bottle of Beck's over here?

Bartender: Comin' right up.

Frank: So...yeah. Don't worry about me.

Bob [Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a $10 bill]: Too late. I do.

Frank [Chuckling]: Thanks. But...no PTSD. If anything, i'm just a bit, well...lonely since Mantis left. I mean, you guys are cool, but since Mantis went......well......

Bob: I understand. What happened to the pleasure-bot, though?

Frank [Frustrated]: Y'know, I dunno. She just vanished one day. Same day Robbie and Dave left for their u-boat. Guess they must've taken and dumped her, I know Dave hates that shit..

Bob [Paying the bartender]: Dave hates everything, to be fair.

Frank: Too right.

Bob takes the bottle of Beck's, taking a quick drink.

Bob: Yep, that'll hit the spot.

Frank [Holding his bottle towards Bob]: To mercenaries.

Bob [Clinking his bottle against Frank's]: To hell, sand and gunfire.

Bob and Frank drink from their respective bottles, looking around at the bustling bar.

Frank: Busy, eh?

Bob: Yep!

As Frank and Bob drink, a small hustle of whispering rolls over the crowd. Frank and Bob look around, and then to the doors as Will strolls towards them, wearing nothing but a pink wool dressing gown with a white trim.

Will: Knew i'd find the drunkard in a bar!

Frank: For fucks sake, Will, did you just walk off set?

Will: Hetfield is hosting a party and guess what, you ugly fucks? We're in!

Frank: Wait, what?!

Will: I told you! The rich love pornstars! I've been trying to find you for a long time to tell you: We're in! Come on!

Frank looks at Bob, who smirks and shrugs.

Bob: Ah, hell, may as well!

Leading them through the hotel, towards the elevators and into the depths of the MGM Grand, Will, Frank and Bob eventually emerge on one of the highest floors of the hotel: The SkyLofts, a premium experience sought after by the wealthiest and most elite of society whenever they head to Las Vegas. And now three bumbling mercenaries have found themselves there. Strolling towards a nearby door that is opened slightly, Will shoves it open: The room in front of them is filled with people and the sounds of heavy drum and bass fill their ears. In front of them is a small white table, covered in a variety of finger foods. To its right is a white leather couch, behind which is a long wooden table flanked by a number of chairs. Behind that is a small bar and to the left of the bar is a large pool table. Several leather chairs dot the room, whose lights have been dimmed. Frank looks over at the wooden table: A large leather championship belt with a gold centre plate and four golden side plates, two on each side, lies on the table, with the letters "UWL" emblazoned in green on them. As soon as they walk in, a well-groomed male wearing a black suit and white leather gloves slowly shuts the door.

Will [Laughing]: WELCOME TO NIRVANA!

Frank looks to his right, noticing a private bar.

Frank [Eyes widening]: BOOZE! FANCY BOOZE!

Hetfield: Help yourselves, boys, it's all paid for!

Frank quickly walks over to the bar, eyeing a bottle of Remy Martin XO brandy. Uncorking the bottle, Frank pours it into a glass, taking a quick drink.

Frank: Hell yes!

Hetfield [Laughing, opening his arms]: It's all yours!

Will walks over to the pool table, snatching a cue from the stand and looking around. The guests are mostly hovering around Maynard Hetfield, eating finger food from the table as he discusses his deal to buy TITAN. Will's face falls slightly as Bob walks over to the bar, standing beside Frank.

Bob: Enjoying yourself?

Frank: Hell yeah!

The butler walks over to the mini bar, looking over at Frank and Bob.

Butler: Sirs, would you like a signature drink? A SkyTini, perhaps?

Frank: No thanks, my good man: This cognac is like nectar!

Bob [Looking over]: Y'know what? A SkyTini sounds awesome!

The butler approaches the mini-bar, beginning to fix a drink as Bob and Frank step back, turning around and watching as Hetfield vaults over to the couch, walking over to the minibar himself and winking at Bob and Frank.

Hetfield: You two mercenaries like Willy boy?

Frank: Yeah.

Hetfield reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pair of business cards and handing them to Frank and Bob, who take them.

Hetfield: You two ever run out of work, I'm always looking to add more security to my entourage.

Bob: So..this is why you invited us up?

Hetfield [Laughing]: Nah, I just like the company. But keep it in mind, yeah? Can't imagine sitting in the Middle East with sand up your ass is too pleasing.

Frank: Not at all.

Hetfield: So...keep it in mind, eh? And mingle! We're all friends up here!

The butler turns, handing Bob his SkyTini as Hetfield walks over to the mini-bar, grasping a bottle of Cristal champagne and twisting around again, hopping over the sofa and onto it.

Hetfield [Raising the bottle of champagne]: I'M THE EMPEROR OF VEGAS, BABY!!!

A huge cheer goes up from the crowd. Will walks over to the bar, wrinkling his nose somewhat irritably.

Frank: What's wrong, Will?

Will: Nothing.

Bob: He's just jealous that he isn't the centre of attention!

Cornell [Walking over, clasping his hands on Will's shoulders]: Not in our world, friend. Not in our world.

Will [Coldly]: Take your hands off of me.

Cornell: Nah.

Will turns to Zack, his eyes flashing violently.

Will [Angrily]: Listen here, you little shit, I'm Will fucking Studlin! And don't you fucking forget it!

Dave Markinson slowly walks over, glaring down at Will and folding his arms. Will gulps, looking up at Dave.

Markinson [Calmly]: Calm down, Will, or I will eject you from the party. Through the window.

Hetfield [Walking over]: Woah, woah woah woah! Woah! Leave Will alone, eh? Let him prove himself!

Will: What?

Hetfield: Prove yourself. Fight me. C'mon, you want attention? Pin the champion, baby!

Will [Rolling up the sleeves of his dressing gown]: Alright then, you little shit, I wi--

Before Will can even react, Hetfield kicks him in the stomach. Will wheezes, doubling over as Hetfield pulls him under his right arm. Hetfield leans forward, lifting Will into a suplex and hooking his right leg as he does before dropping backwards and planting him with a Fisherman Suplex. Will hits the floor with a deafening crash, wheezing as Hetfield gets to his feet, placing his right foot on Will's chest.


Bob [Laughing]: GOOD! FUCKING GOOD!

Zack Cornell quickly kneels beside Will, slapping his hand down beside Will on the floor three times. The crowd of people, including Frank and Bob, let loose a huge cheer as Hetfield raises his arms.


Markinson walks over to the championship belt and picks it up, handing it to Hetfield who stands on the sofa, raising it high above his bed.

Frank [Raising his glass]: TO THE CHAMPION!!!


Hetfield [Laughing]: Hail to the Emperor!

Will slowly sits up, clutching his head and looking around, his head snapping towards Frank who laughs loudly, raising his glass.

Frank: Cheers, Will!

Will [Angrily]: FUCK YOU!

Frank hits the empty bottle of Remy Martin violently over Will's head, the sound of glass clunking off of bone filling the air as Will hits the floor. Frank looks at the bottle, then at Will, before throwing it onto the ground and smashing it, raising his arms in the air.

Hetfield [Cheering]: GET THAT MAN ANOTHER DRINK!!

The entire crowd roars in delight as Hetfield raises the title above his head. Bob pours a glass of Macallan 12 year old whiskey for Frank, handing it to him.

Hetfield [Laughing]: That's how we do it in Vegas, bitches!

Bob [Laughing and raising his glass]: You know, a man could get used to this!

Frank [Raising his own glass]: I'll drink to them!

Frank and Bob clink their glasses together, drinking as Hetfield begins to dance on the sofa.


In the Academy, in Mother's office, sit Lynch and Joel, the brother of Bill whom had double-crossed his only family to bring them to justice. Bill is nowhere to be seen, presumably drinking himself into a stupor in Beale Street. Mother remains her usual dour self, looking at both Lynch and Joel and sitting back in her chair. Father Mercenary is stood to her right, flicking through a folder labelled "SYKES, JOEL", that appears to be a record indicating prior military service.

Mother: That is the deal, Joel. Take it or leave it.

Joel: So, you want me to work on this.....Project...Eos?........And it involves time travel?

Mother: Yes.

Joel [Laughing in disbelief]: Well, hotdamn, if I said 'no', you'd probably just shoot me anyway for telling me that.

Mother: We're not planning on you saying 'no'.

Joel: .....Well, ma'am, you're right. I've got nothin' left for me back home. May as well throw in my last chips here and help you with your fight.

Mother: Good.

Joel: Well, I look forward to working for you, Mother.

Mother: I'm glad.

Joel: I thought i'd be working for......well, Lynch's company.

Mother [Sitting back in her seat]: Lynch has other leads to pursue. You, Joel, are a valuable asset to have within our technological operations. You were not dishonorably discharged and were a credit to your team. Therefore, you will have a use elsewhere.

Joel: Thank you kindly, ma'am.

Mother [Giving a small smile]: A charming young man you are. Anyway, Father will want to take you away to show you where you will be working. I must converse with Lynch.

Father [Stepping forward and placing the folder on the desk]: Come on, lad, let's show you the ropes.

Joel pushes his chair away from the desk, getting to his feet as Father leads him from the room. Lynch spins the folder around, opening it and examining the contents.

Lynch [Quietly]: Huh. MARFORCYBER. Kid must be a natural with computers.

Mother: He is.

Lynch: So you're making him work on Project Eos?

Mother: The United Nations are growing suspicious. It's becoming more and more difficult to hide what is causing the energy spikes from this region of the world. I need extra eyes and ears to ensure that our computer systems remain safe from intrusion: Our usual team of grunts are intercepting tens of intrusion attempts every hour.

Lynch: Doesn't sound too bad--

Mother: Just yesterday, we recorded a record seventy-one attempts from twelve until one in the morning: That's one a minute, more than enough for those men and women. The United Nations already have their battering rams at the door, just in cyberspace as opposed to reality.

Lynch: If the UN are growing restless, then why are we on holiday?

Mother: I want your entire team rested before one final push. After the events of Operation Virtuoso and Snake Eater, the last pieces will fall into place. By finding the Philosopher's Legacy and ensuring that Volgin is eliminated, there's no risk of awakening a man with unlimited funds at his disposal. Considering Big Boss already leant himself towards the Les Enfants Terribles project, preventing his disgrace will....merely be a cherry on top of the cake. A side effect, even. Eliminate Volgin and secure his funds.

Lynch: ...That's the only reason why we haven't launched the assault? The small risk that Volgin might still be alive?

Mother [Somewhat irritably]: I am not going to stake my chips, just to have a wild card wipe out my bet. I am not moving until I am certain.


Mother: Oh, I received a call from Samuel Chevrolet yesterday.

Lynch: Him? What did he want?

Mother: It seems as if the Perfect Soldier Project continues to throw up interesting discoveries.

Lynch: ......Another furry?

Mother: An anthropomorphic soldier was found, yes. That's not all, though: Apparently, Bielefeld wasn't the only area where testing on the Project was being carried out. They were told that Karelia in Finland also hosts, or hosted, another location where the Project was being carried out.

Lynch: I'm not going to Karelia.

Mother: You won't need to: We're sending in Father's First Company. This job requires more finesse than your men and women can provide.

Lynch: Understood.....What do you want me to do?

Mother slumps back in her chair, twiddling her thumbs as she looks at Lynch. A few moments pass before she answers.

Mother [Calmly]: I want you to go back on your holiday.

Lynch [Somewhat hesitantly]: Honestly, Mother, i'm fi--

Mother: Of course you're fine. However, I order you to go on holiday and not to return until I give the explicit order.

Lynch sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk and getting to his feet.

Lynch: ....I mean, honestly, I can--

Mother [Sternly]: Do not disobey a direct order. You know what the punishment is for that.

Lynch [Nodding]: .....Understood. But.......look, can I spend it in Beale Street?

Mother: Why?

Lynch [Quietly]: ....It's....pretty much the only place I can call home....I can't go back to Long Island.....Back to my house. You know it reminds me of.......

Lynch's voice cracks slightly and trails off. Mother simply nods.

Mother: Then you may do so.

Lynch: Thanks, Mother..

Lynch turns around, trudging slightly through the open and shutting it behind him. Mother watches the door before spinning her chair around and getting to her feet, gazing outside of the window and down at the yard of the Academy, where a large drill is taking place for Ghost Company in the blazing midday heat.

Mother: Oh, how the wheels of fate are turning...


Close to Hardwater Lake, Dean, Bobby, Samuel and Karab have tracked the succubus, dragging the unfortunate anthro in Kane with them. Tracking through miles of forest, the land seems nigh-on inhospitable to life or, at least, Dean, who is grumbling to himself at the rear of pack. Bobby, now wearing a large rucksack, is leading the march, machete in one hand and hipflask in another. Trekking through the dirt and mud, with insects buzzing around their flesh, the five of them appear somewhat bemused by where their journey has led them, and they can only hope that their tracking instincts are correct.

Dean [Mumbling]: Fucking Louisiana...Why Louisiana?

Samuel: Why not?

Dean: It's Cajun country! Do you know who the Cajuns are?

Samuel: Yeah, descendants of the Acadien--

Dean: EXACTLY! A bunch of French people who got lost and made up their own language that is half French, half redneck, full retard!

Samuel: Technically, they were forcably removed by the British and forced to set up a colony around this area. Many died on the journey.

Dean: Hey, great: Retarded French people with a grudge and a Southern American attitude which is basically "Me lose civil war, me cry now."

Samuel [Sighing]: Dean, just get it off your chest now so we don't have to put up with your whining.

Dean: Alright, alright, alright, here's one: What's the difference between a souffle and the South?

Samuel: Go on.


Karab: ....Heh, that was good. Slightly.

Dean: Seriously, though, fuck the South. Bunch of thick retards who have delusions of grandeur when they couldn't even win a Civil War. Oh, but they call it the War of Northern Aggression when they're a bunch of rampant slavers and rapists! Their food is stupid, greasy and fattening to the point where the average Southern menu is basically a fucking Social Darwinism doctrine, their accents are stupid, they dress like retards, they have an odd obsession with family and they smell funny.

Karab [Aside, to Samuel]: Is he normally this moody and aggressive?

Samuel [Aside, to Karab]: It was a long flight and he hates flying.

Karab: Ah.

Samuel: I could go on about how shit Kansas was. I could go on about how shit the United States are. I could even go on about how shit the world is. But I won't, because this is just embarrassing, Dean. This really is a stupid grudge that you hold.


Samuel: Well, given what's happening in Tennessee right now, I don't think you have to worry about that.

Dean: Why not?

Samuel flicks through his iPhone, accessing a news site and highlighting a news story entitled "LIVE UPDATING: Cobras Fumentes rebels initiate hostile takeover of Tennessee; Plan to take government and secede power to Brazil."

Karab: ....Well, that's new.

Dean [Reading the news story]: ....Alright...so..."The PMC, led by an unnamed man in a rainbow coloured coat, has currently taken large swaths of Memphis, Murfreesboro and Smyrna and is making headway towards Nashville. Unconfirmed reports of ongoing executions in the area".....What does that mean for us?

Samuel: Well, the Mercenary Academy of the United States is outside of Memphis. Or, right now, I should say that it WAS.

Dean: Shit, did they take it?

Samuel [Scrolling down]: ....Wait.....hang on...."The Mercenary Academy of the United States, under United Nations control, remains untouched. Unconfirmed reports are being leaked of a large party being held on Academy grounds to celebrate Cobras Fumantes arrival."

Dean: Hang on, isn't it mostly Brits and a few retarded Americans in that Academy?

Samuel: A lot of Brits and a fairly large South American contingent....."Reports state that the British troops, many of whom were due to be sent to the Middle East, raise a Brazilian flag besides the UN flag." So, it's looking like they're part of it. I mean, the United Nations won't get involved, this just helps the war economy and cause Tennessee doesn't have a PMC, it means they aren't losing out on extra money.

Dean: What about....well, Mother's plan to unite the Academies?

Samuel [Shrugging]: I'm hoping she has a plan. Hey, maybe she's in contact with Cobras Fumentes and she planned the takeover?

Dean: That'd be amazing.

Bobby [Calmly]: Keep moving.

Walking through a thicket of undergrowth, slashing it apart, Bobby and the others emerge in a small clearing. A small area of marshland is situated to their left with a skeletal wooden hut atop of it. Ahead of them is a huge thicket of gnarled reeds, covering the source of what sounds to be running water. Bobby heads towards the reeds, but Dean stops, looking at the hut.

Dean [Turning to the hut]: Aw, man, that's spooky. We should check it out.

Bobby [Steeping towards the hut]: Stand back then. I'll check it.

Bobby shoves his hipflask into his pocket, wielding his machete as he walks towards the hut. He stops suddenly, a ghostly hollering filling the air.

Dean [Looking around, terrified]: Oooooohhhhhhhhhh fuck, we disturbed redneck ghosts!

Karab [Pointing near the hut]: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!

From out of the swamp rises a figure. Stepping forward, first visible is a green full-face welding helmet, covered in reeds and dirt. As the figure continues walking forward, forcing Bobby to quickly walk backwards, he reveals yellow plated armour, roughly welded and riveted, tarnished and dirty. On the figures back are a pair of green fuel tanks, in which is a bright yellow nozzle for a flamethrower. The mysterious figure known only to the mercenaries as the Man in the Banana Suit, supposedly only haunting the backwaters of Texas, has risen in the backwaters of Louisiana.

Samuel: Oh God.

Karab [Eyes widening]: IT'S HIM!

The Man In The Banana Suit stomps forward, reaching back and grasping the nozzle, clutching his flamethrower threateningly as he looms over them.

Dean [Bluntly]: Well, i've just soiled myself.

The Man In The Banana Suit [Angrily]: WHAT YE DOIN' IN THESE PARTS?!?!?

Samuel [Gulping]: ...Uhh...we're....hunting a succubus...

The Man In The Banana Suit: THE FUCK YOU SAY, BOY?!

Karab: Hang on, it isn't Halloween. Why are you here?

The Man In The Banana Suit lowers his head, glaring at Karab before reaching over his shoulders and slipping the nozzle of the flamethrower between the tanks.

The Man In The Banana Suit: YEH WERE TRESPASSIN' ON MY PROPERTY! But, point taken, i'mma go now.

The Man In The Banana Suit slowly walks backwards, his feet plunging into the swamp waters as he continues to walk backwards, slowly disappearing from view. The other simply watch, blinking in awe.

Samuel: He lives...in a swamp.

Dean: Yeah, well, only psychotic inbred retards who marry their cousins live in swamps.

Kane: He has a point this time.

Bobby [Storming forward]: Shut up, will you? The hut oughta be around here somewhere.

Samuel: Hopefully not where the Man lives.

Dean [Ominously]: The Man.....IN THE BANANA SUIT!

Kane: Really? That's his name? How fucking unoriginal is that? What kind of absolute bellend without a brain came up with that?

Dean, Samuel and Karab look around. Dean looks up to the sky, then at the reader, then at the sky again, giving a wink.

Dean: You fucking know it.

Karab slaps Dean around the back of his head, causing him to yelp. Bobby is busy wading through the swamp, clutching his machete as he approaches the thicket of gnarled reeds, hacking away at them.

Karab: No breaking the fourth wall.

Dean: Sorry, Avanash--

Karab [Angrily, grabbing Dean by the collar of his jacket]: I WILL FUCKING GUT YOU IF YOU CALL ME THAT AGAIN!!

Dean: But it's your real name!!!


Kane walks forward, begrudgingly wading through the swamp as Karab sets Dean down, pointing at him.

Karab [Coldly]: Say it again and I'll kill you.

Karab turns around, wading through the swamp. Samuel follows as Dean stands at the edge of the swamp, biting his tongue before shrugging.

Dean: Keep going, Avanash!!

Karab screams wildly, twisting around and slowly wading through the swamp towards Dean who stands there, laughing loudly. Halfway towards Dean, Karab stops, reaching into his belt and pulling out a throwing knife. Dean's face falls in an instant.

Dean: Ooooooooooooooo, fuck.


Dean: Alright, alright!

Karab sighs, turning around and wading through the swamp towards Bobby, shortly followed by Dean. Bobby himself wades through the thicket, followed by Samuel and Kane: Behind it, erected on four stilts, is an old decrepit hut, sitting right in the middle of the water. The hut itself appears heavily damaged, with no windows and only black shrouds covering them, and with a screen door that is hanging off of one hinge.

Kane: Oh, look, an abandoned hut in the middle of a swamp. Where could the succubus possibly be hiding out?

Samuel: You don't have to be THAT sarcastic.

Kane: If you've been around the British as long as I have, it becomes a natural response to many things.

Bobby continues to wade towards the house, grasping the wooden porch and pulling himself up onto it. He turns around, watching as Samuel pulls himself up onto the wooden porch, twisting around and holding his hand to Kane who takes it. Samuel helps Kane onto the porch as Dean still wades forward, past Karab who is moving somewhat slowly. Dean manages to reach the porch first, pulling himself up and onto that. Bobby sets the rucksack down and reaches into it, pulling out a large leather-bound book.

Dean: Cool, deus ex machina!

Bobby pulls out a small bundle of post-it notes as well before pulling his rucksack onto the back.

Bobby [Holding up the post-it notes, which are marked with an odd red sigil appearing akin to a crucifix]: This should hopefully bind the succubus.

Dean: Bind?

Bobby: Null her powers somewhat, leave her open to an incantation. The incantation, in this book, should hopefully drive the very evil from her body. Or, at the very least, keep her stunned and reeling for a killing blow.

Dean: Which is?

Bobby: Well, take off the head.

Samuel: That's it?

Bobby: Hey, nothing can survive without a head, and it's not like a succubus can just grow one back. Come on.

Dean: What about Karab?

The others look over at Karab who is very slowly making his way towards the hut.

Bobby: Y'know what? Leave him. We always need someone to bring up the rear.

Bobby slowly forces the door open. The inside of the hut smells foul, a mixture of sulphur and mould stinging their nostrils. Directly opposite the door, a sigil daubed in blood is painted on the bare wood, a pentagram accompanied by a mixture of various archaic religious symbols. To their right is a single bed, little more than a moth-eaten mattress on a battered wooden frame and, to their left, a wooden desk that is covered with cobwebs and dirt. Behind the desk stands the remains of a bookcase, now completely empty aside from a single jar, filled with blood. Untouched by dirt or dust, it is clear that the jar is new.

Kane [Pointing at the jar]: That ain't normal.

Dean [Looking at the sigil]: Neither is that, to be fair.

Bobby: ....So, where's the succubus?

Samuel: I'm guessing this is where she's summoned. Should we bunk down and wait for the summoner? Or hunt for the summoned?

Seductive Voice: Hello boys.

Karab: Uh oh.

Bobby: Does that answer your question?

From out of the bloodied sigil appears the form of a succubus in a black haze. With extremely pale skin and black horns, wearing nothing but a leather bra, panties and knee-high boots, the seductive succubus cuts an alluring figure, with an ample bust and waist, her devilish beauty capped off with a flowing black devils tail. Bobby quickly rushes behind the table slams the book and the post-it notes onto the table, flicking through the book.

Bobby: Shitshitshitshitshit--

The succubus glares at Bobby with pale brown eyes, and an unseen force throws him backwards and into the wall behind him. Bobby slumps down the wall into a sitting position on the floor, dazed, as the succubus slowly walks towards them. Unknown to the succubus, Karab still hasn't emerged from the swamp. The succubus walks towards Kane, who gulps loudly.

Succubus [Grinning]: Fresh meat, eh?

Kane slowly whimpers, a pair of black claws extending from the ends of his fingernails.

Dean [Looking down at Kane's hands]: Dude, I wish I could do that.

Succubus [Licking her lips]: Oh, yes, fresh....meat....

Kane yelps wildly, twisting around and kicking the door open, bolting out of it with his tail tucked firmly between his legs. Literally.

Dean [Watching]: Oh, that useless little fucking--

The succubus turns her head to Samuel, giving a lustful grin. Samuel's eyes widen.

Samuel: Aw, shit.

Dean slowly steps over to the desk as Bobby stirs slightly. The succubus quickly lunges forward, grabbing Samuel by his throat and pinning him to the wall beside the bed. Samuel can only watch as the succubus leans up, her nose touching his.

Succubus [Quietly]: And what's your name?

Samuel: Uh....hi...I'm Sam......yours?

Succubus [Grinning]: Luna..

Dean [Pointing to the sky slightly and smirking]: Hehe, that's a good one.


The succubus glares over her shoulder at Dean, who is suddenly thrown back, hitting the wall behind him. Dean slumps down onto the floor as Samuel sighs darkly.

Samuel: He's fucking useless. If only Karab was here...

Luna: Don't worry....I'll be gentle...

Samuel: Yeah, right.

Dean slowly sits up, shaking his head and crawling over to the table, grasping it and leaning up, looking over at Samuel.

Dean: Sam, what's the incantation?! Is it in this funny book?!

Dean is thrown back once more, hitting the floor with a thud as Samuel shakes his head.

Samuel: Can we skip the sex and have you just kill me? Honestly, it'd be a relief.

Luna: Not until I have my fun...

Samuel: Dammit.

Dean crawls forward once again, leaning up and over the table, flicking through the book as the succubus leans in, licking Samuel's left cheek.

Luna [Smirking]: Tasty...

Samuel [Shuddering]: Just let me go, crazy lady...

Bobby slowly sits up, getting to his feet and stumbling over to the table, leaning over the book.

Bobby [Quickly, looking at Dean]: Page fifty-three. Incantation. Recite it.

Bobby twists around, stumbling quickly towards the succubus and slapping the post-it note with the sigil on it onto her back. He's automatically thrown backwards and Dean ducks, watching as Bobby sails over his head and slams violently into the wall, rolling down it and onto the floor.

Dean [Looking over his shoulder]: Poor fucker---Shit.

Dean is thrown back into the wall, making him fall on top of Bobby. Luna leans in, gripping Samuel's shoulders tightly.

Luna [Calmly]: Now we have peace...

Karab's Voice [Hissing quietly]: Aayo Gurkhali.

Luna looks around, as does Samuel.

Samuel [Loudly]: KARAB! HELP!

Dean, once again, is up to his feet, stumbling over to the book and flipping through to the right page, gazing at the writing.

Dean [Quietly]: ...The fuck?...

Samuel: HELP ME!!!

Karab [Leaping through the door, clenching his fists]: AAYO GURKHALI, MOTHERFUCKER!!!

Samuel [Looking up]: ........Uh, Karab, where's your kukri?

Karab opens his palms and looks down at his hands, noticing his lack of a kukri.

Karab: Shit, hang on, I dropped it.

Karab leaps back outside as Samuel struggles violently against the grip of the succubus which slams him down onto the bed. Dean is thrown back once again as the succubus straddles Samuel, grinning and gazing down at him.

Samuel [Straining]: HELP!! SOMEBODY!!!

Bobby stirs once again as Dean slowly gets to his feet.

Samuel: Dean, how the hell are you--

Dean [Angrily]; DAMMIT SAMMY!!

Dean is forced back slightly, the succubus too focused on Samuel to care about Dean who quickly rushes over to the book.

Kane [Peering his head in, meekly]: H-Have you done it yet?

Dean: Shut up, I can't read this shit! IT'S ALL IN LATIN!!


Dean: Ah. Well....I can't read or even pronounce Latin correctly.

Samuel [Angrily]: ARE YOU JOKING?!

Dean: Nope.

Luna [Grinning]: Good.


Dean: Well, technically speaking YOU'RE going to be fucked.

Samuel [Straining angrily against the succubus, glaring at Dean]: I OUGHT TO GUT YOU MYSELF!!

Karab suddenly rushes into the hut, now wielding his kukri which is covered in slimy mud.


Samuel: KILL HER!!!

Dean [Flipping through the book]: FUCKING LATIN!!

Karab looks at Dean, then at the succubus, before sprinting forward. Swinging his right arm backwards, he cleaves forward with the kukri with all his might. The succubus turns her head, only able to watch as her head is sliced off with the kukri, the head rolling across the floor and landing at Dean's feet as black blood fountains from the open neck wound, spraying Samuel as he retches and coughs.

Karab [Screaming loudly]: BY THE GURU GRANTH SAHIB, I PROTECT!!!



Karab: Quick, we gotta make sure!!

Karab throws the body of the succubus onto the floor, stabbing repeatedly and wildly into it with his kukri. Dean rushes over, quickly spraying salt across the form of the succubus as Samuel rolls off the bed, spraying lighter fluid on the body.

Samuel: Karab, you can stop--

Karab [Wildly]: AAYO GURKHALI!!!!!!!!

Samuel: AVANESH!!

Karab stops suddenly, pointing his kukri at Karab.

Karab [Bluntly]: I fucking told you--

Dean quickly reaches into his pocket, fumbling with a box of matches and lighting one, throwing it onto the succubus and watching as the body erupts into flames.

Dean [Sighing in relief, stumbling backwards]: FINALLY!!


Samuel [Breathing heavily]: Goddamn, Karab!

Karab [Raising his kukri into the air]: Aayo Gurkhali.

Dean holds his hand out to Samuel who takes it, and Dean pulls him to his feet. Bobby slowly sits up, groaning and clutching his head before looking over at the burning corpse of the succubus, getting to his feet and walking over to the corpse, looking down on it.

Bobby: About damn time you boys did something right.

Samuel: ......Well, Dean, we got our resolution: How do you feel?

Dean: Well, Sammy, it feels good to finally have a fucking episode where things ended right for us that didn't involve zombies.

Samuel: That's good. Yes, everything has ended nicely.

The door to the hut opens and Kane walks in, his claws having receded and his tail flowing once more as he glances over at the flickering flames.

Kane [Speaking up]: I thought we were going to the Middle East.

Bobby [Raising his hand]: And i'm still here too.

Dean and Samuel [In unison]: Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

The scene fades to black.

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