Saga III Chapter IX - Family Misfortune

**FORT WILLIAM, SCOTLAND**

The scene opens in Fort William, Scotland. A sleepy town in the Highlands of Scotland, there is little noticeable PMC presence based in the town and surrounding villages, presumably due to how relatively isolated the town is. Sitting in a Ford Focus in the parking lot of an Aldi, Billy is sitting in the passenger’s seat next to his father, the grizzled James Wallace who is busy polishing what appears to be a loaf of French bread with shoe polish whilst wearing a thick olive green parka. Billy sighs, watching as he does.

Billy [Quietly]: What are you planning now, Dad? Didn’t you get enough money raiding tourist boats that you destroyed on the Firth?

James: Nah, this is something I need to sort out.

Billy: What could that possibly be? You have nothing to sort out.

James: I want my dole, goddammit!

Billy [In disbelief]: Wait a minute: You’re going to go and rob somebody for your dole?

James: Aye. Well, I’m gonna hold up the job centre.

Billy: You are going to hold up the job centre in order to have your seventy three pounds a week reinstated.

James: Aye.

Billy: Are you fucking drunk?! Why not just rob a bank?!

James: Too high risk.

Billy: BUT THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE ANY MONEY ON THE PREMISES OF A JOB CENTRE!!!

James: Hey, I know, I just want them to unsanction me so I can get my fortnightly payments.

Billy: And you seriously, seriously think that holding them up at gunpoint will make them do that.

James: Aye.

Billy [Scoffing]: I mean, I don’t even know why I’m saying gunpoint: You’re using a fucking baguette that you’re polishing black and hoping that it resembles a gun at a distance.

James: Aye.

Billy; You must be fucking retarded.

James: Just trust me, my son.

Billy: No.

James sighs, shooting a sideways glance at Billy before firing up the engine.

James: Just trust me.

Billy: Stop saying that! Why should I?! You’re sitting there, polishing bread, wearing a trainspotting coat. I would say that you’ve hit rock bottom but I honestly think that you hit it years ago.

James: Shut up.

Billy: Then stop saying ‘trust me’!

The car reverses out of the Aldi, beginning to drive down the A82 towards its destination.

James: Trust m--

Billy: Why?! Why should I?! Give me one good reason!

James: When we eat hot food tonight, you will see the light.

Billy: Oh please, you’ll just buy a tin of baked beans and eat ‘em from the can.

James: Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, son.

Billy: It’s pathetic. It really is.

James: I don’t have anything else--

Billy: You’ve got the Moray Firth. Or have the gunboats started appearing to tell you to stop robbing tourists?

James [Coldly]: Shut up.

Billy: So they have!

James sighs, stopping beside a pavement and cutting off the engine, climbing out of the car and walking across the street towards a building with a lurid green sign reading “Jobcentre Plus” above it. Billy sighs loudly, stepping out of the car and following his father.

Billy: Dad, for fucks sake, think about this.

James: Are you ready, son?

Billy; No, but--

James barges through the door, pointing the blackened baguette at two PMC soldiers standing to the left and right of a small reception desk.

James: DON’T FUCKIN’ MOVE!!! I’M HERE FOR MY DOLE!!!

The two PMC soldiers standing beside the reception desk quickly raise their rifles, pointing them directly at James. James responds by ripping open his parka, revealing a homemade ‘bomb’. The bomb is actually several tins of ready-cooked mince in gravy with black fuzzy pipe cleaners haphazardly glued onto the top of them. Upon seeing this, the soldiers lower their rifles, with the one standing to the right stepping forward.

PMC Soldier [Sighing]: James Wallace, you have got to stop doing this.

James: DAMMIT, MY IDENTITY HAS BEEN COMPROMISED!!! HOW?!?!?

PMC Soldier: Only one man is stupid enough to get sanctioned in Fort William: You. Only one man is stupid enough to even try and rob a Jobcentre, knowing that we don’t keep any money on the premises: You.

James [Angrily]: HOW ABOUT I SHOOT YOU?!?!

Billy [Walking through the door]: It’s not even a feckin’ gun, it’s a loaf of French bread covered in shoe polish.

James: Betrayed by my only son!!

PMC Soldier [Impatiently]: We knew it was fucking bread when we saw it.

James: YOU LIE!!!

PMC Soldier [Sighing]: Look, James, this is the third time we’re going to have to sanction you. If you do it again, you know that we have to inject you with SoP, right?

James: Seriously?

PMC Soldier: Seriously. Just….leave and accept your one hundred and twenty month sanction.

James: One hundred and twenty—THAT’S TEN YEARS!!!

PMC Soldier: Yep.

James: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT MONEY?!?!

PMC Soldier: Rob a bank. Mug somebody. Steal candy from a baby and sell it on—Just do something.

James [in disbelief]: So you’re telling me that the British government would rather that I turn to a life of crime than claim benefits?!!

PMC Soldier: The British public would rather you do that too, thanks to the brainwashing of the Daily Mail.

James [Angrily]: How the feck is that rag still in circulation after Rupert Murdoch got literally crucified by the Australian government?

PMC Soldier: Ocelot bought it.

Billy: An angry, reactionary and bigoted newspaper aimed at sociopaths bought by Ocelot: Well, that makes sense.

James: SERIOUSLY?! I’M GONNA STARVE!!!

PMC Soldier: Honestly, James, you look like a heroin addict. I’m surprised you haven’t died already.

Billy: He’s right, Dad.

James [Angrily]: SHUT THE FECK UP!!! I WANT SOME MONEY!!

PMC Soldier [Sighing and stepping forward]: Right, James Wallace, I will… [Reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bundle of notes and pennies, looking through them]…hmm…..give you twenty two pounds and fifty six pence if you just fuck off and don’t come back for another ten years.

James: Sold.

The PMC Soldier walks over and hands James Wallace the money, which he quickly snatches and shoves into his pocket.

Billy: Can we leave now? This is just embarrassing.

James: Alright.

James turns around, walking out of the Jobcentre. Billy follows with his hands on his hips, sighing and shaking his head.

Billy: Well done, Dad: You have twenty two pounds to last you ten years.

James: And fifty six pence.

Billy [Angrily]: IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER!!! CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING BESIDES FISH?!?!

James shrugs.

James: I can shoot a gun. I can…………………..Hey, I can shoot a gun.

Billy: And?

James: I can shoot things.

Billy [Sighing darkly]: I don’t like where this is going.

James: Son, can I…tag along with you?

Billy: …You want to be a mercenary?

James: Aye. I can shoot things.

Billy: So you’ve said, but I was really fucking hoping you were just going to turn to a life of crime and not join us.

James: But son--

Billy [Bitterly]: Can you defend a house?

James: I can bloody try.

Billy: …..Then…..Ah, fuck it…..Well, I SUPPOSE we could use a guard for our house…..Come on…

James: Seriously??

Billy: The pay’s shit, the company you keep is alright and the location is shit. You get free food and lodging in the middle of a hot hellhole, and that’s it.

James: Better than staying here. Let me grab my shit and we can hit the road, my son!

Billy: And here I thought that you were wearing everything you owned.

James: The divorce was very tough on me and your mother--

Billy; Divorce? She smashed your knees in with a baseball bat, stole your shit and ran away.

James: Aye. I still wonder what happened to her.

Billy: She could have went to Siberia and it still would’ve been better than staying with you.

James [Coldly]: Mouthy little bawheid, aren’t yeh?

Billy: If you want to come along with me, then let’s go.

Billy turns around, walking over to the car and climbing into the drivers seat.

James: Hang on--

Billy: Shut up and give me the keys. If you want to tag along with me, you ANSWER to me. Papa.

James [Sighing]: Fine, whatever, anything for a hot meal.

James trudges forward, climbing into the rear seat behind Billy and sitting there, sulking slightly as Billy fires up the engine and drives away..

**MOSCOW, RUSSIA**

Moscow. Home of Liquid Ocelot and the Otselotovaya Khvatka PMC, one of the five strongest PMC’s currently operating. The Kremlin looms over the large square, standing tall over residents and tourists alike.

Standing in the centre of the square are Johnny and Tim, filmmakers-cum-mercenaries who are clearly enjoying their holiday more than others. Wearing black fur ushanka hats and thick woollen overcoats, both men gaze ahead at the Kremlin, with Tim appearing more in awe than Johnny, as Tim clutches his camera and snaps several pictures of the Kremlin.

Johnny: Haven’t you got enough pictures?

Tim: Not of this amazing landmark! And after this, we visit Lenin’s Mausoleum!

Johnny [Sarcastically]: Wow, the embalmed corpse of an old guy who championed the political leaning of choice for lunatics.

Tim: So, what would interest you?

Johnny: Mongolia. I want to explore the Steppes, dammit.

Tim: Well, we’re here now, so we should bask in the amazing sights of Russia..

Tim and Johnny turn around, watching as several female troopers wearing full face helmets and skin-tight armour walk out of the GUM Department Store.

Johnny: Huh. Haven Troopers.

Tim: Yeah. Haven Troopers.

Johnny and Tim stand still for a moment before Tim raises his camera and takes a picture of the soldier.

Johnny: What the fuck was that for?

Tim: I haven’t seen them in a while. Besides, here they are in their natural habitat.

Johnny: Come to think of it, I haven’t seen the Beauty and the Beast Unit in a fair while either.

Tim: I haven’t seen “Brew On The Mo’e” for a--

Johnny [Quickly]: Don’t. Just…don’t.

A young woman, with short and feathered blonde hair, wearing a skintight grey catsuit, strolls out of the GUM Department Store, following the Haven Troopers.

Johnny [Taken aback]: What the fuck?

Tim: Who’s the blonde chick?

Johnny: I have no idea.

Tim raises his camera, taking a picture of the blonde woman.

Johnny [Scowling]: Will you stop that?! You’re going to look like a bloody creep!

Tim: How can I be a creep? I’m just a tourist!

Woman [Beaming brightly and sprinting over, skidding to a halt in front of them]: TOURISTS?!?!

Johnny [Taken aback]: Uh…yeah.

Tim [Looking cautiously at Johnny]: Just here to see the sights…

Woman: GOOD! GOOD! EVERYBODY LOVES SIGHTS!!!

Tim [Laughing nervously]: We certainly do.

Woman: HAVE FUN!!

Johnny: Uh..sure..

The woman twists around and skips away as Johnny and Tim quickly shoot eachother nervous looks.

Tim: What was that about?

Johnny: Just..don’t photograph that crazy bitch again.

Tim: Agreed.

Johnny: So, can we go to Mongolia now?

Familiar Voice: I’ve just come back from Mongolia. It’s a wonderful place.

Johnny and Tim turn around: Steve is standing there, now wearing a black fur ushanka alongside his tan trenchcoat, is also sporting a thick and wiry black beard, giving him the appearance of a rugged mountain man. Steve gives a tired smile and walks over, pulling his bulging rucksack further onto his back.

Tim: Hey, Steve!

Steve: Hey guys. So, how about this weather, huh?

Johnny: And these PMC’s, huh?

Steve: Yeah. PMC’s.

Tim: It’s all insane around here.

Steve: So why are you here?

Johnny: We’re tourists.

Steve: Enjoying the sights, smells and sounds of Moscow, eh?

Tim: Sights, smells, sounds and squatting Slavs!

Steve: And Ocelot.

Tim: LIQUID Ocelot.

Steve: Yeah, him.

Tim: Where?

Steve points across the Red Square, where Ocelot is slowly marching across a line of PMC’s, hands clasped firmly behind his back as his trenchcoat flows in the bitter October wind.

Johnny: Huh, we could probably kill him.

Steve: Did anybody bring their guns?

Steve looks at Johnny and Tim. Tim responds by lifting his camera and taking a photograph of Liquid Ocelot.

Tim: Well, the jokes on him: This camera has a shitty exposure.

Steve [Sarcastically]: Oh yeah, that’ll show him.

Johnny: No covert assassination this time, Steve, we’re just here on holiday.

Steve: Well, thank goodness he doesn’t know we’re here.

Tim: Haven’t you worked with him before, though?

Steve: This is why I grew the beard.

Johnny: Ah, so that’s why! I thought Phil had infected you somehow.

Steve: Nope, just disguising myself so I don’t get captured and potentially tortured to death.

Johnny: That’s a good plan.

Steve: Thanks.

Tim raises his camera, taking a second photograph of Liquid Ocelot.

Johnny [Sighing]: Will you stop that?

Tim: No.

The young blonde woman quickly bounces over, grinning at Tim.

Woman [Cheerfully]: I SEE YOU’RE TAKING PHOTOGRAPHS!!!

Tim: Oh God, help…..Hel—HEY!!

Tim spins around, watching as Johnny and Steve quickly sprint away from the clearly deranged woman. The woman clasps her hands on his shoulders, quickly snatching his camera and pulling it from around his neck.

Tim: HEY!

Woman [Deathly quiet]: What?

Tim [Nervously]: Why are you taking my camera?

Woman [Quietly]: You’ve taken photos.

Tim: What? I can’t take photos?

Woman [Quietly]: No….Not unless you’re willing….to pay…the pri--

The woman looks up, watching as Tim sprints away. The woman chuckles quietly before bursting out into a fit of hysteric laughter…

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

In London, England, Maurice and Moe are still in charge of Pie Aye, Man, their pie and mash shop venture which doesn’t appear to be doing too well. Only one person walks out of the door with a paper bag in his hand, and that person is a Praying Mantis PMC soldier. Maurice sighs, watching as the door shuts behind him and a small bell rings in the distance. Moe walks in from the kitchen, wearing an apron and using it to clean his hands free from flour.

Moe: Gotta love it.

Maurice: Love what?

Moe: Business!

Maurice: Well, I don’t. The only customers we’re getting are bloody PMC soldiers.

Moe: Money is money, Wor Maur.

Maurice: I’m a bloody Geordie, I’m sure they shoot my kind here!

Moe: They’re our only customers, Maur….If they want to shoot, you’re going to have to let them.

Maurice [Sighing bitterly]: Why, man..why…

Moe: Why AYE, man.

Maurice: I miss Dick.

Moe: Why?

Maurice: Well, I miss Dick doing all the work.

Moe: Ah.

Maurice: But, still, business is good, at least.

Moe: We’ve only had four customers today.

Maurice [Stroking his chin]: Aye, I wonder if it’s tae do with that crowd we saw earlier..

Moe: You mean those protestors?

Maurice: Aye.

Moe: …The Vegan protestors?

Maurice: Vegan?

Moe: Yeah, they don’t like how London is still omnivorous. They want all butchers to be firebombed and all shops selling meat to convert into allotments for them to grow fruit and vegetables with names like zucchini and Satsuma.

Maurice: How horrifying.

Moe: It sure is.

Maurice: Still, lad, it’s not like they’re targeting us.

Moe: And why wouldn’t they?

Maurice: Cause our pies are pure class, mate.

Moe: Somehow, I don’t think that will stop vegans with a grudge.

Maurice: But once they get a taste of our macaroni and cheese pie, they’ll love it!

Moe: They’re vegans, they can’t eat cheese.

Maurice [Angrily]: FUCKING HIPSTER BASTARDS!!!

Moe; Now now, Maur, let’s not challenge people’s opposing viewpoints.

Maurice: I’ll fucking do it if I want to! Besides which, it’s not like we can challenge vegans because the only goddamn argument they have about anything IS THAT THEY’RE FUCKIN’ VEGAN. IT’S ALL THEY EVER SAY!!! Talking about chia seeds and flax and how they’re saving the planet. I’M saving the planet because it’s fuckin’ overcrowded and I’m killing off God’s creatures to make room for more humans and more food for them. Where’s my fucking medal?!

Moe: We got one for Shadow Moses, remember?

Maurice: Why did we nae get one for Big Shell and the Tanker?

Moe [Shrugging]: I guess being heroic is expected of us now.

Maurice: Well…fuck the wee bastards. What are they gonna do, firebomb the store?

Almost on cue, a mob of protestors, wielding placards with witty slogans such as “Turn butchers into vegetables (And by that I mean hit them so hard they enter a vegetative state)” and “The only bacon we like is ‘bacon’ with flour and egg substitutes”. The crowd began amassing outside of Pie Aye Man, shouting angrily and thumping their placards against the door and the windows to the left and right of it. Maurice and Moe simply watch, bemused.

Moe [Sighing]: You had to say it, didn’t you?

Maurice: Aw, fuck, it’s the vegans.

Moe: And we’re about to be attacked by vegans.

Maurice: All we want to do is sell pies, dammit!

Moe: I told you that we should’ve offered a vegetarian option!

Maurice: Who would have thought that they’d mobilise a fucking army?!

The mob begins to grow larger as several thuds are heard. Maurice and Moe watch as vegetables hit their windows, exploding and spraying the glass with rotten flesh and juices.

Moe [Panicking slightly]: Shit, they’re throwing vegetables!

Maurice: And here I thought they’d throw eggs!

Several of the group begin barging into the door. Moe rushes forward, grasping a wooden chair and holding it against the door as Maurice rolls clumsily over the counter, waddling forward and pressing his entire weight against the doors.

Mob Soldier One [Angrily]: MEAT IS MURDER!!!

Maurice [Angrily]: IF YEH DON’T GET OUTTA HERE, I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ MURDER YEH!!!!

Mob Soldier Two: GIVE COWS THEIR FREEDOM!!!

Moe: These people are insane!

The doors continue to bow to the pressure as the mob do all that they can to try and force the doors open.

Maurice [Laughing in disbelief]: They want peace for animals and yet they’re willing to kill two lads for it!

Moe: Or feed us vegetables!

Maurice: THOSE FUCKERS WOULDN’T DARE!!! HOLD THE LINE!!!

Moe: I can’t hold it for much longer!

Maurice: HOLD IT!!! ALAS, THIS IS WHAT WE DO IN LIFE!!!

Moe [Straining]: FUCKING HELP ME!!!

Several of the mob begin to slam sticks of celery against the door in a feeble attempt to break through the glass. A potato is thrown, however, and this proves enough to cause a tiny crack in the glass.

Maurice: I CANNAE BELIEVE THE GENTRIFICATION!!!

Moe: Don’t Brits love pie and mash?

Maurice [Bitterly]: Apparently they love bloody rabbit food now, lad!

Moe: So what do we do?

Maurice [Screaming]: WE FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Maurice roars loudly, leaping straight through the window and shattering it, landing onto the Vegan horde…

**MEXICO CITY, MEXICO**

Back in Mexico City, the red Mini Cooper holding Marcos, Melvin, Eligio and Bobby is awaiting its violent fate at the hands of Los Zetas. Staring down a Panhard armoured vehicle, as well as several armed cartel members, the mercenaries simply sit there, waiting for the end of their lives.

Eligio: Well, we’re doomed.

Bobby [Sighing]: Can’t you use your government contacts to come to our aid?

Eligio: Que?

Bobby: I thought you were with the PFM.

Eligio: They won’t help me! They’re fucking scared of Los Zetas! Nobody in their right mind fucks with Los Zetas EXCEPT THIS STUPID FUCK!!!

Melvin chuckles nervously. Eligio twists around, lunging over the seat and strangling Melvin violently.

Eligio [Angrily]: I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU MYSELF!!!!!!!

Bobby [Quickly]: For fucks sake, lads, calm down! Calm down!

Eligio [Hysterically]: WE’RE STARING DEATH IN THE FUCKING FACE!!!!!!

Marcos: Why haven’t they shot us yet?

Bobby: It’s Los Zetas: They’re probably going to hold us up, then drag us from the car and behead us.

Marcos: Great.

Bobby sighs, drumming his hands against the steering wheel before suddenly looking up.

Bobby: Oh, hey, it’s Halloween.

Eligio: Halloween.

The car falls silent. Suddenly, an ethereal whooping and hollering is heard far in the distance.

Bobby: It’s Halloween.

Marcos [Sighing in relief]: Thank goodness.

Eligio: IT IS HIM!!! IT IS—

Bobby: The Man in the Banana Suit! Or his non-union Mexican equivalent.

The mercenaries look ahead: Suddenly appearing behind Los Zetas stands the titanic form of a hulking figure wearing solid plate armor coloured yellow, with a green welders helmet and a green flamethrower tank strapped to his back. However, on top of his usual attire is a garish black and silver sombrero atop his welding helmet and a blue fanny pack around his waist.

Eligio: No, it’s just him on holiday.

The Man In The Banana Suit [Hollering]: I’MMA KILL Y’ALL!!!

Bobby: Even us?!

The Man In The Banana Suit: MAYBE!!!!!!!

Melvin: We should definitely get out of here.

The Man In The Banana Suit reaches behind him, grasping the nozzle of his flamethrower and turning to the group of cartel members to the left of Panhard, spraying them with flames. The cartel members quickly spin around, opening fire on the Man in the Banana Suit who doesn’t even reel from the shots, simply smothering several cartel members in flames. The Panhard’s turret spins around but the Man in the Banana Suit stomps over to it, shoving the nozzle of the flamethrower directly into the turret and firing flames into it.

Bobby [Laughing]: Look at the mad bastard go!

Marcos: Do you guys hear that?

The mercenaries listen closely, hearing the sounds of a helicopters blades slicing through the air.

Eligio [Sighing]: Ah shit, what now?

Over the horizon, peering over the tops of the rural buildings, a UH-60 Blackhawk flies over, hovering slightly in the distance.

Melvin: Aw, shit.

Blackhawk Speakers: ELIGIO MARQUEZ. IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS, HEAD TO DA CHOPPA.

Bobby [Laughing]: I know that voice: It’s Mustafa!

Marcos: Goddamn, at least we’re safe now..

Eligio: I think we were safe when the Man in the Banana Suit showed up. Oh, and Bobby?

Bobby: Yeah?

Eligio [Angrily]: WHY AREN’T YOU FUCKING DRIVING AWAY AS FAST AS YOU CAN?!?!

Bobby: Hold on, then!

Bobby slams his foot onto the accelerator, the engine of the Mini roaring violently before speeding forward. Bobby jolts the Mini to the left, driving over the charred corpses of several cartel members as he dodges the Panhard, which now has the Man in the Banana Suit atop of it as he sprays flames down on top of it.

Melvin: Look at him go!

Bobby speeds towards the Blackhawk as it slowly lowers itself. With the cartel members and Panhard disappearing behind them, they speed into a small field where the Blackhawk is hovering inches above the ground. The side door slides open and out hops the hulking form of Johan, yet another mechanic from Beale Street. The Mini Cooper brakes, skidding to a halt beside the Blackhawk as the mercenaries climb out.

Eligio: JOHAN?!

Johan: Here to save you all.

Bobby: Man, are we glad to see you!

Johan: Hop in, hombre!

Bobby: What about my car?!

Johan hops out of the Blackhawk, rushing over to the Mini Cooper. In his hands he clutches a large circular magnet attached to several large, white squares of fabric by thick fabric. Johan sticks the magnet to the boot and the car, without warning, shoots straight into the air, the squares inflating almost immediately into balloons as Bobby watches, horrified.

Bobby [Screaming]: THAT’S MY FUCKIN’ CAR ABOUT TO ENTER THE STRATOSPHERE!!!

Johan: Fulton recovery, hombre. We have a MC-130E Combat Talon flying over, and it’ll pick it up.

Bobby: How the fuck does that even work?! I’m literally watching my fucking car enter space!!

Johan: It’s complicated, but trust me: It works.

Bobby: If it doesn’t, you’re buying me a new fucking car.

Marcos: And hopefully not a Mini.

Bobby: Stop complaining, damn you! It’s a damn fine car!

Mustafa’s head peers from around the side of the door.

Mustafa: Come on! Hurry up!

Bobby: MUSTAFA!!

Mustafa: Get in the Blackhawk.

Eligio: But--

Mustafa [Firmly]: GET. IN. THE. BLACKHAWK.

Eligio: Alright.

Mustafa: Hurry! Los Zetas have anti-air weapons and I just polished this damn thing!

Eligio: WOOHOO!! WE’RE FREE!!

Mustafa: Not yet, motherfucker.

Eligio: Why?

Mustafa [Angrily]: BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT GETTING INTO THE FUCKING BLACKHAWK!!

Eligio, Bobby, Melvin and Marcos quickly climb in, followed by Johan who grasps the door and slides it shut. All four men quickly take seats, strapping themselves in as Johan sits next to the pilot, with Mustafa lying down on seats against the left side of the Blackhawk, placing his arms behind his head.

Johan: Let’s go, hombre!

The Blackhawk ascends into the air, beginning to fly forward.

Pilot: Sir, there appears to be a man in bright yellow armour firing his flamethrower into the air.

Johan: That’s just the Man in the Banana Suit. We won’t see him for another year yet.

Pilot: Alright sir. Where are we heading?

Johan: Cairo, Egypt.

The pilot goes quiet, examining his equipment and changing course as the mechanics begin their journey back home to Egypt.

Melvin: Man, what an adventure!

Eligio [Coldly]: Shut the fuck up. We just pulled your fat from the fryer. AGAIN.

Melvin: But it was enjoyable, right?

The Blackhawk falls silent as it continues to fly across Mexico. Melvin simply sits there and grins before the grin slowly melts away from his face, replaced by a somewhat fearful look as he simply looks ahead, falling silent with the others..

**BEALE STREET, THE SINAI**

Back in Beale Street, Lynch is busy walking down the sand-covered road, his hands clasped behind his back. To his left, Mother walks beside him as they chat between themselves. Lynch looks up, glancing over at ReLoaded before looking at Mother.

Lynch [Calmly]: I’ve heard no complaints about Stephen. Which is worrying.

Mother: Why?

Lynch: This entire company is built on friendly hatred. I think he’s shutting himself away with the sugar glider. Or trying to, at least.

Mother: Well, it is natural to be wary of new company.

Lynch: And why the fuck haven’t you dismissed those Irish wankers yet? They’ve practically taken over the Lamb and Flag: You’d think it was Belfast.

Mother: The Irish work of their own accord. They are a PMC, after all, and I have no authority over them. I can merely invite them and do business with them: If you want rid of them, you know what you have to do…

Lynch: Kill the Irish? Alright then--

Mother [Sighing]: I wasn’t being serious, Lynch.

Lynch: Well, I was.

Mother: Lynch, we need to talk.

Lynch suddenly stops. Mother stops as well.

Lynch: That’s never a good set of words to hear from you….Just…what is it?

Mother: Lynch, please prepare yourself: We’re sending you out on a mission.

Lynch: What about the rest of the company? Most of them are still away.

Mother: You’re going to be attached to Spartan Company as a co-commander.

Lynch [Taken aback]: What? Why?! You know I prefer--

Mother: I know you have grown used to leading Reject Company but, right now, I need somebody of your expertise to help lead the company in Grenoble--

Lynch: France. You’re sending me to fucking France.

Mother: It is an operation that requires expert guidance and precision. I believe that you can provide it.

Lynch: With fucking Spartan Company?

Mother: Yes. With SpartanCompany.

Lynch sighs, putting his hands on his hips and clicking his tongue irritably against the roof of his mouth.

Lynch: Fucking Spartan Company..

Mother [Calmly]: Well, on the plus side, the children are beginning to return. Your Company may be here for your return.

Lynch: Great. Still going to fucking France though.

Mother: You will enjoy the mission.

Lynch: No, I won’t.

Mother: We will see.

Lynch sighs, putting his hands on his hips and gazing idly up the street, towards the smoke stack that rises in the distance. That smoke stack, little does he know, is being emitted from the Memeh-Porpington Manor, which once resided in Oxford but is now placed on a flattened sand dune. Within the main, grandiose living room of the manor, the brick fireplace is lit and on a leather sofa opposite of it sits James Wallace in nothing but his underwear and a vest, drinking from a can of Tennant’s lager as he gazes blankly ahead, with Billy sitting next to him wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. A door on the wall behind the sofa opens and Sal walks in, his nose wrinkling as soon as he looks at James.

Sal [Calmly]: Billy.

Billy: Aye, Sal. What’s wrong?

Sal: There’s a man who smells of alcohol sitting on the couch and for once, I don’t believe it’s you.

Billy: There’s a strange man who keeps hitting my shins with a cane when he walks past me.

Sal: That’s just my Grandfather.

Billy: And this is my father.

James belches loudly.

Sal: Nice to see that he’s just as housebroken as you.

Billy: Be grateful that he’s not shitting in the dishwasher. He’s done that before.

sal [Sighing]: Is he useful for ANYTHING?

Billy: Well……He can shoot things.

Sal: So you got me a paperweight that curses, drinks and shoots. He really IS your father!

Billy [Coldly]: Fuck you.

Sal: Anyway, where’s Vince? I haven’t seen that ugly son of a bitch for a while. Did he even go on holiday?

Billy: Let’s be real here, Sal: There’s only one place that Vince could ever have gone on holiday.

Sal and Billy [In unison]: Japan.

Sal: So, now that we know that: This guy’s your father.

Billy: Aye. James Wallace.

Sal: Is he useful for ANYTHING?

Billy: Paperweight.

Sal sighs, shaking his head.

Sal: But we’ve got Vince for that.

Billy: Anyway, speaking of useless things: How the fuck did you even get water and electricity to work here?

Sal: A lot of work. A lot of money.

Billy: Are there even any cables that you can tap into? And water….and gas--

Sal: I have my ways. Ways which are too boring to explain but which, you can be assured, work without any fuss. Quite magically so, in fact. In fact, you could even say that it is a miracle that it works.

Billy: But everything works? I’m not going to try and turn on the oven and blow us both to kingdom come?

Sal: I haven’t tried everything yet, but the shower works fine.

Billy: Well, at least something works….speaking of which….Dad, ready to defend the house?

James: Aye.

Sal: This thing can defend my house?

Billy: It certainly can. Just fill him with cheap booze and he becomes angrier than a neo-Nazi in a Chinese restaurant in America on Christmas Day.

Sal: That was a long winded metaphor, Billy..

Billy: Well, the fumes coming off of me pa are getting to my head.

Sal [Sighing and placing his hands on his hips]: Well, that’s no good..

Billy: I need a bloody vacation..

Sal: Haven’t you just had one?!

Billy [Angrily]: I’ve been babysittin’ this feckin’ drunk!!

Sal: Point taken…so…

Billy: C’mon mate, let’s just do SOMETHING. Hell, show me how you rich bastards live!

Sal: You’re already looking at how we live: Look upon it, ye mighty, and despair.

Billy: Seriously, Sal--

Sal: Alright, alright….Where can we go on a whim……..Right….Okay, yeah, yeah, YEAH! You know what? Let’s go to Japan and piss that son of a bitch Vince off.

Billy [Grinning]: Finally, a REAL holiday!

Sal and Billy walk out of the door in the living room as James simply sits there, drinking. Keenan, Sal’s grandfather, strolls into the living room, looking over at James.

Keenan: Have they left?

James: Aye.

Keenan breathes a sigh of relief, throwing his cane aside and walking over to the couch, jumping onto it and laying down.

Keenan: You look like a man who can hold his drink: Do you want to visit the pub?

James looks at Keenan, then his sandwich, then at Keenan again.

James: Pub?

Keenan: Pub.

James [Nodding]: Pub.

Keenan and James get to their feet, giving a mutual nod of respect for eachother before walking out of the mansion and slamming the door shut behind them as the scene fades to black..

 ***

 

I have posted something quite important on the News and Updates page. I recommend visiting it and reading it if you have a few moments to spare.

 

Saga III Chapter VIII - A Quick Death In Mexico

**BEALE AND WALKER STREET, THE SINAI**

In Beale and Walker Street, a beige Humvee has parked at the top of the street. With Tenpenny in the driver’s seat and Lynch standing outside with his arms folded, Cloete, Tavi, Kane and Stephen climb out of the rear. Cloete walks around to the passenger’s side, opening the door for Krige who is sitting beside Tenpenny. Jeeves remains sat in the back, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Lynch: Here we are, Krige.

Krige [Looking around, smirking]: Aye, you can tell the English are here, so many fuckin' pubs and not one bit of culture around!

Tenpenny bites his tongue irritably as Krige climbs out of the passenger's seat, gripping his VSS rifle intently.

Lynch: Your outpost is up there, very close to the town.

Krige: Yeah, and i'll be comin' down for a drink every night.

Lynch [Sighing]: You can do what you want, Krige, just make sure you shoot enemies and not friendlies.

Krige: I'll fuckin' shoot anyone who pisses me off.

Lynch: Well, y’know what? That’s a start.

Krige: Yeah yeah.

Tenpenny [Quickly]: If you don’t mind, me and Jeeves must be off for a while. Ta-ta!

Lynch: Hold on, where are you going?

Tenpenny [Mumbling beneath his breath]: To find a better rifle capable of killing a South African cunt.

The engine roars violently as Tenpenny speeds off, not even bothering to have Jeeves take the wheel and spraying the mercenaries with sand. Kane coughs slightly, waving his hand in front of his face as he watches.

Kane: Well, that was bloody nice of him.

Lynch: Never seen Winston pissed off before.

Krige: Ah, bollocks to ‘im!

A series of coughs sound from nearby. Lynch turns around, watching as a familiar figure steps out into the street.

Lynch: Oh fuck, it’s you.

Courtney, looking distinctly paler and a lot more exhausted, steps out into the street, looking around. Tavi takes a step forward and both women lock eyes.

Tavi: Hello.

Courtney: Hello.

Despite the previous friendliness of both women, the tension between them is palpable. Tavi’s fists clench slightly, a move that Stephen notices and causes him to take a step backwards.

Stephen: …Can we NOT fight he--

Courtney and Tavi [In unison]: Shut up!

Stephen: Iiiiiiiiii’m just going to step into ReLoaded.

Stephen whistles innocently, turning around and quickly rushing into ReLoaded, slamming the door shut behind him.

Courtney [Quietly]: You look well.

Tavi [Quietly]: You look like hammered shit.

Courtney: Having your hometown fall to an invasion will do that to a person.

Tavi: Shame.

Courtney: It is. Ever seen somebody crucified before?

Tavi: No.

Courtney: It’s fucking awful.

Tavi: I can imagine.

Lynch: Wait a minute..Wait a minute….Somebody invaded your hometown?

Courtney [Looking at Lynch]: Tennessee is gone, Lynch. It’s Brazilian territory now.

Lynch: Oh. Yeah, Mother told me.

Courtney: They’ve moved on to New Mexico.

Kane: Bloody hell, the Brazilians are actively taking territory?! REALLY?!

Courtney: Really.

From behind the bombed-out husk of a building at the end of the street steps out Mother Mercenary. Every single face falls across the mercenaries, aside from Krige who is simply watching, amused.

Mother: Hello, children.

Lynch: Hello, Mother.

Kane [Quickly]: Mother, did you know about this—if Tennessee has fallen, that means the Academy--

Mother: Is gone.

Kane: WHAT?! HOW?!?!?! WHY?!?!

Lynch: It’s on a need-to-know basis, furry boy, and you don’t have clearance.

Courtney: I wish you had told me, Mother.

Mother: Even I didn’t know Dan would lead an assault of such sheer ferocity so soon. Nor did I expect the Academy’s recruits to align with him in all fairness.

Courtney: Me and my family are lucky to have escaped with our lives. And now you have fucking Krige of all people acting as defence.

Courtney glares over at Krige, who gives a small wave and a grin.

Krige: Didn’t know shit was stacked so small!

Courtney lunges forward, but Lynch quickly steps in front of her, blocking her path.

Lynch: Don’t. Just….don’t.

Mother [Ignoring them]: You’ll be working extensively with our team on Project Eos and your family will be housed in the Academy itself. There is no need to worry about your safety.

Courtney [Growing angrier]: Tell that to the fucking people I saw crucified in Tennessee!

Krige: War’s unpleasant, lassie, grow a pair!

Courtney: Gee, then at least between us, we’ll have one set of balls!

Krige [Laughing in disbelief]: Bloody hell, the little troll has a mouth on ‘er! Can’t wait to put a bullet in it!

Mother [Coldly]: To your post, Krige.

Krige: Yeah yeah…

Krige shoulders his rifle, turning around and walking up the street.

Mother: And Krige?

Krige [Turning around]: Yeah?

Mother: If you threaten Courtney again, or otherwise harm ANY of my men, I will personally climb your guard tower, rip out your internal organs and make myself a hearty stew from them, using your broken bones as a stock. Do you understand?

Krige [Laughing and waving his right hand before turning around]: Yeah, sure!

Lynch [Laughing]: Never seen anybody put the shits up Krige before!

Mother [Looking at Lynch]: Marcus, keep me informed on him. For now, I need to take Courtney and Kane to the Academy.

Lynch: Alright.

Mother, Kane and Courtney walk up the street as Lynch watches, scratching his nose and giving an irritable sigh.

Lynch: Hm. Alright. Guess I’ll just grab a drink.

Lynch turns around, jolting back slightly the moment he comes face-to-face with Dean.

Dean: Hey boss.

Lynch [Angrily]: For fucks sake, Dean, don’t scare me like that!

Dean: Sorry boss.

Lynch: And stop calling me ‘boss’, you weird prick, just call me Lynch. What do you want?

Dean: Do you have any experience in dealing with the undead?

Lynch looks at Dean before simply turning on his heels and walking down the street, towards the Lamb and Flag.

Dean: Was it something I said?!

Lynch: YES!

Dean simply stands before looking back at the doors of Kebaborama. Bobby is swiftly thrown through the doors, rolling across the desert sands as a zombie bull snorts violently in the doorway, glaring at Dean.

Dean: Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww shit.

Karab’s Voice [Angrily]: STOP SELLING MYSTERY MEAT!!

Dean: COME UP WITH A BETTER PRODUCT, AVANASH!!

Karab screams violently, suddenly appearing as he vaults straight over the bull, tackling Dean to the ground and pummelling him desperately. Samuel sighs, standing beside the bull and watching Dean and Karab wrestle on the ground.

Samuel: Y’know, I’d have thought the holiday would’ve helped them both.

**MEXICO CITY, MEXICO**

Mexico City, the capital of Mexico. Despite having a name without an ounce of creativity, the city itself is arguably one of the more beautiful cities in the world. Relatively progressive, densely populated and now taking over as one of the world’s financial centres thanks to the fact that New York is little more than a warzone where even the traders are more busy selling weapons than stocks, Mexico City remains neutral in the face of the global war economy. At least, that’s it’s official stance: In reality, the creation of its own PMC to fight running wars with the drug cartels is very much boosting the war economy to new heights.

In Tláhuac, a borough on the south-east edge of the district, the rural town has been invaded by a tiny Mini Cooper, inside of which is squeezed Bobby, Marcos and Eligio. Parking up outside of what appears to be a hastily erected wooden shack, Bobby steps out, taking a look around the rural surroundings.

Bobby: Well, this is it: Tláhuac. This is where Melvin should be if those cartel members are to be trusted.

Eligio [Taking a deep breath]: So beautiful.

Bobby: You can’t even tell it’s Mexico: There’s no random dead bodies in the street.

Eligio [Scoffing]: Mexico isn’t that bad!

Bobby: I know a different Mexico to you, then.

Bobby walks around the car, pulling the boot open and reaching inside, pulling out a tattooed cartel member who has been hogtied with his legs and arms behind his back with thick rope.

Marcos: Why did we bring him all the way with us?

Bobby: I want to make sure that we’ve got the right address.

Bobby places his hands under the armpits of the cartel member, twisting him around to face the hut.

Bobby: Right place, amigo?

Cartel Member: ….Si…

Bobby: That’s good enough for me! Man, Melvin needs some money.

Bobby slowly lowers the cartel gang member onto his stomach, reaching into the waistband of his jeans and pulling out a bowie knife, slicing through the rope and freeing him from his bondage. The cartel member quickly stumbles up to his feet, sprinting down the nearby street.

Marcos: Quick little man, isn’t he?

Bobby: Man, I hope we didn’t upset him with the violent beatings and hogtying.

Eligio: You probably did—My God, this is Melvin’s house?

Marcos: Well, his sty.

Eligio: May as well get this over and done with.

Bobby sighs, walking up to the door of the hut and knocking three times on it.

Shaky Voice: Wh-Who is it?

Bobby: Melvin, ya wanker, it’s Uncle Bobby. Open the door or I’ll fucking rip it off its hinges.

Bobby stands there for a few seconds as several locks and bolts are presumably unlocked before the door slowly opens up. Melvin, who has always been short and skinny, appears even worse: His skin is pale and clammy, his feathery brown hair since shaven down to the scalp and deep black bags are etched under his brown eyes. A white t-shirt and jean shorts hang perilously loose on his fragile frame as his eyes shoot around in their sockets, taking in Bobby, Eligio and Marcos.

Melvin: Oh, uh, hi guys.

Eligio: Let us in, compadre!

Melvin steps aside, letting Bobby, Marcos and Eligio inside of the shack which, quite frankly, looks depressing. A lone room beckons them, with a mattress against the upper-left corner of the room and a small white plastic table in the middle of the room with a metal folding chair near it. Takeout containers and cartons dot the entire floor, with only a soiled fork on the table indicating that Melvin hasn’t resorted to eating with his hands.

Melvin: Well…this is my home…

Bobby [Looking around]: There’s fuckin’ nothing here, mate!

Melvin: I’ve been, uh, living on a budget.

Eligio looks at Melvin, who catches his gaze and gulps slightly.

Eligio [Narrowing his eyes]: Is everything alright, Melvin? You seem….off.

Melvin: I’m fine.

Marcos: Maybe we should make you piss into a cup.

Eligio: Yeah: Paranoid, skinny as hell, pale…..What is it, Melvin? What have you done?

Melvin [Looking around nervously]: Nothing! Nothing at all!

Bobby walks over to Melvin’s mattress, squatting down and picking up a hypodermic needle.

Bobby [Turning around]: …So, you’re into giving blood transfusions as a hobby or something?

Melvin yelps, turning around.

Melvin [Quickly]: I can explain everything!

Eligio [Folding his arms]: Please do!

A small silence fills the hut.

Melvin: I’ve got nothing..

Eligio [Sighing darkly]: Oh, Melvin…So this is what you’ve been doing? Drugs?

Melvin: I’ve seen some shit, man!

Marcos: All of us have. Few of us have turned to….whatever you’ve turned to.

Melvin: Heroin.

Eligio: Heroin. Even better.

Melvin [Quickly]: Look, guys, can you just get outta here? It’s not safe!

Eligio: Why? Are you tweaking? Going to stab us with a needle?

Melvin: No, it’s….goddammit…uh..

Bobby: What?

Melvin: Well….I’m having trouble cause…well…uh…I kinda have a debt.

Eligio: …A debt to who?

Melvin: Los Zetas.

A silence falls over the group before Eligio lunges forward, grasping Melvin by his collar and shaking him.

Eligio [Angrily]: LOS ZETAS?!?!? YOU HAVE A DEBT WITH LOS FUCKING ZETAS?!?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!?

Bobby: Well, we’re fucked now. All we can do is flee the country.

Eligio [Panicking]: FLEEING THE COUNTRY WON’T DO SHIT!!! We are fucking screwed! We are going to be found in a ditch without our heads!!

Marcos: Los Zetas, the biggest drug cartel in Mexico…..Well, Melvin, you certainly know how to pick your fights.

Eligio [Angrily]: YOU FUCKING LITTLE SHIT!!! YOU STUPID, STUPID, STUPID LITTLE SHIT!!!

Marcos: Alright, calm down, we need to think of a plan.

Eligio [Hysterically]: THERE IS NO PLAN!! WE’RE FUCKED!! WE’RE UTTERLY, UTTERLY FUCKED!!!!

Marcos: Panicking won’t help.

Bobby: Hang on, that guy who gave us directions was in Los Zetas.

A silence falls over the group.

Melvin [Panicking]: WAIT, WHAT?!?!

Eligio [Panicking]: OH SHIT, WE LED THEM STRAIGHT HERE!!!

Marcos: NOW we’re fucked.

Bobby: We could try killing them?

Marcos: Yeah. Right. The Mexican government tried that for many years and it never helped. Do you really just want to piss off Los Zetas even more?

Bobby: Yeah, good point.

Marcos: So, what do we do?

Bobby: We get the boys together and run the fuck away from Mexico?

Melvin: Good plan!

Eligio looks around the room, counting below his breath before stopping.

Eligio: Hang on, there’s one guy that we’re missing.

Melvin: Huh. Yeah. Has anyone seen *beep* anyway?

Eligio: No. I kind of hope he’s alright.

**TATE MODERN – LONDON, ENGLAND**

The Tate: One of London’s premier attractions, designed solely for the purpose of displaying the worst possible art from deluded sociopaths and pretending that it means something to the world. Standing in a large room is That Other Random Guy, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket as he looks at a urinal, appearing distinctly unimpressed. A woman to his right, a fairly young woman with long blonde hair, wearing a denim jacket, a black t-shirt and jeans, stands there, hands clasped together as she examines the urinal with slightly more fervour.

That Other Random Guy: I’ll be honest, Melissa: It looks shit. In fact, it’s definitely shit. It’s pudding in a urinal: That is definitely shit.

Melissa [Scoffing]: What? Don’t you like art?

That Other Random Guy: It’s kind of hard to enjoy art when you’re surrounded by PMC soldiers.

That Other Random Guy glances around at the several PMC soldiers standing guard close to many art installations, as well as two standing guard on either side of the doorway.

Melissa: Mm. I know.

That Other Random Guy: But, yes, the art is shit too. I mean, come on, this is chocolate pudding in a fucking urinal! This isn’t art!

Melissa: It’s a metaphor for--

That Other Random Guy: Please don’t give me the whole ‘metaphor’ stuff, dear. It’s pudding in a urinal: It’s hardly Nietzsche or some shit.

Melissa: Open your mind, dear! You might find new horizons!

That Other Random Guy: Eligio said that before he whipped me on my first day.

A PMC soldier, standing next to a painting which is nothing more than a solid black colour, strolls over to That Other Random Guy. Almost instantly, he steps in front of the woman known as Melissa, narrowing his eyes.

That Other Random Guy [Coldly]: Fuck with my waifu and I end your lifeu.

PMC Soldier: ……..Okay then. I was merely going to mention that your shoelace is untied and you should probably tie it, just in case you trip over.

That Other Random Guy looks down, glancing at his right boot with the laces untied and loose.

That Other Random Guy: Oh.

PMC Soldier: Weirdo.

The PMC soldier walks away as That Other Random Guy falls onto one knee, tying his shoelace as Melissa looks down at him, giving a small laugh.

Melissa: You can take the boy away from the mercenaries….

That Other Random Guy: But he can’t stay away, even though I wish I fucking could.

Melissa: We’ll get you out of there one day.

That Other Random Guy: Preferably without Eligio or anyone else tailing me.

Melissa: Oh, we will! Trust me, I have my ways…

**

Bobby: I’m sure he’s alright, but now we’ve got to figure out how to escape the murderous clutches of Los Zetas.

Eligio: Well then, let us run!

Marcos: What about Melvin?

Eligio: Oh, him.

Melvin [Shaking his head]: I ain’t moving.

Eligio reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small bottle and a white rag. Eligio pours some liquid from the bottle onto the rag and walks towards Melvin, who watches him.

Melvin: What are you doing?

Eligio: Smell this for me.

Melvin [Cautiously]: Why?

Eligio: SMELL IT!!

Marcos moves behind Melvin, grasping his arms and holding them tightly by his sides. Melvin screams as Eligio quickly clasps the rag over Melvin’s nose and mouth. Melvin screams, dancing on the spot and shaking wildly.

Marcos: Eligio, chloroform is useless for knocking people out!

Eligio: Que?

Marcos: It takes five minutes for any effect to occur!

Eligio glares at Marcos, still holding Melvin tightly as his muffled screams pierce the air.

Eligio [Angrily]: WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO, THEN?!?!

Marcos walks over to Melvin and headbutts him roughly, knocking him out.

Bobby: Shit, Marcos, you know that’s not good for his health.

Marcos: Neither are hard drugs.

Eligio: He has a point.

Marcos: Is nobody else alarmed by the fact that Eligio openly carries chloroform and a rag with him?

Eligio [Looking down at the chloroform]: ………..It’s a habit.

Marcos: Attempting to knock people out is a habit these days?

Eligio: Well, it’s not effective, apparently!

Bobby: Look, let’s just bundle the fucker into the car and get the hell out of here.

Eligio: It won’t work!

Bobby: Well, we’ll fucking try it and see what happens!

Bobby grabs Melvin, slinging him over his left shoulder. He takes a deep breath, quickly barging through the wooden door and out into the streets, rushing towards his Mini Cooper. Marcos follows, but Eligio remains inside, his head peering around the corner of the doorway.

Eligio [Quietly]: No.

Bobby sighs, opening the rear doors of the Mini Cooper and throwing Melvin in as Marcos slowly climbs in beside him, their bodies cramped up. Bobby turns to the door, staring at Eligio.

Bobby: Look, mate, the first place that Los Zetas are gonna look is his own home. Now, if you want to sit there and get shot--

Eligio quickly rushes out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Eligio [Quickly]: Well, let’s not waste any time!

Eligio sprints forward, diving into the passengers seat as Bobby crams himself into the driver’s seat, looking ahead and firing up the engine.

Bobby: You guys ready?

Marcos: Why do you have a Mini Cooper?!

Bobby: Y’know, I don’t really know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Marcos: Bobby, man, we’ve got to get you a better car.

Bobby: But I like the Mini!

Marcos: Yeah, well, my knees don’t!

Bobby drives down the street, looking around as he does.

Bobby: Stop complaining and find me the best way to escape from this goddamn country.

Eligio: Over the border!

Marcos: Airport.

Bobby [Angrily]: I FUCKING KNOW! GIVE ME SOME DIRECTIONS!!

Eligio: Hey, why don’t we just hand Melvin over to Los Zetas? I mean, he IS a coward.

Bobby: We don’t just leave men behind, Eligio.

Eligio: But I don’t want to die!

Bobby sighs, shaking his head and focusing on the road ahead.

Bobby: If we die, can we please die with some dignity?

Eligio: I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!

Marcos: Hey, I’d like to avoid it too, y’know?

The car suddenly brakes, coming to a sudden stop.

Bobby: Well, that may be a little more difficult than we first envisaged.

Ahead of them, blocking the road, is a Panhard ERC 90 Lynx: A heavily armoured vehicle, roughly painted black by the new owners, with a turret pointed directly at Bobby’s Mini Cooper. To the left and right of the Lynx stand four heavily armed Los Zetas cartel soldiers on each side, aiming a menagerie of weaponry at the Mini Cooper.

Marcos: They even brought a tank.

Bobby: It’s fucking Tláhuac. How did they even get it here without the government noticing?!

Eligio: War economy. They blow us away, army swoops in and stops them: Everybody wins.

Marcos: Except us.

Eligio [Nodding]: Except us.

Marcos: So, this is it. Our own Bolivian Army ending.

Bobby: Man, I wish the Bolivian Army would show up right about now.

Eligio: Keep dreaming, Bobby. Let’s just die with dignity.

Bobby sighs, gripping the handle of the car door and looking ahead at the tank.

Bobby: So, I should step out and get riddled with bullets?

Eligio: You COULD accelerate forward and smash through some of them. They’d kill us but we’d go out with a bang.

Bobby sighs, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead in despair..

**AEGEAN SEA**

Still cutting through the Aegean Sea is the U-Boat under the control of Robbie Steinhatten. Being swiftly followed by several submarines from Turkey’s own navy, the crew of the U-Boat are noticeably tense, with Benito manning the periscope and watching with extreme caution. Robbie stands nearby with his hands clasped behind his back, watching on with some confidence.

Robbie [Calmly]: I believe that we can take them on.

Benito: We really can’t. There’s several of them and I’m guessing they’re carrying the latest ordinance, not some rusty mines and torpedos.

Robbie: We can hit them with a one-two punch--

Lindemaan: No, sir, because that would be pure fucking insanity.

Robbie: Look, we’re still alive. That’s good enough.

Dave: For how long, Robbie? For how long?

Robbie [Angrily]: NOT LONG IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP!

Lindemaan: Sir, the Turks aren’t relenting.

Robbie: SO WE TURN AND FIGHT!

Heinrich: No, we don’t. We carry on towards the Suez.

Dave: I wonder what happened to Ivan and his crew anyway.

Robbie: Who cares?

Dave: Well, many of us do.

Robbie [Coldly]: I swear to God, I will kill you.

Benito: Sir, we really need to focus on keeping ourselves moving. Don’t make the order to fire: We’ll be cut to pieces in minutes, maybe even seconds.

Robbie walks over to the radio where Rudolf is sitting, taking the handset.

Rudolf [Cautiously]: Sir--

Lindemaan: Don’t do this, Robbie. Seriously.

Dave: Seriously, Robbie: For fucks sake, let’s not antagonise the Turks!

Robbie [Gripping the handset]: …..Fi--

Dave quickly tackles Robbie to the floor by his legs, pinning him down. Lindemaan quickly moves in, holding down Robbie’s left arm with Benito leaping on Robbie’s right arm as Heinrich wrenches the handset from Robbie’s hand.

Heinrich [Quickly]: Focus on moving towards the Suez! Do not stop and fire for any reason! Keep moving!

Robbie [Angrily]: MUTINY! MUTINY! FILTHY TRAITORS! STEINER, LUDWIG, HELP ME!!

The hulking forms of Steiner and Ludwig simply stand nearby, arms folded as Heinrich replaces the radio handset.

Dave: Find me some fucking rope!

Robbie: What the fuck?

Steiner stomps towards the bunks, emerging a few moments later with a bundle of rope. Dave reaches up and grasps the rope, hog-tying Robbie’s arms and legs behind his body, as well as tying a length of rope around his head and between his teeth, effectively gagging him. Lindemaan, Benito and Heinrich get to their feet as Dave stands up, dusting off his hands.

Dave: I’m taking command of this vessel now!

Dave leans down, grabbing Robbie’s fallen peaked cap and placing it on his own hand as Robbie writhes violently, glaring up at Dave.

Lindemaan: …..Well, what do we do?

Dave: TO THE SUEZ!!

Benito: Finally, our homeland!!

Steiner: What about Robbie?

Dave: We shall release him….IN THE CANAL! Nah, let’s just wait til we get home, he’s probably cranky from just eating Lunchables.

Robbie growls violently as Dave places his hands on his hips, puffing his chest out as he stares ahead..

**MERCENARY ACADEMY OF THE MIDDLE EAST**

In the Mercenary Academy, Lynch is standing outside of the door into Mother’s office once more. Lynch cricks his neck from side to side and knocks on the door.

Mother’s Voice: Come in.

Lynch opens the door and walks into the doorway, noticing that Joel Sykes, the brother of Bill whom he brought to the Sinai, is standing opposite the desk.

Mother: Looks like we’ll have to cut this short, so one last question: How are we doing, Joel?

Joel: Fine, ma’am. All systems are running at optimal power and the security is extremely tight. All connections and systems are being closely monitored.

Mother: Good. You can leave now.

Joel snaps his heels together and gives a swift salute before turning around, jogging past Lynch who walks into the room. Mother looks up at him, pointing to the chair opposite of her which Lynch sits on.

Lynch [Calmly]: Mother.

Mother: What can I do for you, Marcus?

Lynch: Just seeing how things are.

Mother: Was the idea of a holiday really so bad that you cannot enjoy it without visiting me constantly?

Lynch [Wryly]: You know me, Mother.

Mother: Indeed. I know you well. We are still awaiting news from Karelia and Father’s First Company.

Lynch: No problems?

Mother: Father’s Children is one of the best companies under our command. I have no worries about their capabilities.

Lynch: Well, that makes one of us.

Mother: I know that you wanted to be a part of the assault, Lynch--

Lynch [Laughing]: What? In Finland? Fuck that. I just don’t trust a bunch of overpaid nancies.

Mother [Sternly]: Do not underestimate them, Lynch. There are extraordinary soldiers within that company.

Lynch: I’m sure there are. Every single one grossly overpaid.

Mother sighs, shaking her head.

Mother [Calmly]: You really are an asshole sometimes, Lynch.

Lynch [Giving a wry smile]: Never heard you curse before, Mother.

Mother: Well, you bloody push it!

A knock raps out against the door.

Mother: Come in.

The door opens and Lynch looks over his shoulder: Standing in the doorway is Dick, the owner and barman of the Lamb and Flag in Beale Street.

Lynch: Dick.

Dick: ‘Ello, Marcus.

Lynch: …..Why are you here?

Dick: Excuse me, but I happen to be an invaluable member of--

Lynch: No, I mean away from the bar. Who the hell’s protecting it?

Dick: I’ve given that new furry English lad a broomstick. He should beat the fuck out of anyone and besides: Frank’s not here.

Lynch: Do you really think that Kane can fight off a bunch of mercenaries with a broomstick?

Dick: There’s still only a few lads out there. He can handle them.

Mother: Take a seat, Dick.

Dick sits down next to Lynch.

Mother: What brings you here?

Dick: Mother, we’re out of pork scratchings.

Mother [Calmly]: Is that why you’re here, Dick?

Dick: The guys really love pork scratchings. Morale and all that. Also, I picked up some chatter from some French Foreign Legionnaires who were in a few days ago.

Mother: Go on.

Dick: Well, y’know that shite in Karelia? Apparently, the French have also found a facility in Grenoble.

Lynch: More furries?

Dick: Oh, this ain’t anthropomorphic soldiers. Apparently, these are human test subjects. Fully human.

Mother: ….Now that is interesting.

Lynch: So, a fully-fledged continuation of the Perfect Soldier Project and Next-Generation Special Forces?

Dick: They aren’t living. From what I could hear, they were just stuck in vats without being activated, but it sounds like the project is in full swing.

Mother: Then I will certainly have to get in contact with the academy over in France and have more men look into it.

Lynch: What are we worried about anyway?

Dick: Aside from furries running around? I don’t fancy having to fight off super soldiers, especially super soldiers under order from Ocelot. Can you imagine if he controls both SoP and super soldiers? Fucking insanity all around.

Mother [Grasping the phone’s handset]: I’ll get something sorted. My my, it has been quite busy these past few months.

Lynch: Kind of like the calm before a storm.

Mother: Then let us prepare for ourselves long before the storm strikes….Both of you can leave now.

Lynch and Dick rise to their feet, turning and leaving the room as Mother sighs, sitting back in her chair and dialling a number on the telephone..

**PORT SAID, EGYPT**

The U-Boat is, thankfully, making headway towards Port Said which will, hopefully, allow them to finally disembark the U-boat.  Unfortunately for them, the Turkish Navy remains in hot pursuit, with several submarines chasing after them for daring to violate Turkish territory. Dave is busy watching through the periscope as Benito sits beside him on the radio, looking up at him.

Benito: What do we do, Dave?

Dave: As the new acting Admiral, we keep moving towards the Suez!

Benito: Uh, sir, we’re at the Suez.

Dave [Quietly]: ….Then why are the Turks continuing to follow us?

The U-boat shudders slightly as it enters into Port Said and the northern terminus of the Suez Canal. Dave, still watching through the periscope, notices that the Turkish Navy aren’t relenting and are continuing to pursue them.

Heinrich: Sir, at this rate, we’ll probably be leading them on a Benny Hill-style chase around the world. Quite literally.

Dave: Don’t these bastards know about the Convention of Constantinople?!

Lindemaan: ……..The what?

Dave: Article One of the Convention of Constantinople states that, and I quote, “the Suez Maritime Canal shall always be free and open, in time of war as in time of peace, to every vessel of commerce or of war, without distinction of flag.” These bastard Turks are ignoring it!

Lindemaan: To be fair, we are in a state of global war where even the Geneva Convention has been ignored. It’s not surprising that they’d ignore…the Convention of Constantinople.

Heinrich: Istanbul?

Lindemaan: No, Constantinople.

Heinrich: Istanbul?

Robbie’s muffled screams echo throughout the cabin as he wriggles violently, still tied up tightly and laid on the floor. He rolls towards Heinrich, slamming into his ankles and causing him to fall forward onto the floor.

Lindemaan: Thank goodness for that.

Benito [Holding the radio handset]: Sirs, I’m receiving a request for communication.

Dave: Go for it.

Benito: ….WHO IS IT?!

Voice from Handset: This is Admiral Khazi of the Egyptian Navy. Who is this?!

Benito: This is U-Boat--

Admiral Khazi [Sighing bitterly]: Not the fucking U-boat again..

Dave: That’s us! Little help, mate?

Admiral Khazi: Fuck off!

Hushed Voice from Handset: Admiral, the Turks are getting extremely close to us..

Admiral Khazi: Great, so we don’t have any choice. Now the Turks are going to send their fucking PMC after us..

Hushed Voice: They don’t have a PMC..

Admiral Khazi: THEY HAVE A FUCKING NAVY, THOUGH! I CAN SEE THAT!

Hushed Voice: Let’s just help them. We can scuttle their pathetic U-boat when the war is over.

Admiral Khazi: …..Alright, alright, guess we’re going to have to bring the full force of the Egyptian Navy.

Benito: So, all five rowing boats?

Admiral Khazi [Angrily]: FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! STUPID PIG!     

Benito [Chuckling]: Holy shit, I think I upset him.

Dave: Shut up, Benito, we need their fucking help!

The Turkish Navy suddenly stops, close to the terminus of the Suez. Seeing the Egyptian aircraft carrier, it appears as if they have decided that its best to not upset an opponent who could actually destroy them.

Admiral Khazi: They’ve stopped. This is the first, and only, time that we are helping. Go. Now.

Benito: But you didn’t even do--

Dave: Thanks matey! ONWARDS!

The U-boat lurches forward, turning slightly as it heads towards a specially constructed submarine pen, docking inside and providing a safe haven for the crew of the U-boat to finally disembark and set foot on dry land.

Admiral Khazi [Quietly]: I’m going to demolish that fucking pen and make sure you can’t come back.

Dave: Yes, well, until then: Ciao!....Benito, put the goddamn radio away.

Benito switches the radio off, replacing the handset.

Lindemaan: I wonder why the Admiral does not know that we have been contracted by the Egyptian Government to go on these skirmishes.

Dave: Limited liability, mate: If we got captured or shot, they don’t want to link us back to the Egyptians. War economy is a funny thing, mate.

Lindemaan: So that’s why they gave us the cyanide capsules.

Heinrich: Cyanide capsules?

Dave: Yeah, those weird false teeth they gave us. They have hidden cyanide capsules in them.

Heinrich: Huh. So that’s why Hess died after biting his tongue.

Dave: Hess was a useless shit anyway.

Benito: What should we do about Robbie?

Dave [Shrugging]: Leave him. He owns the U-Boat and I’m sure he’d rather have some alone time on his vessel.

Heinrich: We can come ashore, though?

Dave: Ye--

A huge uproar occurs as several members of the U-Boat staff immediately make a mad scramble for the ladder up towards the hatch. As the U-boat empties, Robbie simply lays there, rocking in motion with the U-boat as he lets loose a heavy sigh.

Robbie [Quietly]: Fuck the world and everyone on it..

The scene fades to black.