Metal Gear Mercenaries Saga II Episode I - Heroes Without A Clue

The scene opens up to a sunrise which bathes the sand-dusted road of Beale Street, south of Romani, and south-east of the Suez River, with a soft, orange glow. A light haze of sand blows across from a sand dune to the north, spattering the already-yellowing buildings with a fresh spray of parchment color. A loud humming noise fills the dawn air, and the door to the north-westerly most building on this eastern street is thrust open, revealing Frank Daniels in his hairy glory, thankfully wearing a pair of Y-fronts to cover his dignity.

Frank [Ecstatically]: I HAVE A WONDERFUL FEELING…EVERYTHINGS GOING MY WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A silence pierces the streets following Franks outburst. Phil, in the house across the street, opens the blinds of his bedroom and squints, looking out through the glass, a rough, bushy beard now growing across his jaw. Seeing Frank, he kneels up and opens the window, pointing at Frank.

Phil [Mockingly]: And I have an awful feeling you’re pretty damn gay!

Frank: Shut up, Phil! I just had sex!

Phil [Sneering]: ….You disgust me.

Phil shuts his blinds and Frank simply stands there, hands on his hips.

Frank [Grinning]: A glorious day in this mans army!

Sals Voice [Distant, echoing]: It’s not your army!

Frank: Sal? [Angrily] YES, IT IS!!!

Sals Voice [Distant, Echoing]: Not!

Mantis walks out behind Frank, wearing a flowing silk dressing gown in the striking color of dark jet. She places her hands over his eyes, grinning sweetly.

Mantis [Teasingly]: Guess whoooooooooooooooo?

Sals Voice [Distant, Echoing]: Jazzzz Hands!!

Frank [Impatiently]: SAL, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?!?

Mantis taps Franks shoulder and points over his shoulder into the sky.Frank looks north-east, and sees a bicycle flying in mid-air, kept afloat by several hundred fire extinguishers, a can of gas and a set of cardboard wings. He’s clutching a megaphone in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other. Seeing himself spotted, he quickly shuffles the bicycle around, peddling fast.

Sal [Panicking, Slamming his handlebars]: DAMMIT! WHY DIDN’T I FIT THE SALCYCLE WITH A PARACHUTE?!?!?!

Sal screams as the bicycle suddenly plummets downwards due to his feet tiring out from the manic peddling. He hits a sand-dune to the North East with soft, but audible *thud*, screaming as a crunching sound indicates he’s rolling down the dune, possibly with a bicycle covered in several fire extinguishers on top of him.

Mantis [Bemused]: ..Well, that’s the crazy quota for today.

Daves Voice: Well, speaking of crazy..

Frank and Mantis turn around: Dave is standing behind them, looking outside and clutching a steaming mug of black coffee.

Dave: ..Has anyone seen Robbie? His hammocks empty, and his German kriegsmarine uniform is missing from the floor.

Frank: ..Well, it’s obvious--

Dave [Scathingly]: THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION GODDAMMIT!!!

Mantis: But doesn’t a U-boat require a large amount of manpower to crew?

Frank: Come to think of it..don’t the streets look a bit empty?

Mantis: That [Thinking carefully]…is a wonderful point.

Dave [Gasping, Almost mock-hurt]: And he didn’t wake me??!!! I’m offended!

Frank: So what would several mercenaries be doing on a U-Boat in the Suez?

Dave [Bluntly]: That you have to actually ask that question is a testament to your stupidity. All I know is we’ll be getting a swift stock of provisions in a few hours!

Mantis: Are we really that crazy that we’d risk dragging Egypt into a conflict because a couple of nutjobs are playing with a U-Boat???

Mantis, Dave and Frank watch as the door across the street opens, and Phil sidles out, jingling a pair of keys. Jericho follows him out, pulling on his camelskin trenchcoat and slicking back his hair quickly. Both men quickly jog down the steps and climb onto the side of their M1 Abrams tank which lays on the street in front of their house. Jericho climbs up the side carefully and lifts the hatch, sliding in while Phil climbs up, slamming it shut and sitting on top of it.

Phil [Pointing forward]: Alright Jerry, let’s go bring us some supplies back!!

The tank roars violently into life and starts to slowly rumble down the street, the buildings foundations shaking as it does.

Mantis: Sweet jesus.

Dave [Cupping his hands over his mouth]: HEY! PHIL! TRY AND SECURE SOME FUCKING PRINGLES, WILL YA?!?!?!

Phil [Looking back at him]: YOU HAVE MY WORD, DAVE!!!

Phil gives a small salute as the tank rumbles out of sight, becoming nothing more than a distant cloud of sand and dust as it barrels forward mercilessly. Dave blinks rapidly.

Dave: Okay. That’s our day beginning..Whats on the cards?

Frank: Nothing but drinking. God knows all the jobs that CAN be taken, HAVE been taken. Everything from smacking around a group of Praying Mantis to escorting that weird old paedophile who hangs out the Embassy down in Cairo.

Dave: You mean Joey El-Kayef? The American Ambassador to Egypt?

Frank [Blinking, Embarassed]: …….Yeah, him.

Dave: You truly are a fucking retard…If you guys need me, I’m going to be walking randomly around town…[Bitterly]..for no apparent fucking reason!

Dave slides past Frank and looks into the sky, taking a deep breath in and jogging down the steps.

Dave [Desperately]: I HAVE NOTHING!!!!

Dave falls to his knees at the bottom of the steps, smacking his head off of the sandy ground.

Mantis: It’s almost cute the way they break so easily..

Wills Voice [Boisterous]: Of course it is, they are fragile compared to the mighty Will Studlin!!

Mantis and Frank turn around: Will is standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but speedos, aviator sunglasses and a beach towel under his arm.

Will: Now, lets have a parting of the asses, since nothings happening, there is a dangerous mission I need to attend to….Getting a tan!

Mantis: Raven not biting, eh?

Will: Oh, she is! Want to see--

Mantis: Do and I will turn your testicles into ornaments for the mantelpiece.

Will looks around the room, noticing the lack of a fireplace.

Will: We haven’t got a mantelpiece, we’ve got the coffee table, though.

Mantis stomps towards him, causing Will to scream and dive onto the couch, cowering with his hands over his head. Mantis snorts in a raucious laughter, sending a shiver down Franks spine.

Frank: ….Yeah. Look, ignore the asshole, what the hell are we going to do?

Mantis: Eh, want to go work on our tans outside?

Frank: Sure, why not? The others are still asleep..Maybe we can get..nude?

Bricks Voice [Panicking]: PLEASE DON’T!

That Hispanic Guys voice [Also Panicking]: ESE, PLEASE!

Mantis [Angrily]: Fuck off! [Tenderly, stroking Franks cheek] Let’s go, baby..

Frank goes to walk outside, but stops. A faint explosion crackles through the air, barely audible in the street. Frank leans his head out of the doorway, looking to the northeast: A grey wisp of smoke is already barely visible in the direction of the Suez.

Frank: I suppose I should be glad their keeping themselves busy instead of starting a war…..although knowing them, that’s how they are keeping busy..

==PORT SAID, THE SUEZ CANAL==

A huge plume of smoke erupts from the waters of the Suez, followed by violent screaming and the rushing sound of a boat making its way to the riverbed below. Phil and Jericho are sitting on their Abrams tank as they watch, eating bacon sandwiches and watching as another merchant boat, Australian in origin, snaps into two and starts to sink to the bottom of the river. Before it can fully disappear into the depths a cranes clawed hand swoops down, operated by Bill, and grasps the wreckage carefully, hauling it up quickly and placing it onto the shore. Brick and Jon rush over with crowbars from the foot of the Abrams tank, digging them into the four wooden crates which survived the devastating barrage from the U-Boat.

Jon [Excitedly]: BUMPER HAUL! BUMPER HAUL!

Brick: Hotdamn! This makes one..three…eight crates!

Jon: What? This makes eleven! Where the hell did you get eight from?

Brick: Hey, Science is not my strong point, alrighty?

Jon: …Yeah. I can tell.

Jon successfully pries off one of the crates faces, watching as a bundle of straw and brown jars with yellow labels tumble out.

Jon [Disgustedly]: Vegiemite??! WHAT THE FUCK?!??!?

Brick leans down, pulling open the jar and revealing a thick, tar-like substance with a strong, salty smell.

Brick [Pulling back in disgust]: DAMN! What is this shit?!

Jericho: Hey, Marmite!!

Phil: Marmite knock-off, Jerry..Not like our good, British stuff! [Putting a thumbs down gesture in front of him] DUMP IT, BILL! DUMP IT ALL!

Bill and Brick grasp the crate, pushing it across the concrete and over the edge of the Suez, watching as the glass jars break and a mini oil-scum starts to float across the once-flawless waters of the Suez Canal.

Jericho: Beautiful. One of the most important canals in the world concerning trade, and we’re filling it with Vegemite.

Phil: Even the water hates it….

Bill: I think that’s the last of them!

Phil reaches for a pair of binoculars beside him, raising them to his face: Barely visible through the several plumes of smoke at the canals mouth is a small Schooner, lazily bobbing across the Mediterranean Sea as it slowly makes it way for the Suez. Phil reaches across his lap to the other side, grasping a small walkie talkie and clicking a button.

Phil: Alright Robbie, there’s one last bastard coming through the rivermouth. I can see an American flag on it, you know what that means?

Robbies Voice [Crackling on the other end]: Dirty Capitalist Pigs?

Phil: ….Well, yeah, there is that, but it means they’ve got good food! We need good food! Try to make it look like an accident, too.

Robbie clicks off, leaving the receiver filled with static. Phil and Jericho listen as a violent hiss fills the air, followed by an orange explosion which scars the air. The screams of American sailors fill the air as they dive overboard, their precious tugboat swaying as water rushes into its insides. Bill quickly lowers the claw of the crane, grasping the tugboat and hauling it high into the air before swinging around, setting it onto the shore.

Phil: …Robbie, I said make it look like an accident.

Robbies Voice [Scathingly]: How the fuck was I supposed to do that?!?! Nudge him in a friendly manner until he sank?!?!?

Phil: Well, yes, that was what I was thinking!

Dave walks past the side of the tank, leaning against it and folding his arms.

Dave: Sup guys?

Phil looks down at Dave.

Phil: Hey Dave, what’s up?

Dave: Just hanging around. So, anything good hauled up?

Phil: Well, we intercepted a Somali rowing boat. Is that interesting? Turns out it was one lonely guy with an RPG. Did you know if a U-Boat surfaces beneath a rowing boat, it can shatter it and cause the pieces to skewer the rower?

Dave: No.

Phil [Grinning]: TRULY AMAZING!

Bill and Brick rush over to the wreckage, pulling away shattered planks and broken plastic, reaching in to salvage and looking around. A few of the crates have been smashed into oblivion, the wooden carnage ensuring that their contents are now destroyed beyond recognition. Both men notice a few crates, though splintered and partly-burnt, are still relatively intact. They reach in, synchronising together to free the crates and pull them free. Bills bare forearm snags on a loose piece of wood, cutting it open.

Bill [In extreme pain]: GAH! FUCK!

Bill pulls back, clutching his forearm as blood flows freely from it.

Jericho [Mockingly]: Awww..has Billy-boy got a boo-boo?

The hatch flies open between Phil and Jericho, revealing the gruff form of Billy, his beard unkempt and his short hair askew, wearing nothing but a tight white t-shirt and a pair of grey boxers.

Billy: …You called?

Phil: Billy..what the fuck were you doing in our tank?!

Billy: Sleeping..

Phil: Jericho? Did you not notice him?

Jericho: I did, but I didn’t really care.

Bill [Angrily, In pain]: HELLO! COMPLETE AND UTTER PAIN HERE!!

Billy: …Where are we? Suez?

Jericho: Yep. Just destroying boats and stealing cargo!

Bill [Desperately]: HELLO?!?!?

Phil [Losing patience]: Goddammit…Where the fucks our medic?!

Jericho: She’s back at Beale Street!

Phil: ..Oh yeah. Bill, just go back to your fucking jeep, I’ll sort it out you fucking pussy!

Bill [Angrily]: NO PROBLEM, CUNT!

Bill turns around, walking towards a large, beige Humvee parked at an angle a few yards to the side of the jeep, clutching his arm which is now coated with blood.

Bill [Angrily, Bitterly]: Fucking ass..

Jericho: Alright Brick, Billy, lets load this shit into the tank and head on home!

Billy yawns, climbing out of the hatch and sliding down, hitting the concrete with a soft thud and walking over to the pile of fourteen wooden crates, each stamped with various numbers in black ink. Brick walks beside him, both men squatting down and trying to lift one. Brick pulls back, shaking his head.

Brick: Heavier than mama after eatin’ a bucket of hot wings. We gotta put these in the jeeps, Phil dude.

Phil: Alright, load up both jeeps. If you need us, we’ll be heading back to Beale Street..we’ve had our fun.

Brick salutes and Jericho slides into the hatch, followed by Phil. It slams shut and the iron beast roars into life, reversing slightly and turning left, moving forward across the edge of the Suez. Once its comfortable with its position, the Abrams roars forward, eventually leaving the sight of the jeeps and crates. Bill watches from the back of his jeep as they vanish behind a large warehouse used for storage, grinning to himself and quickly binding the cloth he has on his arm in place with a strip of duct-tape before tearing off his long-sleeved beige shirt, revealing a black t-shirt with several hooks dug into it. He reaches into the boot, pulling out a long, maple fishing rod and a fishing hat, setting it over his salt-and-pepper colored hair.

Bill: Fuck that noise, I’m going fishing!

Billy: Eh, go on…

Bill nods ecstatically, rushing over to the edge of the Suez and sitting on the edge of the concrete. Before he can fling the rod, he hears a loud snort behind him from Billy. Bill turns around, watching as Will struts forward, setting down his blue beach towel near him before laying on it, sighing deeply.

Bill: Will..What are you doing?

Will: Sunbathing.

Bill: C’mon man..At least go to the fucking Sinais shore of the Mediterranean and do it! We’re supposed to be guarding the place and the natives are getting upset because of your chest!

Will: Is it for religious reasons?

Bill: No, man, it’s because your hair has caused two kids to go missing. Holy shit man, there’s this thing called “Wax”. INVEST IN IT!

Will: So…you don’t want to upset the natives, right?

Bill [Nodding]: RIGHT!

Will: So what’s with the fishing rod?

Bill blinks rapidly.

Bill [Mulling quickly for excuses]: I’m…..undercover. As an elite fisherman sent from the CIA.

Will: So nothing to do with the fish in the Suez? Who are you spying on?

Bill: Your mother.

Will: She ain’t here. She hasn’t called me.

Bill [Bitterly]: Shut up and let me fish, for fucks sake.

Will: Just do it, not like we’re guarding anything opponent.

Bill: What about Liquid Ocelot, eh?

Will: What? He’s over there, on that yacht!

Will points over at a white, streamlined yacht, its sails flapping lazily in the breeze. Ocelot is laid on the deck, bare-chested and wearing nothing but horn-rimmed sunglasses and a pair of blue speedos. He looks up, waving at them.

Will [Waving back]: See? Harmless!

Bill: Then how do you explain his armed escort?

Bill points to the mouth of the Suez, where four Patrol Boats have gathered, each with two 50mm cannons erected on the bow. Will responds by standing and pointing in the water: The titanic grey form of Robbies U-boat clearly visible in the silken waters, resting following the capture of its prey.

Bill: …Oh, well that’s a relief.

Bill sits on the shore, grasping his fishing rod, and slowly flings forward, allowing the flied hook to sink into the water. Will sighs and rolls onto his back.

Will: I’m loving this vacation..

Bill: Funny, every newspaper I read says “War is coming”, “Ocelots private military company rolling into so-and-so”, “Ocelot kills more”, “Patriot pigs must die” and the like. Must be some vacation.

Will: Are you complaining that we’re not at the front?

Bill: Yes, it’s a living nightmare..

Bill slips a cigarette into his mouth, placing his fishing hat over his eyes and laying back, keeping his hands on the fishing rod tightly. Billy, Brick and Jon simply sit in their jeep, parked conveniently in a beam of sunlight, laying back in their seats and giving a content sigh.

=Beale Street, Sinai Peninsula=

Back at Beale Street, Laughing Octopus is sitting on the concrete of Franks flat, hugging her knees tightly as she stares ahead. Boredom had truly set in, and there was literally nothing to do. Dave walks past the steps, looking up at Octopus and nodding before walking off. Phil, Jericho, Steve and Ivan are laid on top of their Abrams tank, staring into the sky.

Phil [Tiredly]: ..How many peanuts do you think you could fill the universe?

A small silence fills the air.

Steve: Five hundred and twenty billion trillion trillion trillion billion?

Phil: …Yeah, sounds right.

Another short silence.

Jericho: How many cheese and pickle sandwiches could fill the universe?

Phil: …..Fifty five hundred billion trillion trillion trillion kazillion?

Ivan [Yawning]: I vas thinking someving like Seventy hundred trillion trillion trillion trillion..

Phil: Maybe..

All four of them let out a unified sigh. Jericho slowly lifts her head, looking at Octopus who is simply sitting there. Feeling Jerichos gaze upon her, she raises her head, looking at her with her pale blue eyes. Jericho lowers his head again.

Jericho [Bluntly]: I fear she might want to kill us.

Ivan: No shit.

Octopus: No killing, just want something to pass the time..

Steve: Twister?

Ivan: Nah, played zat last night..

Phil: Think my idea of investing in a video games console was still a bad idea?

Jericho [Shiftily]: What about my idea of the flashing neon sign saying “Burgle us”? Considering no-one else knows about the…ding ding ching?

Phil: Good point.

Octopus: What are you fools on about?

Jericho: Absolutely nothing.

The sound of flopping flippers fills the air, marking the appearance of the walking, talking Emperor Penguin himself, Mister Dibbley. Dibbley slowly scuttles out of an alley to the right of Franks flat, sighing deeply and slopping his flippers down to his side.

Mr. Dibbley: Anyone else looking for activities to partake in to avoid dreaded boredom?

Octopus: Yes..

Ivan [Starting to get impatient]: Christ, I wish I never left Mother Vussia! At least their mercenaries are getting to kill people!

Jericho [Sarcastically]: Yeah, lets go to the place where the average life expectancy of a mercenary is one hour!

Ivan: ….Vell, not my countries fault we keep trying to detach Ocelot from ze Kremlin..

Jericho: Or Saint Petersburg, or Moscow, or--

Ivan: Yes, I get it! But here…fuck, it’s boring!!

Jericho: Yeah, this is where they send the rejects. Long live the queen and all that shit.

Mr. Dibbley: Indeed, we are the rejects, sadly. I mean, I guess the standard military had no room for an Emperor Penguin..but the jokes on them! Ocelots grip is spreading across the world!

Phil: Yeah, so we’ll be called into opportunity soon, and little miss Octopus down there will have her brain fiddled with and be at Ocelots beck and whim.

Octopus simply blinks.

Phil: Psst. This is where you say what a terrible thing that’d be.

Octopus [Shrugging]: …Eh.

Steve: Poor Bob!

Ivan: Just vat I vas thinking!

Mr. Dibbley: You know, I bet those Mexican Mechanics are having a lot of fun! Imagine it, all the grinding, hammering and bolting they must be doing…lucky buggers..I’d kill to keep busy!

Jericho: Wouldn’t we all….

Phil: I told you we should buy a Blu-Ray player, but noooooooooo!

Jericho [Swiftly]: Cause there’s nothing on telly, plus they still haven’t released classics on Blu-Ray yet, dammit! Besides, we can’t just vegetate when there’s more important things to do!

Phil: With all the..ching ching ding I’ve got, can we at least buy a fucking football?

Steve [Excitedly]: YEAH YEAH!

Jericho: Tomorrow, cause I ain’t travelling to fuckin’ Cairo today!

Phil: Cunt..

The door opens behind Octopus, and the lanky, pale form of Bob slowly walks out, rubbing his baggy eyes and yawning.

Bob [Stretching]: Hey guys…what’s up?

Mr. Dibbley: Bored to tears, old bean. There’s nothing to kill.

Phil: We could try and kill Frank? That’s always good for a laugh.

Bob: That’s not nice.

Phil: ..But it’d be funny!

Bob: I guess..Whatever guys, the least we could do is keep busy--

Ivan: Who is busy?!?!?

Bob stops talking for a moment before snapping his fingers.

Bob: I bet those Hispanic Mechanics are busy! We should see what their doing!

=The Chop Shop=

Inside the Chop Shop, a garage situated on the neighbouring street to Beale Street: Walkers Street, the Hispanic mechanics are laid, their heads together and their bodies forming a circle as they stare up at the lights. Even the boiler-suits have gone, only That Hispanic Guy, dressed in a white suit and sapphire tie, is dressed normally. Another mechanic, a tall, African-American male with a shaved head and a straggly goatee adorning his chin, walks forward, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He yawns, falling to his knees and splaying backwards, looking up at the lights.

Man: Fucking bored..

Johan: So are we, Mustafa.

Mustafa: ….When you guys came back, I was hoping for more excitement and guns..

That Random Guy: In our defence..we were expecting it too.

That Hispanic Guy: …So bored..

Stoofer: We could dress up like Vaqueros, go to Port Said and rob a factory?

That Random Guy: We did that last week. They weren’t manufacturing anything but car engines, and we’ve got a fuckload of car engines already!

Stoofer: We need to do something..

That Hispanic Guy raises his legs in the air before letting them fall to the floor.

That Hispanic Guy: ..No.

Johan [Desperately]: WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!

That Random Guy sits up, cracking his back and cricking his neck, getting to his feet.

That Random Guy: Checkers?

Johan [Sighing]: …I’ll be black.

Mustafa: That’s my job, you’re Hispanic.

A small laugh goes through the garage.

That Hispanic Guy [Tiredly]: Ahhhhhh..I want to kill something.

That Other Random Guy: Want to see if the bars are open?

Johan: And risk getting shot?

That Other Random Guy: Want to play Monopoly?

Johan: …Dibs on the race car.

That Hispanic Guy: MERDE! You’re always the car!! I hate being the iron!

Bobby: I am not being the fucking shoe.

That Hispanic Guy: Well, I am not being the IRON!

Bobby sits up too, cricking his neck and thick knuckles.

Bobby: Well, hopefully the bar will open soon..Hopefully.

==The Lamb and Flag==

Like everything else in Beale Street and Walkers Street, the Lamb and Flag was a symbol of desolation. Dick Head, the barkeep, was busy standing at the bar, wiping the same glass tankard over and over with a white cloth, not caring that his own black apron was covered in grime. To the right of the bar itself, the wooden door was ajar, showing Obese Maurice standing before an oven, lazily cleaning a skillet with a piece of iron wool, yawning to himself. Even Maurice was starting to get bored, as evidenced by his usual swinging stomach starting to recede. Moe, the four foot-seven mercenary, totters out of the kitchen door, taking off his chefs hat and throwing it up onto the bar, climbing up onto a stool and sitting there, slamming his head off the bar and laying it there. The only other three inhabitants were the girls from ReLoaded.

Wolf, her skin still as dark tan as before, but now with heavy bags under them, Tavi, the sugar-glider anthropomorphic mercenary whose tail had drooped to near lifelessness, and Courtney, the unusually-bubbly mercenary who was now in the same devoid slump as the others, are busy sitting around a table, looking bored and tired. With no new missions, and no passing military forces, ReLoaded had taken to closing early the past few weeks, and its taken its toll on the women, who are now as bored as sin and are busy taking constant refuge inside the Lamb and Flag. Wolf raises her head from her arms, looking up and watching as Dave pokes his head against the window, looking in before walking away.

Wolf [Dejected]: Even Daves lost….Fuck me, I’m bored…

Courtney: What’s everyone else doing? I mean, it’s empty in here!

Dick: Their waiting for the bar to open. I’d start opening earlier, but their tears always excite me.

Tavi: Charming……So, what can we do?

Courtney: Find a man, abduct him and make him bend to our will and whim?

Wolf sighs darkly.

Wolf [Darkly]: I don’t need a man…not anymore..

Tavi: You do, I can see that look in your eyes..

Wolf [Impatiently]: I don’t need a man!

Tavi: You do, why don’t you go down to the Academy and flutter your eyebrows?

Wolf [Getting more impatient]: ..I’d prefer to be alone.

Courtney: Let her be alone, nothing wrong with being an independent woman!

Tavi: Look, this day was always coming! I mean, it’s not our fault Phil is blind and retarded to our charms! Besides, there’s plenty more fish out there..I heard Ivans single!

Wolf; Baldie?

Tavi [Licking her lips]: Bald, tight buns, pecs as hard as a diamond..

Tavi shivers, grinning brightly.

Tavi [Teasingly]: I might just stalk him later..

Wolf [Grimly]: Look, I’m done with men, alright? God knows I used to be a Crying Wolf…Might just not wait for Ocelot and go and kill some more..Or un-suppress these memories..

The door to the Lamb and Flag, and three men enter. These men are obviously not mercenaries, judging by their broad shoulders, chiselled jaws, toned arms, their proud stature and the maroon berets adorning their heads. Their rough bodies are clad in desert camouflage and black combat vests, and their stature is tall, so tall it nearly fills the room. Two of the men walk towards a nearby table, sitting down at it and engaging in a deep, unintelligible conversation. The leader of this squad approaches the bar, looking at Dick. Dick slowly looks up at him.

Dick [Surprised, Scared]: …..Oh. Fuck. Me.

Wolfs eyes slowly light up as she scans the leader.

Wolf: …That’s what armed forces look like? Damn, I missed the memo!

Tavi [Grinning]: No way are they mercenaries!

Soldier One: Ya, can ve get some vodka here? Ve heard yours was a bar which ve could visit for alcohol…Damn Middle Eastern laws.

Dick: ….Sure, just don’t kill me!

Courtney: Hey, I thought you said you weren’t ope--!!

Tavi clamps a hand over Courtneys mouth, muffling out her words.

Tavi [Nervously]: Stop kidding, Courtney!

Tavi and Wolf laugh nervously. The other two Soldiers simply sit there, removing their AN-94 rifles from around their bodies and setting them on the linoleum at their feet, sitting back. Dick sets three small glasses, half-full with clear liquid, on the bar in front of them. The soldier instinctively sets down a handful of dollars.

Soldier One: American currency, I trust zats what you take?

Dick: We take anything as long as its got exchange value. So, yeah….Who the hell are you guys?

Soldier One: Ve’re Spetsnaz, crossing through the area on the way up to Cairo..Damn Ocelots been pushing forward again. God knows he’s always got Moscow…

The soldier gives a small sigh.

Spetsnaz Squad Leader: You’ll probably get a few more customers coming in. I know there’s a Polish vegiment passing through the Sinai..

Dick: Let them.

The leader shrugs, taking the glasses and turning around, walking over to his squads table and setting the glasses down.

Courtney: ..So what are these regiments doing passing through the Sinai?

Wolf: Does anyone care? If they all look like this, I might have to start wearing low-cut tops!

Tavi: Maybe they’re actually getting..involved in the fighting?

Wolf: That means that those..those are real men.

The leader glances over at their table quickly before turning back to his squadmates. A small smile creeps across Wolfs plump lips.

Wolf [Seductively]: The game..is on.

Dave walks past the window again, stopping and looking inside before walking off.

Dick [Angrily]: What the fuck is he doing?!

Maurices Voice: OW! DAVE! THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!

Daves Voice: Walking! It stretches the soul!

Maurice leans his head around the doorway, looking at Dick.

Maurice: Ow, bossman, open the fooking bar, will yeh?

Dick: What? Cause Daves being the random wanderer? Fuck no!

Spetsnaz One: Ya, Open the bar!!!

Spetsnaz Two [Pumping his right arm to the sky]: RIGHT! YES! OPEN BAR!

Dick sighs, leaning down and slamming his head off the bar.

Dick: One of these days? The rules of us opening at six really will come true..Alright then, ring the bell Maurice.

Spetsnaz Squad Leader [Smirking]: Let’s see your soldiers, zen!

Dick: …Why? You’ll laugh!

Spetsnaz Two: Ah, ve’ve seen it all! Don’t worry!

Maurice walks out from behind the door, holding a large cowbell.

Spetsnaz Three [Quietly]: …Okay. Interesting.

Dick: Told you..ring that shit, Maur!

Maurice opens one of the windows to the right of the door, leaning out and ringing the bell. The shrill noise echoes throughout the streets.

Dick: Where are they?

The sound of trampling feet starts to become audible in the distance.

Dick [Sighing]…Fuck.

=4:30pm – Lamb and Flag=

The desolation has been ruined: The bar is now filled to the brim with mercenaries and The Hispanic Mechanics. The Spetsnaz occasionally stop their drinking, glancing around at their familiars and ensuring none of them could pose a threat. The Hispanic Mechanics on the table to their left watch them suspiciously.

Bobby: …Whats with those guys?

Johan [Grabbing an olive from a jar in the middle of the table and popping it into his mouth]: …Spetsnaz. Interesting.

That Hispanic Guy: Fuck ‘em.

Johan: Si.

One of the soldiers glances at them.

Spetsnaz Soldier One: Hello!

Stoofer: Aloha.

Spetsnaz Soldier One: So..you’re..?

That Hispanic Guy [Bluntly]: Mechanics.

The soldier nods, turning back to his friends. Stoofer slaps Johans arm.

Stoofer [Hissing]: Put the pipe down, ese!

Johan sighs, slipping a small lead pipe back into his pocket. The double-doors part and Phil slides into the bar, wearing a golden Hawaiian shirt, looking around.

Phil: Well, time to get the party started..

Dick leans on the bar, polishing a glass as Phil taps the bar. Dick looks up at him.

Phil: Yo, Dick, usual.

Dick sighs and slams the glass down, fumbling beneath the counter.

Dick [Scathingly]: One pint of piss coming up.

Phil [Mocking laughter]: OH HOW FUCKING FUNNY!! You really should be on Family Guy, Dick!

Dick: If I was funny, I’d be the opposite.

Tom Morello, lead guitarist of Rage Against The Machine and The Nightwatchman, runs in.

Morello [Cackling]: BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!

The bar turns silent and turns towards Tom Morello.

Morello: Yeah. BURN.

Morello turns around and runs out.

Phil: Make it a glass of Magners Cider, you ass.

Dick: Paintstripper coming up

Phil turns his head, looking back at the Spetsnaz.

Phil: Hey, Dicky, whats with the red beret-wearing guys?

Dick: Spetsnaz.

Phil: Hahahaha! No, seriously.

Dick: Seriously Phil. Spetsnaz.

Phil turns around, looking over at their table. They nod quietly at him.

Phil: Do you guys still do backflipping hatchet attacks?

The Spetsnaz soldiers nod once more.

Phil: Posh twats!

Phil squeezes past the Spetsnaz table and the Hispanic mechanics table, sitting down at a table behind them where Jericho, Steve, Billy, Will and Raven are sat.

Phil: Sup? Whats with the posh twats?

Will: Phil, you rude man!

Phil: Talking about the Spatsnaz

Jericho: Spetsnaz. Well, its no secret Ocelots ramping up the attacks around Suez and Port Said, so the superpowers will have to stop him doing so..Why they haven’t asked us, I’ll never know..

Raven: Well, you guys are the rejects, the last line of defence..I mean, sometimes they send you in first to weaken them and to get killed, so the special forces can get stuck in without risking death..

Will: Lovely, isn’t she?

Billy [Sarcastically]: ….Yeahhh..

Will [Mockingly]: Shut up, Scottish peasant!

Phil drains his Magners and nods, slamming the glass down.

Phil: I shall be having several more before the night is done.

Jericho: Hey, dude, you want to go to the Dog and Handgun? Score some vagina?

Phil: Wow, these street drugs are getting awkward names. “Excuse me, I want to sniff some vagina”?

Jericho: Shut up. You know what I mean.

Phil: If I did, I wouldn’t have belittled you! Now sit still and let me taunt you more!

Raven: You guys are such fucking pigs! A womans body is not just made for sexual desires!

Jericho: ……And you do realise who your boyfriend is??

Raven: And? He obeys me, he doesn’t glance at the bodies of other women, does he?

Will [Grinning]: Thanks, babycakes.

Raven: Besides…you never see other women ogle men!

Over at Wolfs table, Wolf and Tavi are busy gazing at the Spetsnaz table, their eyes glazed over. The Spetsnaz haven’t noticed.

Wolf [Almost drooling]: …Wow. They look..hot..

Courtney [Rolling her eyes]: Jesus, eyes in the sockets, please..

Tavi: No. Can’t. Sweating.

Wolf: Should I go over? Should I?

Dave: Just fucking do it!

Wolf looks over at the table beside them: Dave, Bob, Octopus, Sal and Billy are watching them uneasily.

Sal [Right eye twitching]: Holy fuck, woman, just ignore your allegiance so you can shag a Spetsnaz, eh??

Wolf: Sssshhhh! He might hear us!

Sal: Good grief..Like a couple of schoolgirls. What do they have that we don’t?

Tavi: Looks.

Wolf: Muscles.

Courtney: Hardcore military training which allows them to feel virtually no pain?

Wolf: Muscles.

Courtney: Expert weaponry handed down from the high echelons of Russian military, capable of mincing the most stubborn enemy?

Wolf: Muscles.

Courtney [Rubbing her temple]: For fucks sake..

Tavi: Should I? Or maybe they don’t like a glider? Aww..so sad..

Bob: …You never know unless you try..

Bob nods at them in a serious manner. Tavi simply twiddles her thumbs, murring nervously. The Spetsnaz look up again, giving the table a quick look before turning around, talking to eachother in hushed tones.

Wolf [Licking her lips]: Mmm..come here baby, you can tame my wolf anyday..

Sal: I might actually..move table..

Billy: I am going…[Lighting up] to get another drink!

Billy stands up, walking over to the bar and slamming his glass down.

Billy: Yo, Dick, fill ‘er up.

Dick grabs the glass, sliding it under a tap of Pabst and pouring some in, setting the glass on the bar. Billy hands Dick a few dollars, watching as the beer starts shaking.

Billy: ..What the fuck?

Dick [Tensely]: …Uh oh. It’s Lynch. He’s back from the Academy.

Billy: Oh fuck, the Academy?

The Spetsnaz slowly raise their heads.

Spetsnaz Squad Leader: What is going on?

The sounds of stomping get louder and the double-doors to the Lamb and Flag fly open. The tall, intimidating form of Marcus Lynch stands before them: His white hair slicked back from sweat on his scalp, and his bronze skin showing a new form of a tan from travelling through the Sinai. Being the newly-placed Captain of this mercenary Company, his vest and shorts have been replaced by a khaki blazer and pants, accompanied by black boots. A lone medal, made with white ribbon with a blue stripe in the middle and the medallion in the shape of a snowflake, is pinned to the breast of his left pocket. He narrows his beady eyes, looking around the bar.

Lynch: …No medal-wearing?

A silence descends across the bar. Only Jericho is wearing his, pinned to the right breast of his camelskin trenchcoat.

Lynch [Scathingly]: Well, you earned them. Let them collect dust, you fucking parasites. You’re heroes, you fucking idiots!

Lynch stops talking, his eyes floating over to the three Spetsnaz soldiers sitting around their table.

Lynch: Wow, Spetsnaz. At last, a fucking equal.

Spetsnaz Squad Leader: Who are you?

Lynch: The name is Marcus Lynch. Captain. Former Navy SEAL and Green Beret.

Spetsnaz Squad Leader: Interesting. Vell, nice to meet you.

Lynch: Likewise. [Commandingly] Now, mercenaries, I command you all to shut the fuck up and put your eyes and your ears ON ME! RIGHT NOW!

On cue, the mercenaries heads snap around, facing Lynch intently. The Spetsnaz simply watch, almost bemused by the sudden shift in attitude.

Lynch: Alright. I’ve been travelling through the Sinai, and to the Academy. Now, I know that all of you have been completely and utterly bored..Well, I have some good news. Great news. I was talking to a squad leader within the Taliban who had visited. Well, Taliban..I’d rather say Mujahidin. Freedom fighters. Also, a guy representing the Irish Republicans…and even a few Chechens were there! Calm down, Spetsnaz guys..Anyway--

Billy: Seriously? Taliban?

Bob: Irish Republican Army? Really? Those cut-throats?

Dave: Yeah, we do have a few Brits in here…making friends with the Irish?

A vein pulses in Lynchs temple.

Lynch [Holding his anger]: You mean none of you have done your research?

The mercenaries shake their heads uneasily.

Lynch [Breathing out, sighing]: Look, the Irish Republican Army are on our side, alright? So are the Chechen Seperatists.. [Bitterly] well, until someone killed two of them.

Phil grins, slapping his thighs.

Phil [Inanely]: That was me.

Lynch: So are the Taliban. Got it? Not one of those psychotic groups like that Ocelot is rubbing his balls in their faces. Irelands pissed that Raven Swords humping them like Britain, Chechnyas pissed about having to deal with Ocelots own Otsetoloya Khavatka using Russia as a base to ship in his own troops by the thousands on them, and the Middle East? Well, you know about the Taliban, right?

Dave: Yeah, we’ve had a few meals and shit with them. The odd meet. Never exchanged weapons though, mainly because we’ve got the better weapons and they’ve got…camels.

Bob [Speaking up]: Hey, those camels come in handy when the petrol ration is running low!

Lynch: And the Irish?

Phil [Grimly]: Haven’t dealt with them. Never.

Lynch: Well, I have. Nasty fuckers. Very nasty fuckers. Driven, but nasty. Would cut your throat if you ever turned your back on them, but they have weapons we need. So, I knew that a few of you needed jobs to keep busy. For you Hispanic Mechanics, the Irish need someone to rig up carbombs. It’s easy, they’ll leave five or six jeeps around the south Walkers Street, you take them, rig them, drive them back into the same spot, they’ll pick them up the next week. Steady source of income, is that alright?

Johan [Ecstatically]: Si!

Stoofer: Rigging carbombs..Well, you’ve got to make a living somehow, as long..as long as it’s killing the right people.

Lynch: Don’t worry, those bombs are going directly to Ocelots own offices and barracks himself.

That Hispanic Guy: Then we duly..accept!

Lynch: Good men! Now, as for the rest of you, I organized three different weapons trades for the comings months. The Irish will be dropping off a supply of AR-15s, Claymores and LPO-Fifty Flamethrowers, in exchange for a cache of M-79s and Javelins. Thank fuck some of us have ties to Vietnam, eh? Hard to get ahold of M-79s nowadays..

Phil: Well, Ivan swears by his.

Ivan grins, waving at Lynch.

Lynch [Perturbed]: …Yeah. The Taliban will give us some AKs and PMN mines, useful for when those bastards roll in on trucks, in exchange for M60s. Again, Vietnam ties..Very good! [Smiling] Finally, the Chechens will be supplying us with Makarovs, Dragunovs and some lovely AK-74s…in exchange for AR-15s, LPO-Fifty Flamethrowers and Claymores! Decent trade, don’t you think?

The mercenaries murmur in agreement.

Lynch: But that’s not all that’s happening. From what I heard, some documentary filmmaker wants to visit us and shoot some footage around this little corner of heaven, something about the government wasting money on mercenaries their not bothering to use.

Lynch waves him arms in mock-joy.

Lynch [Bitterly]: Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Anyway, this also means we’re getting two special visitors soon, President Sears is sending up Ambassador Rosenburg, while…….she..will be vistiting.

Sal: She? Who?

Lynch [Bluntly]: HER.

The mercenaries remain silent.

Bill: …..Whosit?

Lynch [Bitterly]: Mother Mercenary.

A violent ripple of terror shivers through the spine of every mercenary within the bar. Dick simply blinks, while the females and Spetsnaz look around, watching as the male mercenaries suddenly have the color drained from their skin.

Wolf: Who?

Jericho [Quietly, Terrified]: …Mother.

Billy [Murmuring]: I’ve never felt so much fear before..but her…HER!

Lynch: Do you girlies seriously think that you’re the only women in this conflict?

Wolf: Ye--

Lynch [Patronisingly]: WROOOOOOOOOOONG!! Mother Mercenary is perhaps the most psychotic, cold-hearted female you will ever see. EVER.

Vince: She doesn’t even leave her office in the Academy unless it’s a special occasion. But there have been a few times she’s left…Remember back in 2011, the massacre at Palestine with all those anti-war demonstrators?

Wolf: Vaguely.

Vince: Not only did she send the units in and tell them to open fire, she took part in it! I mean, the protestors did get their hands on a cache of AKs, but she just opened fire and BANG! Wiped them all out! Fuck me, that was some paperwork, wasn’t it lads? In fact, weren’t you there, Lynch?

Lynch: It was me, Sal, Frank, Dean, Karab, Phil and Steve. Of course, they didn’t open fire…Isn’t that right?

Phil: Look, how many times do I have to tell you: Looting followed by shooting. It’s not my fault some of those guys parked their peace-sign covered trailers near the protest, and carried money and decent food with them! We were living off fucking gruel, Lynch! GRUEL!

Sal [Remembering, shivering]: Jesus, It wasn’t even gruel..Oats and water, that’s it. “Toughens you up” my ass.

Frank: Toughened my ass up. I shat for weeks.

Lynch: Look…She’s visiting, alright? You know what that means?

Mercenaries: Yes..

Lynch [Pointing across the room]: Suits on, mouths cleansed from curse words, this pub serves tea…Remember to wear those fucking medals. You will treat eachother with courtesy and respect, but you will also remember that if any of you are given a skills test to fluff that shit, we don’t want any of you being shipped up to Cairo…or even shipped to Lebanon, South Africa or somewhere where Ocelots dug his nutsack in.

Will [Wincing]: Dude, stop mentioning that old mans nutsack!

Lynch: Alright, so that’s it. I’ll know when she’s coming at a later date. Before her, the documentary guy arrives.

Sal [Excitedly]: Michael Moore?!

Phil [Excitedly]: Louis Theroux??!

Lynch: NO! The guys name is Rex Houghton. REX Houghton. He’ll be arriving in two weeks time, so I want you all to be on your fucking best behaviour, alright? Capiche? If he asks you anything that could make you slander the government..Slander the government, but don’t slander your team-mates, alright?!

Mercenaries [In Unison]: RIGHT!

Lynch; Now that that is all said and done..

Lynch tears off his blazer, revealing a red Hawaiian shirt, and throws it over the bar.

Lynch: Dick, hit me with a bottle of Bud. Make it cold.

Dick leans under the bar, pulling out a frosted bottle of Budweiser and handing it to him.

Lynch: Put it on my rent.

Dick: Will do.

Sal: He gets a tab?

Dick [Angrily]: HE PAYS IT!

Lynch turns to Sal, pointing at him and laughing cruelly before walking forward, sitting down at Phils table between Will and Jericho.

Lynch: So, assholes, hows the fort been holding?

Jericho: Got some supplies from the Suez. Already shipped around, digged into..Should keep us afloat for…five days?

Lynch [Not listening]: Yeah, great to hear.

Ivan: So..Mother Mercenary..

Raven: Is she really that bad?

Jericho: “The Demon of the East.”. That’s what I’ve heard plenty of mercenaries call her. When you’ve got entire battalions at your command..Battalions of mercenaries, no less? You send that shit out and make your name known.

Raven: I’d have heard of anyo--

Phil: Phantom Company. First ones to make their names known. Deployed to Dubai, practically tore the place apart searching for Ocelot. Hotels destroyed, buildings turned into dust. Seventh Polish Squadron. Fighter pilots, known as the “Sky Masters”. Carpet bombed Bolivia upon hearing Ocelot set up forces there. Over five thousand dead. Ghost Company--

Raven: I get it.

Lynch: No, you’ll love Ghost Company. Those cunts massacred ten villages in Lebanon. I hate those bastards…Gutless rodents.

Phil: She’s got plenty more, and each one of them gets nastier..except us, Company Ten and the Egyptian Rats..known as Company Five.

Lynch: Jesus, there isn’t a more incompetent team than Company Ten. Remember the collateral damage they used to pull out? Fuck, they almost destroyed Moscow through idiocy alone!

Frank: HEY! I used to be a part of Company Ten!

Frank walks into the bar, accompanied by Mantis.

Lynch: Yeah, well, they moved you here because you were better, remember?

Frank: ..Oh yeah!

Frank stands there absent-mindedly, his hand on the rear of Screaming Mantis.

Frank: Ooooo..soft.

Mantis smirks, grasping his hand and squeezing it.

Mantis: Wait until we get home, Frank.

Dave: Please do!

Lynch slams his bottle down, belching loudly and looking around the bar.

Lynch: Right, I fancy checking out the poon, whose with me?

Phil: Sure, need something to fire at, if you know what I mean..

Lynch: ..I don’t. Was that supposed to be a sexual joke?

Phil: I try.

Lynch: And fail. But sure, tag along, rookie.

Phil stands up, cracking his knuckles. Jericho drains the dregs of his glass, standing up and patting Phils shoulder.

Jericho: I’m rocking with it.

Ivan: Yes..me too..me too..

Lynch: Alright assholes, on me.

Bill: Kinky bitch!

Lynch: SHUT UP, HILLBILLY!!

=Dog and Handgun=

The strip club situated just two houses down from the Lamb and Flag is bustling with the few mercenaries who decided to forego the drinking and mindless chatter for something a little more risqué. Lynch, Phil, Jericho and Ivan file in through the double doors and into the darkness which is lit only by circles of pink, blue and yellow light which dart eratically across the walls. A long, varnished catwalk with a strippers pole near a velvet curtain at the back extends from the western wall to halfway across the room, where it ends just a few feet away from the bar. Lynch sits on a deep, blue-cloth chair while Phil walks over to the bar.

Phil: Yo..Brick? Jon?

Vince pops up from behind the bar, his beard trimmed, his hair slicked back and a sky-blue Hawaiian shirt on his back. A small grin peers across his tired face.

Vince: Hello!

Phil: ….Why is it everywhere we go, mercenaries are wearing Hawaiian shirts?

Lynch: Hawaiian shirts are the sign of a man relaxing and having fun. It takes a real stupid asshole to even think of denying a man with a Hawaiian shirt his fun and games.

Brick stops hammering the sign and starts desperately pulling at the nail. Lynch drains the remains of his Guinness and slams the pint glass down, leaving nothing but foam and brown dregs.

Lynch: Not even buzzed yet.

Phil: Can we get some booze? Four pints of anything, as long as its fizzy and makes us buzz like bees on opium.

Vince: …Well, I have opium!

Ivan [Slurring]: FIYUHWATAH!!

Vince: ..Yeah, he’s had enough.

Phil slips his hand into his right pocket, pulling out a wad of dollar notes and slipping them across the bar. Vince snatches up the wad and flicks his fingers through it, eyeing Phil suspiciously.

Vince: You aren’t asking me to put it on your tab. In fact..you’ve just PAID OFF your tab..

A door flies open behind several false shelves of the bar, opening up directly behind Vince. Brick runs over, staring at the wad.

Brick: HOTDAMN! We’re eating steak tonight! No more reindeer meat!

Jericho [Walking past Phil, muttering quietly]: Nice job, dumbass..

Phil shrugs and turns around, sitting beside Lynch and placing his hands on his knees, whistling quietly. Lynch sighs, putting two fingers into his mouth and giving a shrill whistle. Jon runs out onto the stage and looks at them.

Jon: WHAT?!

Lynch [Slamming his hand on the catwalk]: BOOBS. NOW.

Phil: Can we have the booze, too?

Ivan [Slurring]: FIYUHWATAH!!

Jon: Jesus, none for you Ivan! You just drank candle wax!

Ivan sets down a glass, burping out a red ball and a small flicker of flame.

Ivan [Slurring]: Vell..tastes…FIYUHWATAH!!

Vince strolls over, carrying several glasses and setting them on the edge of the bar.

Vince: Alright guys, here we go…pints and one special shot each.

Phil eyes his neon-green-liquid-filled shotglass uneasily.

Phil [Suspiciously]: The fuck is this?

Lynch: Looks like pus.

Brick: That there’s my special moonshine blend! It’ll put the hairs on yer chest and up your shaft! DRINK UP! MAKES YER BALLS SPIN LIKE WHIRLING DERVISHES!

Sal: I’m not sure I want to now.

Phil shrugs and downs his shot, his left eye twitching as a crotch-length beard shoots out of the lower half of his face.

Phil [Grinning]: AWWW SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!

Lynch: GIMME SOME OF THAT!

Lynch downs his shot..Nothing happens.

Lynch: ..What the fuck?

Lynch looks down at his forearms, which are now criss-crossed with bulging veins.

Lynch [Smirking]: Fucking hell!

The doors open once more and Bill strolls in, hands in his pockets.

Bill: Sup? The tits out yet?

Jon: We’re getting there!

Bill: SWEET!

Bill rushes over, sitting next to Jericho who hasn’t touched his shot, instead eyeing it with suspicion.

Jon: Alright, we managed to find a stripper that you guys haven’t ridiculed or belittled. Now..hang on to your hats, because this one is exotic as fu--[Angrily]—IVAN! GET AWAY FROM THE POLE!

Ivan has his hands wrapped around the pole, waving his head from side to side in time to the Techno.

Ivan [Boisterously]: VOOT!! I AM SEXXXYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sal: Wow….dudes got skills. HIRE HIM!!

Jon grabs a broom and shoos Ivan down into his seat. Ivan gives a loud groan and motions a slap at Jon, missing and collapsing off the stage and into his seat.

Ivan [Hiccuping]: Vell hello baby…you’re zoft..

Jon: Well, as I was saying..this one is a hot girl you all know, and I know some of you fantasise about being in bed with!

Phil [Excitedly]: PAMELA ANDERSON?!

Lynch [Excitedly]: HALLE BERRY?!

Bill [Excitedly]: CARMEN ELECTRA?!?

Jon [Sarcastically]: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! No. Please welcome…Allura!

Lynch [Mockingly]: BOOOOOOO!!!

Jon: SHUTTHEFUCKUP!!

Jon jumps off the stage, clapping his hands. The techno music is replaced with a shrill, gaudy Egyptian tune, and a stripper, clothed in a transparent golden cloth, walks out, her eyes painted dark with eyeshadow, her svelte, tanned form snaking up the pole with expert precision, her full hips swaying in time to the music, her waist-length black hair flowing in the neon lights.

Lynch: …Sweet mama!

Phil takes a drink from his pint, watching Alluras hips sway.

Phil: Well, That’s some good shit.

Bill: Urge to spend money..rising.

Bill stands up robotically, handing Allura a handful of dollar bills. Allura takes them, slipping them into the side of her thong before Bill sits down robotically, blinking.

Bill: What the fuck just happened?

Jon: That’s right, Allura! All the way from Johannesburg!

Lynch: Wow. That’s something, alright.

Phil: Yup, this is the life.

Jericho: Ogling a strippers tits? ..I guess.

Ivan: FIYUHWATAH!!

Vince rushes over, lining up one more of the neon-green shots in front of each man. All of them grasp the shotglasses and down them in unison..

=Midnight=

Lynch slowly stumbles out of the doors of the Dog and Handgun, hacking violently and swaying left and right.

Lynch: ….Fuuuuccckkkkk…

He stumbles to the left, slowly walking down the sands towards the Lamb and Flag. Walking past him, Wolf and Tavi are following the squad of Spetsnaz soldiers, giggling like schoolgirls. The Spetsnaz look around, waving them closer and quickly run into an alley opposite the Lamb and Flag.

Tavi: Mmm! The thrill of the chase!

Wolf and Tavi run into the dark alleyway, disappearing from sight as Courtney walks out of the Lamb and Flag, hands on her hips. Seeing Tavi and Wolf disappear makes her tut as the Hispanic mechanics walk out behind her, chatting to eachother.

Courtney: Bunch of fucking amateurs.

Johan: Indeed, because they do not wear..SOMBRERO!!!

Johan points to That Random Guy, who emerges from the bar wearing a straw sombrero with a gaudily-coloured rainbow band across the brim. He grins, waving his arms.

Courtney: ..Yeah.

Courtney snorts, turning around and walking back up towards ReLoaded. Phil, now standing uneasily on the edge of the Dog and Handguns roof, looks down at her.

Phil: COURTNEY! COURTNEY!

Courtney stops, glancing up and raising an eyebrow.

Phil: YOU’LL ALWAYS BE SEXY TO ME!

Phil hiccups, stumbling forward and screaming, falling off of the roof, hitting the sand below with a dull crunch. Courtney smirks, shrugging her shoulders.

Courtney: Still got it!

Courtney strolls off, ignoring Phils twitching body. Will and Raven, walking back toward their house, look down at Phil. Will snorts, flicking a coin onto Phils body.

Will: Get a coin, bum!

Brick looks over the edge of the roof, down at Phils twitching body as Will and Raven walk off.

Brick: Ouch.

Brick stumbles back, laying on a blue towel. Jericho, Bill, Jon, Vince and Ivan are also laying on towels, arms behind their head, looking up at the clear sky, admiring the sparkling stars embedded into the eternal sheet of onyx.

Jericho: …Well, looks like everythings going to get better.

Jon: That’s what everyone thinks..

Vince: Jerry, do you think life will get better?

Jericho: It’s got to..Hasn’t it?

Bill: Yeah. Too bad the wars starting to spread..

Vince: We’ll stave it off, right? …Right?

They watch as a B-52 Bomber zooms overhead, cutting a swath in the sky above. A few seconds, an explosion erupts nearby, causing their eardrums to rumble violently and a plume of black smoke to quaver barely over the visible horizon to the north-east.

Jericho: No, not really.

Bill, Jericho, Ivan, Vince, Brick and Jon sigh sadly to themselves.

COMING SOON: PART II - A visitor arrives among the mercenaries in the shape of Rex Houghton, who plans to interview the mercs and get a first-hand view of the horrors of Middle Eastern "warfare". As the mercenaries desperately scramble keep themselves busy in the waiting game for Big Shell, witness Falling Shelves, Playing ‘Chicken’ with a tank, Boiled Frogs Legs and A farewell to a certain ‘chilly’ friend!

Chapter XIII - The Calm Before the Storm

The scene opens up the dull, blank set of concrete stairs sloping downwards. Darkness engulfs the Mercenaries, walking single file down them. The blizzard still rages audibly outside, but the mercenaries are starting to get warmer as they make their descent.

Frank: Mmm..toasty..

Lynch: Quiet, drunkie. We’re not here to get warm.

Will: Why?! I am sick and tired of being in the fucking cold!

Sal: Well, its not cold here…ON DISC TWO!!

Dramatic music.

Will: …It is a bit.

Sal: It won’t be any longer..ON DISC TWO!!

More dramatic music. Bill slaps him around the back of his bald head.

Bill: Move it, you bastard.

Sal; Onwards..TO DISC TWO!!

Before dramatic music can play, Brick kick Sal in the butt, sending him tumbling down the stairs and hitting the wall at the bottom with the back of his head.

Sal: I’m alright! I’m alright!

Sal slowly stands up, cracking his arm back into place. His eyes widen and tear up.

Lynch: Oh no--

Sal: OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--

=In the TNA iMPACT Zone.=

Alex Shelley: And we would just like to tell you, Beer Money, that--SAL?!

Robert Roode: SAL?! We’re challenging you to a No Holds Barred match for those Tag Team Championships, Guns, What do you mean Sal?!

Sabin: SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLL!!

=In the Middle East circa 2014=

Dick hands Jim a pint of Budweiser. Jim walks over to a lone table, brushing his hand over Jons shoulder, removing the cobwebs from him. He sits down and stops, looking up at the sky.

Jim: Poor, rich fucker.
=Shadow Moses, Blast Furnace=

--UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Lynch: Shut the fuck up and open the door.

Sal turns to his right and clicks a finger at the door. It doesn’t open. Dave storms forward and unleashes a clip of SOCOM bullets into the control panel, causing the door to override and open.

Dave: DONE! Now outta the way!

Dave shoves Sal aside and walks through the door, which is now emitting an orange haze.

Phil: Let’s go into the room which is giving off the colour scheme of Hell. REALLY smart, guys.

Dean: C’mon Phil, there’s no such thing as Hell!

Phil: Like there’s no such thing as Wendigos, The Four Horsemen, Reapers and Hellhounds?

Dean narrows his eyes.

Dean: ..You win this round, monkey boy.

Brick: MOVE IT YA BUMS!!

The mercenaries shuffle single file down the stairs, turning right and entering through the door into the Blast Furnace.

If one could imagine a physical embodiment of Hell, chances are it would look similar to the Blast Furnace. The intense heat coming from the bright yellow, white-hot liquid metal scum in a giant pool beneath their feet causes a blast of agonizing heat to wave over them. With the metal gridded catwalk, shaped like a fat L with one lone strut walking uselessly over the pool to their left, helping to reflect the heat, while the concrete reinforced walls serve to insulate it, the mercenaries start rolling their sleeves up almost immediately, sweat running like rivers and visible skin turning bright shades of red. To their left, a tiny concrete outcropping runs from the south wall, onto the west wall, and onto another section of catwalk, which leads to a diagonally sloping set of concrete steps, down onto the concrete floor, and presumably onto their destination. Notably, the concrete floor below the catwalks and neighbouring the pool of scum does not have a railing around it, unlike the metal catwalks. A huge screech and groan fills the air, causing the mercenaries to jolt left: A crane, attached to the ceiling via a series of metal girders, patrols north and south, little more than a metal box on a hook, not doing anything of importance aside from sweeping the concrete outcropping on the wall.

Lynch: Fuck. It’s. Hot.

Will: Finally, you appreciate me!

Billy: Shut up, pansy boy!

Mr. Dibbley: Urggh..us penguins prefer the cold..this heat is..horrendous..

Mr. Moneypennies: Sheeeittt…me too..

Jericho: Keep strong lads, keep strong.

Sal reaches into his pocket, pulling out an egg, smashing it against the wall and dropping the insides to the catwalk: It starts frying immediately.

Bill: Ah..shit.

The egg explodes into flames and the mercenaries eyes widen.

Mercenaries: Ah, shit!

Lynch: Quiet!

The mercenaries look at lynch: Patrolling the stretch of catwalk over the pool of scum is a lone guard, his uniform strangely covered in blood. He gazes vacantly over the pool.
Frank: Shit, guards. Think they know about our intrusion?

Karab: Probably not.

That Other Random Guy leans back against the wall, before jumping up and screaming violently, dancing around.

That Other Random Guy: MY BACK! MY BACK! MY SPINE IS COOKING!

The guard turns to the mercenaries immediately.

Guard: I SEE ZEM!!

Bill: Nice going, *Beep*, you DICK!!

Guard: DON’T MOVE!!!

Bob: Why is it always the French?

Sal: Inexperienced cheese-eating surrender monkeys?

Guard: FUCK YOU!!

Bob: Oh, him. We beat his ass and crushed his ass with Bam Bam Bigelow.

Silence.

Bob: Wait a minute.

Guard: Yes, zats right..I LIVE!

Frank: HOW?!?!?

Guard: Your wrestler only knocked me unconscious! Concussed me, broke my coccyx, but I live!!

Lynch: Look, you’ve obviously got chops, so get the fuck out of the way and you live.

Guard: NEVER!

He spreadeagles his arms, standing in front of them.

Frank: Alright, who wants this one?

Jericho steps forward, throwing his cigar onto the metal grating of the catwalk and rolling up the sleeves of his trenchcoat and white shirt.

Jericho: This French poof is mine..

The guard chuckles, adopting a Queensbury Rules stance, bobbing back and forth on his feet.

Jericho: Whats your name, pansy?

Guard: Zey call me Fabien!

Jericho: My names Jericho, and Fabien is something you call a Poodle.

Fabien: Fuck you Jericho!

Jericho: Remove your mask, tosser.

Fabien stops his stance and stands still, grabbing his mask and pulling it off. Surprisingly, Fabiens face shows wear and tear. His forehead has two scars running down the left and right side, a large cross-shaped scar on his right cheek, and his bottom lip has a long white gash across it which, accompanied by the fact it hangs loosely from his mouth, is homage to Fabiens violent background. His head is crowned with spiky black hair, his nose is bent, crooked and small, pointed. His jaw is broad, and covered with thin black stubble. Deep wrinkles have started to engrain his cheeks, yet his eyes do not have any bags under them.

Jericho: So..fighter? Impressive. You might not be a poof.

Bill: Oh man, he looks nasty. Looks like he a fought a bear and the bear won.

Brick: Lookin’ like he fought in the backwaters of Texas!

Fabien simply smiles, fists still clenched.

Fabien: Shall ve fight, my inzane opponent???

Jericho, having scanned Fabiens face, nods and grabs Karab, shoving him in front of him. Karab raises his metal shield and whimpers.

Karab: If you hit me, it counts as racial prejudice!

Fabien stands straight. Karab slowly looks out from behind his shield.

Karab: Peace?

Lynch: C’MON FAGGOTS! FIGHT! FIGHT OR SNAKE DIES YOU FUCKING YELLOWBELLY TWATS!!

Karab nods and runs backwards, standing at the back of the mercenaries. Fabien wipes his brow and grins.

Fabien: It’z getting hot in here! Imagine if you leave Snake to face ze might of Vulcan Raven ALONE!

Lynch folds his arms, unaware that the mercenaries have formed a huddle behind him. They disband a few seconds later and Frank steps forward.

Frank: Let the record show that would not be a bad thing!

Lynch growls and grabs the long-sleeved white shirt of his combat fatigues and tears them off, along with his combat vest, revealing chiselled pecs, abs and lats. Interestingly, a long scar winds down his back, around the area of his spine, and another set of what looks like raised claw marks, silver in colour, under his right arm.

Sal: How uncouth. Fighting needlessly. We can resolve this with words!

Billy: Seriously, ya rich tosser?
Sal: No. KICK HIS ASS AND BREAK HIS TEETH, LYNCHY!

Lynch turns to his mercenaries and pumps his arms to the air, looking for some support. The mercenaries punch the air and cheer, showing some support for their long-suffering leader for the very first time. Lynch turns to Fabien and wipes his brow.

Lynch: Pretty fucking hot, actually.

Bill: Duh, blast furnace!

Brick: I think you’ll find it’s a melting pot!

Bill: Whatever, Bricky.

Phil: Oh man, I have got ball soup going on right now..

Bob turns to Phil

Bob: That was WAY TOO MUCH INFORMATION!

Phil adjusts the crotch of his trousers.

SaL: Same here, it’s too fucking hot!

Lynch: SHUT UP! Fabien, I’m going to give you one last chance you snail-eating, wine-drinking Gallic faggot, turn around and move the fuck away or I will beat your ass to hell and back!

Vince: He means it! He beats us regularly!

Phil: Can’t we just shoot him? In fact, why aren’t we shooting him?

Lynch: Cause sometimes, we need to do something crazy, something stupid, but something that one day might make a movie.

A murmuring of agreement across the mercenaries.

Will: Only if I play myself! NO-ONE can replicate these looks!

That Other Random Guy: Except a shrivelled turd.

Will: OH HA HA! Look at you, *Beep*! You look like a mix between a paper bag and a bulldogs cock!

Fabien: Zere is also ze fact zat I hold ze codes to Liquids key card and ze blast doors blocking ze way which cannot possible be destroyed?

Vince: There’s that too.

Lynch: SHUT UP FAGGOTS!

The mercenaries line up against the wall the door is on, holding their rifles close. Lynch and Fabien pace around the elevated floor. Lynch snags a shoelace on one of the irregular metal grids and pulls, looking down at it.

Lynch: Huh, that could b--

Fabien zooms forward and hits Lynch with a quick jab to the jaw, Lynch spins around

Lynch: CRIKEY!

Lynch falls to his knees and Fabien walks forward, jettisoning his boot up into Lynchs gut. Lynch is kicked up, freed from the grid, and rolls to the feet of Bob, who leans down, grabs him under his arms and picks him up, patting his back.

Bob: THE FIRST RULE OF FIGHT CLUB IS KICK THE FUCKING FRENCHY!!

Sal: Actually, the first rule of Fight Club is you don’t tal--

Brick grabs Sals shoulder and slams him backwards into the wall, the back of his head snapping against concrete and knocking him unconscious.

Brick: Get ‘im done, Lynchy!

Brick takes off his camouflage baseball cap and wipes his brow as the heat seems to intensify

Brick: Wowwee! It’s hotter than a swamp gaters stomach!

Lynch lunges at Fabien, who steps to the side. Lynch collides with the railing and Fabien runs at him, shoulder down. Lynch quickly jumps to the left and Fabien quickly ducks lower, only to backflip and smash his lower spine off the railing, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Phil: T-T-T-TOTAL WIPEOUT!!

Dean: He fought the railing and the railing won!

Fabien slowly gets to his knees, only for Lynch to slam his foot into the side of his temple. Fabiens head slams to the side and he collapses. Lynch nods and cricks his neck from side to side.

Lynch: HEAR ME ROAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!

Lynch lets out a deep bellow from the pit of his stomach.

That Other Random Guy: HA!

Silence. Lynch turns to him, his right eye twitching and pulsing violently.

That Other Random Guy: I MEAN YOU GREAT! ALL HAIL OUR COMMANDANTE!

Bill: You faggot.

Fabien gets onto his knees again, but Lynch grabs the back of his hair roughly, twisting the strands between his gnarled hands and slamming his forehead into the second-level of railing. Fabien yelps, and Lynch does it again, before turning his neck to the side and slamming the side of his temple into the railing, throwing him down onto the metal grating, spitting down.

Lynch: YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!

Fabien slowly raises his head up.

Fabien: ….You…vin..

Fabiens head collapses down onto the grating. Lynch looks down at him and taps him with his foot.

Lynch: Wake up, French Fry.

Bill: Can we move now? My balls are running like a river.

Will takes off his shirt and wrings it, causing a mini waterfall to flow into the furnace.

Will: Boys…You got a dream coming true! Will Studlin, here,. Barechested and sweating!

Sal: I think I’ve vomited in my mouth.

Dean: So have I.

Karab: I vomited out my mouth.

Karab doubles over and vomits violently onto the grating. The mercenaries groan and scatter from the wall.

Will: Oh, that’s classy man.

Lynch: I ain’t killing you, that’d be a waste of a good blade.

Fabien: The code iz one-seven-zero-seven.

Lynch: …Eh?

Fabien: FOR ZE DOOR, YOU UZELESS AMERICAN PEEG!!!

Lynch slams his foot down on Fabiens face roughly. Fabiens head collapses to the side, eyes closed.

Lynch: ….I think I killed him.

Mr. Dibbley: Oh, how charming! He gives us the code, and you kill him!

Moe: Well, that’s one less guard to worry about.

Sal: Chivalry has died, gentlemen, for you just stomped a Frenchman.

Lynch: How in the name of Jesus Christs cock does that mean chivalry has died?

Phil: I dunno, but that looks like it hurt.

Brick: Look! He even left them funny grooves on Frenchies face!

Karab: Did you really need to do that?

Lynch: You’re right, I didn’t, so lie on the floor and let me stomp YOUR face instead, you fucking Indian bastard!!

Dean: Dawwww..he called him what he is. Hear that Karab? That was a compliment!

Will: Shut up, you pasty bastards, and admire the sweat!

Will gives a seductive jiggle of his pecs, which can only be described as a material filled with lumps of meaty jelly rather than muscle, towards Bill. Bill screams repeatedly at the top of his lungs and claws at the wall.

Bill: HELP! HELP! RAPE! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPE!!!!!!

Silence. The mercenaries slowly turn to Bill, eyebrows cocked.

Bill: I thought he was going to rape me!

Will: HAHAHAHAHA No. I can do much better than you, you disgusting bastard.

Billy: Both of ya, shut up!

Robbie: Seeing Will is making my eyes bleed.

Dave: Agreed. Maybe we should kill him.

Will: Yeah yeah..kill me and immortalize the studmuffin!

Dave pulls his SOCOM from out his belt and pulls back the slide on the barrel, securing the magazine.

Dave: Yeah, I’m gonna kill him--

Moe: Stop! Now!

Lynch: WHY?! KILL HIM, DAVE!!

Moe: Maurice, mate..Behind you.

Maurice: Ahh no, it’s a propah dick behind me, isn’there?

Phil: He’s trying his luck.

Bill: WE CAN SEE YOU!!

Maurice turns around and the guard yelps, jumping up and dropping his FAMAS to the ground. Maurice growls and twists his neck from side to side, making a series of cracking and popping sounds echo throughout the Blast Furnace.

Guard One: Umm..hello?

Maurice keeps advancing on the guard, who backs into a railing. He gulps and looks down below him at the unforgiving metal scum, reaching temperatures in the range of thousands of degrees, a plunge of which would strip flesh from bones. The guard looks at Maurice and raises his shaking arms.

Guard One: Parley?

Maurice turns around, before jolting his head at the guard

Maurice: BOO!

The guard screams and steps back, falling over the railing and collapsing backwards.He falls straight down into the boiling metal scum of the furnace. The guard kicks and screams, flailing his arms as the metal scum starts to boil and burn away his khaki fatigues.

Phil: Awww..look, he’s swimming!

Dean: I really don’t think his skins supposed to be stripping off though.

The guards head ducks beneath the scum before resurfacing, his skin peeling and raw, causing much scarlet to flow across the surface of the molten scum.

Sal: Aw man, that’s nasty Maurice.
Maurice: Not ma fault, y’know?

Mr. Dibbley waddles over, looking over the railing.

Mr. Dibbley: MY WORD! That mans flesh seems to be melting off!

Sal: That it is, Pingu..That it is.

A skull, gleaming and white, slowly bobbles up across the surface, gleaming in the vivid metal scum.

Dean: Well, that’s him done for. Shall we get on with this?

Phil: On with what?

Lynch: DOWN HERE YOU SLOW CUNTS!

Mr. Dibble, Dean, Phil, Maurice and Sal looks around: Lynch is on a concrete platform below them, standing near a liftshaft which was little more than a cage wheeling up a weak metal plank. Lynchs face was red from the heat, and he wiped his brow: The heat of the Furnace was getting much more intense, as judged by the irridiscent glow that seemed to brighten even these lifeless, grey concrete walls that enapsulated it. One could only imagine what the concrete floor felt like. Dean walked over to the railing, looking down at Lynch.

Dean: OI! HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET DOWN THERE??!!

Lynch blinks.

Lynch: IT’S ONLY TEN AND A BIT FEET!! YOU CAN FUCKING JUMP AND ROLL YOU LAZY CUNTS!!

Dean turns to the mercenaries. Dave and Robbie were busy pulling Wills uniform over his head while Brick sat on his legs, pinning him down.

Mr. Dibbley: Oh, what a blessed relief!
Dean: Lets just jump, shall we?

Dean turns around and hauls himself over the railing, making the drop down and rolling across the concrete with his head in his arms to avoid a deadly impact. He gets to his feet and salutes Lynch.

Dean: See? I’m here. I’m cool. I am awesome.

Lynch: Chevrolet?

Dean: Yes’m?

Lynch: Shut the FUCK up.

Dave and Robbie haul Will over to the railing and rock him left and right.

Dave and Robbie: One..two..THREE!

They throw him over the railing and Will screams, rolling across the hot cement with a dull crunch. Dave and Robbie quickly vault over the railing, rolling across the cement when they hit it. Phil walks over to the railing and looks down.

Phil: ….About that, fuck that, I’m catching the lift.

Phil walks to his right and jabs a finger against the rusted control panel on one of the gridded gates which held the tiny cargo lift for the Blast Furnace. The lift creaks violently, before heading up the shaft incredibly slowly. Lynch sighs and rubs his eyes.

Lynch: Nolastname, I want to really, really hurt you.

Phil: C’mon..move faster..

Phil taps the gate of the elevator with his toe, only for the lift to grind to a halt.

Phil: Shit. Umm..

Mr. Dibbley waddles over and slaps the control panel with a well-placed flipper, causing the gridded metal platform to creak and grind slowly upwards again as Jericho himself walks over to the railing, looking down at his tan trenchcoat.

Jericho: About that? I…don’t want to get this dirty.

Jericho stands besides Dibbley and Phil. Karab himself runs to the railing and vaults over, sitting down on his shield and hitting the concrete hard, causing him to slam off the shield, a few inches into the air, and onto the concrete face-first.

Dean: DAMN!!

Lynch, Robbie, Will and Dave holds up placards reading “9.0” as Karabs legs twitch violently. That Other Random Guy, Vince, Sal, Bill and Billy walk over with a giant piece of fabric, each one of them clutching an area of it.

Lynch: What the fuck is that?

Maurice: Aye, sir? It’s mah old shirt, y’know? Always keep it with me jus’ in case, y’know?

The mercenaries quickly hop onto the railing in unison and jump off, catching some air with the parachute and gliding over the mercenaries and forward into the concrete staircase.

Sal: STEER! STEER!

Billy: I CANNO’!! BRACE FOR IMPACT!!

Bill: WHY DO I HAVE TO BE AT THE FRONT?!?!?

The parachute slams into the side of the staircase, and Bill is sandwiched between Billy, Sal and wall, causing the parachute to collapse quickly to the floor and bury the groaning mercenaries under a large white dress-shirt. Lynch sighs and tugs at his earlobe.

Lynch: I will not kill them, I will not kill them, I will not kill them, I will not kill them..

Bob and Frank roll across the floor in front of Lynch, cricking their necks in unison as they get to their feet. Brick joins Phil, Jericho and Dibbley in front of the elevator, whose platform has just reached the catwalk, causing the doors to slowly creak open. Four of them pile into the elevator, only for Moe to skitter forward between them. Phil walks forward and slowly closes the doors, only for the platform to stay still.

Mr. Dibbley: Umm..little help, chaps?

Frank walks forward and clicks a button on the control panel at the bottom of the shaft. The platform creaks violently and starts slowly heading downwards.

Mr. Moneypennies: Awwww man! I hate packed elevators, dawg!

Mr. Moneypennies head slowly peaks out of the hem of Bricks pants, flicks its tongue, and quickly buries itself back in.

Jericho: Brick, why is your snake…

Brick: Why’s my snake what?

Jericho: You did that to get that joke!

Brick: What joke are all yer talking about?

Phil: Why is the snake in your pants?

Brick: It’s always been there!!

Jericho, Moe, Phil and Dibbley cringe as Brick laughs loudly, slapping his chest.

Brick: HOOOO YEAAHHH!! But seriously, he won’t fit anywhere else without killing me, get it?

Mr. Moneypennies: Shiz homie! I just wish you’d clean up properly, yo!

Brick: Moneypennies might have to be his own soldier next mission, y’hear?
Lynch: MOVE IT, CUNTS!!

Maurice himself had even managed to get down to the floor, using another spare shirt tucked into his oversized ammo belt to act as a huge parachute, causing even the gentle giant to float the floor with grace, especially compared to the other mercenaries collapsed under his large white shirt. Vince crawls out from under it, choking.

Vince: WHY COULDN’T YOU WASH IT?!?!?

Maurice shrugs as the elevator reaches the bottom of the shaft, and Moe, Dibbley, Brick, Jericho and Phil walk over to Lynch, saluting.

Phil: Reporting for duty.

Lynch: Stand still, I’m going to carve my initials into your GODDAMN FACE!!

Lynch pulls the knife out of his belt and jolts towards Phil, who screams and hides behind Karab. Karab flinches backwards, shield up high, and Lynch stops, growling ferally. Phil holds his hand behind the shield.

Phil: Gimme five, Karab.

Karab slaps his hand as Lynch turns around and walks over to the fallen mercenaries, pulling the shirt from them and tossing it into the molten metal pool behind them.

Maurice: YA CRUEL BASTARD!!

Bill, Billy, Vince, Sal and That Other Random Guy get to their feet quickly as Lynch stomps at them, making them run forward into the makeshift group of mercenaries. Lynch runs his hands through his hair, freeing it from sweat and looking at them.

Lynch: About damn time you pansies did something adrenaline pumping which didn’t involving a night with a tub of vaseline and your right hand. Follow me.

A hiss of steam pierces through a small hole in the concrete wall to their left, hitting Bill in the face. Bill smacks his lips.

Bill: Mmm..tastes like barbecue.

Billy: Dude, your eyebrows have gone.

Bill runs his hands up his face, his eyes widening: His eyebrows were scorched, blackened and on their way to the great face in the sky.

Bill: DAMMIT!!

Moe: Ha-ha!

Bill: NOT COOL, MAN! NOT COOL!

That Other Random Guy: Oh, I think it’s cool, alright….Bill, stop looking so surprised!

Bill: OH HA FUCKING HA! YOU ARE SUCH A COMEDIAN, *BEEP*!

Lynch turns to face them.

Lynch: Alright, you bunch of rampant retards--

Sal: ALLITERATION! HIGH FIVE!

Sal holds his palm up high for Lynch, who simply glares at him. Sal sighs and slaps his hand down beside his waist.

Sal: Rampant killjoy..

Lynch: Yes, I am a killjoy, because nothing gives me an absolute greater pleasure than to see you bastards cry to your mothers every night after I crush what little, pathetic hopes and dreams you carry inside those peanut brains. Now, listen here, we are so, so close to ending this thing after God knows how long stuck in this pile of shit, I am desperate for sex, and everytime I see a pool of liquid I want to drink it in the hope that it really is tequila..Now, listen to me: MARCH NOW OR I WILL SHOOT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!!

The mercenaries simply stand there, straight-faced.

Lynch: Did I not make myself clear?

Phil: Oh, you did, it’s just there’s a guy behind you pointing a gun at your head.

A loud click fills the air and Lynch spins around, a barrel tracing from the back of his skull to touching his nose. Staring down the iron sights is a genome soldier with his finger on the trigger.

Mr. Dibbley: You know, I do believe that soldier might be retarded. We wouldn’t have to aim when we shoot that close!

Soldier Two: Sooooo..Intruders..

Lynch: We’re Geno--

The soldier makes a point of squeezing the trigger slightly. Lynch rolls his eyes and sighs, his arms dropping by his sides.

Soldier Two: Now, what do you have to say for yourself?

Lynch: I fucked your mother.

The mercenaries snigger.

Soldier Two: Alright then, goodnight.

The soldier pulls the trigger, but all that’s heard are resounding clicks everytime he squeezes. A question mark appears above his head and he looks down: Lynch had somehow managed to pull the magazine out of the rifle, even when it was secured. To make a point of this, Lynch smashes the magazine against his forehead, causing the case to split and bullets to fall everywhere.

Lynch: Test me.

The soldier shrugs and pulls a Bowie knife out of his ammo belt, only for Dave to shove Robbie , Bill, Billy and Vince aside, holding a metal throwing star shaped like a Star of David.

Dave: HEY! GRUNT!

The soldier turns to him.

Dave: NICE TO MEET..JEW!!

Dave hurls the throwing star and it embeds itself in the soldiers eye. The soldier clutches his bloody face, screaming at the top of his lungs. His feet slam into the ground in pain and he falls to his knees, yanking desperately at the star embedded in his skull, simply causing more blood and membrane to flow from the gaping hole.

Brick: Woah!

Karab: That is some nasty shit, Dave.

Karab holds a hand out for Dave, who slaps it. Lynch stands there, arms folded and watching the screaming soldier.

Lynch: Can someone finish him off, PLEASE?!

Vince strolls forward, nodding.

Vince: This is how I like my opponents!..Already wounded for me to deal a sneaky killing blow!

Vince simply stands before the screaming guard and slowly closes his eyes. Lynch sighs and steps backwards, tugging his earlobe irritably. Vinces eyes snap open and he raises his arms and one leg into a the position of a Crane bird, before jumping up with his other leg and kicking the guards head clean off, sending it up into the sky and landing on hanging light beam. Vince clutches a fist in his hand and bows to the body of the guard which is still kneeling there, spraying fountains of arterial spray into the sky.

Sal: ……Now that? That’s cool.

Vince turns to them and nods, giving the thumbs up.

Vince: See? I can do stuff too!

Lynch: Dave, just do the fucking honors.

Dave walks forward and sighs, breathing in deeply and breathing out slowly, placing his arms and hands into a lotus position commonly seen on statues of Buddha.

Dave: Ommmmmmmmmmmm…Ommmmmmmmmm…Be one with the gun…One with the gun..

Billy fires a shot from his Dragunov Rifle from behind the crowd of mercenaries and it pierces the console. A huge crackle and screech emits from the console and the metal blast doors part in the middle, sliding open.
Jericho: Open…sesafucker.

The door slowly slides open.

Bob: Nice shot, Scot.

Billy: Nice shot? I was aiming for Dave. I missed.

Dave: Fuck you! I was being one with the gun!

Robbie kicks Dave in the rear.

Robbie: Move, dammit! I need to murder something!

The entrance yawns before them, beckoning the unfortunate mercenaries in. Ahead of them, a metal railing is already descending from their view. Lynch looks at Phil to his right, then to Frank to his left, before dashing forward. Phil and Frank simply stand there, straightfaced.

Lynch: STOP! THAT! LIFT!!

Snake: HAW HAW!

Lynch runs across the floor as fast as he can, arms pumping in a feeble attempt to drive him faster, only for him to skid violently to a halt before the shaft where the elevator is now much too deep to even think of jumping on. Lynch looks up to the sky and screams violently.

Vince: Awwwww..It thinks it’s the Hulk..

Lynch spins around on the balls of his heels, stomping so violently on the ground that it echoes violently throughout the hollow room.

Dean: Oh….fuck. I think he’s angry.

Bill: That would be an educated guess from you, right, dummy?

Dean spits on Bills shoe and Bill groans, rubbing it against the back of That Other Random Guys legs.

Bill: DUDE! THAT’S GREEN!

That Other Random Guy looks over his shoulder at Bill.

That Other Random Guy: Whats green?

Bill: Deans spit on the back of your leg.

Bob looks down at That Other Random Guys leg and laughs.

Bob: Wow! That’s practically dayglo!

That Other Random Guy looks over his shoulder and at the green smear up the calf of his cargo pants.

That Other Random Guy: JESUS, DEAN!! DID YOU HAVE TO LOOGIE?!?!

Dean: Karab.

Karab: Dean always loogies. Loogies are a great way to expel the disgusting garbage in your body.

Dean: Lone and behold! It got onto another piece of disgusting garbage!

That Other Random Guy turns around, rolling his sleeves up.

That Other Random Guy: Stand still, Dean, I’m going to rearrange your face into a Picasso painting.

Moe, who is standing to the right of That Other Random Guy, sighs and twists, headbutting him in the kneecap. That Other Random Guy jumps up in pain.

That Other Random Guy: OH, COME ON!!

Moe: Quiet! The bossman cometh..

Lynch stops before them, looking at both Phil and Frank, teeth bared and a low growl rolling from his mouth.

Lynch: Stand still. I am going to crack both your heads together and use the dust that comes out to rub in your fucking eyeballs with salt and my sperm.

Phil stands there, back straight, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Lynch: Is something fucking funny NOLASTNAME?!?!?!?

Phil: Sir, no sir.

Lynch stops growling and cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly before giving a small hiss and spinning around, pointing a finger towards the shaft.

Lynch: Alright, cunts, go to it. NOW! CHOP FUCKING CHOP!

The mercenaries groan in protest and slump forward, carrying their assault rifles loosely and dragging their feet towards the shaft.

Lynch: HEY! I WANT YOU CUNTS TO MARCH! CHOP FUCKING CHOP!

The mercenaries groan louder in protest, but straighten their backs and march towards the shaft, albeit raising their legs as high as they can.

Lynch: STOP WITH THE JOHN CLEESE WALKING NOW!!

Robbie lifts his leg up high, “accidentally” kicking Vince in his rear.

Robbie: Foot slipped.

Vince lifts his leg high in reply, kicking Billy in the rear.

Vince: Foot slipped.

Billy turns around to Vince and headbutts him in the chest, sending him crumpled violently to the ground, clutching his chest and gasping for air. Billy smirks and turns around, marching normally.

Billy: Head slipped.

Mr. Dibbley: Charming.

The mercenaries reach the end of the shaft, and take a few steps back, now lining up horizontally and looking down. It was a yawning, black abyss that swallowed even light itself.
Bob: Looks bottomless, guys.
Frank leans over the edge, rolling his tongue around his mouth and spitting a glob of phlegm into it.

Frank: Yep, that’s bottomle--

The sound of a squelch hits the air, followed by a scream.

Snake: OH GOD! WHAT THE FUCK IS THA—THAT SMELLS LIKE A ROTTEN ASS COVERED IN FISH SHIT! THAT IS NASTY! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!? OH GOD!!!!

Frank quickly backs away.

Bob: Wrong, it’s not bottomless!

Frank: WELL, DUH!!

Snake: IT SMELLS BAD! LIKE A ROTTEN VAGINA COVERED IN FISHPASTE!!

Frank: My breath isn’t that bad!

Lynch: We’ll agree to disagree.

Dean: We’ll also agree to call it a FUCKING LIE. Your teeth have forests growing in them. I remember one time you grinned, and an elf waved at me.

Karab: I remember one day when Frank came into the kebab shop to place an order, I swear a dragon flew out and bit me!

Frank: FUCK YOU!

Sal: Yeah, that was just the pure acid of Franks mouth skewering your eyeballs!

Frank curses, kicking out and flailing his arms wildly before turning around. The mercenaries step backwards slightly, watching Frank dash across their line, giving each of them the middle finger.

Frank: FUCK YOU ALL!

Brick: Lookie him, all stressed.

Bob: Oh man, and I was supposed to be emo guy.

Mr. Dibbley: How embarrassing..

Frank: I’m sick guys! I really am! I’ve spent day after day hear in this cold, unforgiving hell, and it’s so close…AND I LOOK DOWN INTO THE ABYSS AND I FEEL LIKE STEVIE WONDER!

A small silence fills the cavernous room.

Dave: ….Black?

Frank falls to his knees, grasping his hair.

Frank: I can’t take anymore! I need to go home!

Lynch rolls his eyes and stomps forward, grabbing Frank by his collar and pulling him up, slapping him repeatedly.

Lynch: CALM DOWN RUMMY!

Lynch lets go and Frank stumbles backwards, falling down the giant, sloping elevator shaft. The mercenaries quickly run over, wide-eyed, as Frank falls down the shaft and into the deep, black abyss.

Frank: GIVE MY BEST TO JIM BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaammmm…

Franks voice fades out of earshot.

Lynch: ….Oh bugger, I think I killed him.

The mercenaries keep staring down the shaft.

Vince: Now that’s..entertainment! BREAK A LEG, FRANK!

A dull silence filled the air, before a dull crash and crack is heard. Two different voices start screaming.

Snakes Voice: WHAT IS THIS?!?!? I WANTED MERYLS POON IN MY FACE, NOT AN UGLY DRUNKEN FUCK!!!

Franks Voice: I THINK I BROKE MY LEGS!!!

Vince: Score one!

Vince and Dean hi-five.
Franks Voice: THIS ISN’T FUNNY GODDAMMIT!!!

Dean: It is. It is.
Vince: Well, that’s two points to me!
The shaft echoes with a giant creak and slam as the elevator reaches the bottom. A small crunch and crry is heard.

Frank: WHY DID YOU KICK MY STOMACH??!!

Snakes Voice: …Fun.

Franks groans of pain become audible in the echoing abyss before another creak and cry emits through the shaft, the gears of the shaft cranking near their feet as the elevator begins its ascent.

Lynch: About fucking time.

Moe: Alright, dudes, plan?

Lynch: Same as its always been: Wait with our thumbs up our asses for action to show, then blow action away with the proper amount of bullets--

Dave: The proper amount being too many?

Lynch: The man speaks wisely.

Robbie: I like that plan. It sounds good.

The railing comes into view, and the elevator slowly creaks to a halt in front of them: It becomes obvious that this elevator was meant for heavy cargo, judging by its large span that the mercenaries easily walk onto with room to spare. To the right stands a control panel, comprised of screens, buttons, dials and a lever. Lynch walks over to the console and tilts his head, motioning for Bob, who strolls over, ignoring the crumpled form of Frank who is hanging over the northern railing.

Bob: Yeah?

Lynch: How the fuck does this thing work?

Bob: Why are you asking me? I only joined the mercenaries because the academy had Taco Wednesdays.

Frank gives a loud groan, his arms swinging in the breeze. Will walks over to him and places a foot on his lower back, raising his arms.

Will: Gentlemen..I have slain the sasquatch!

Vince smells the air.

Vince: He smells dead, too.

Mr. Dibbley: It really does..that mix of alcohol, piss and tears! How I imagine Frank will die, actually.

Frank: …geroffe..

Will: What?

Frank: GEROFFA ME!!

Will kicks his lower back and steps away from him, leaning over the railing and looking into the abyss as Frank claws himself backwards, using the two levels of the railing to slowly claw himself to his feet. He stumbles slightly and turns to the mercenaries, squinting.

Frank: Guyssss..

Dean, Karab, Bob and Dave cringe and jump backwards.

Frank: WHAT?!

Dean: I wasn’t prepared for the ugliness!

Dave: IT’S A HIDEOUS BEING!!

Frank: Ha ha..

Dean: Are you going to shave that thing?

Frank looks down at his grizzly beard, which has claimed the entire lower half of his face and is hanging loosely over his chest, thick and tangled like iron wires.

Frank: Never.

Bob folds his arms and looks at the control panel, whose screen was glowing a baby-blue colour. He leant out his hand and hesitantly tapped five numbers on the keypad: Nothing.

Bob: Looks uncrackable. We could be stuck here for a while.

Sal: Hey, did you two stooges try typing in the code Fabien gave us?

Bob: Ahhhh…

He taps the numbers one, seven, zero and seven again on the keypad. The lift gives a thunderous, almost aching crunch, and the control box to the north emits a whirring sound as the panel starts to slowly descend down the visible wires.

Bob: Wow, using the same code for several systems, who would be stupid enough to do that?

=Underground Lair=

In the control room, Ocelot is standing in front of a coffee machine, scratching his head.

Ocelot: Boss..whats the code for the coffee machine?

Liquid: You fool! You don’t know? It’s one seven zero seven!

Ocelot: Haven’t we, y’know, used that code on practically everything? And isn’t it based off your credit card PIN number?

Liquid: SO?! Who will know that we used the same code, and who will know its my PIN number??!

Ocelot shrugs in semi-agreement and turns to the coffee machine as That Hispanic Guy walks past the window, whistling innocently with a leather wallet clasped in his hands behind his back.



=Blast Furnace Elevator=

Finally, the platform grinds to a screeching halt, and the northern railing slides down into a gap between elevator and shaft, offering them the chance to step off.

Sal: About time..My ass is killing me..

Dean walks past, holding his nose.

Dean: YOUR ass is killing ME!

Sal: Oh, come on! It wasn’t that bad?

Mr. Dibbley: Sir, when was the last time you had eggs covered in shit?

Frank: That’s bad, man!

Sal: Frank, that hurt, man!

Frank: Suck it up, junior!

Phil walks behind Frank and pats him on the back.

Phil: Feel better, Frankie-doodle.

Phil walks pasthim, having stuck a sign saying “KICK ME” on Franks back. Frank nods at Phil warmly, only for That Other Random Guy to run up behind him and kick him violently in the rear. Frank yelps and jumps around, facing him.

Frank: WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!?!?

That Other Random Guy: The sign told me to!

Frank: ..PHIL!!!

Phil simply laughs, high-fiving Jericho. The mercenaries walk forward into the cavernous hall. As it was underground, it needed minimal lighting and barely any décor: The walls were simple metal and concrete slabs alternating across the wall, while the floor seemed to be slabs of metal hastily put together, as evidence by numerous gaps and slots in the floor. The warehouse offered them a rustic odour: A mix of dust, mothballs and a horrible stench of mould from unpatched concrete in the ceilings.

Will: Goddamn, just because it’s underground doesn’t mean it needs to be left to rot. It offends my eyes.

Jericho: Plus, it smells like death.

Lynch: Yeah, well, when you’re building a bipedal nuclear-capable robot, I think the last thing you hire is an interior designer.

Will: Seriously? That’d be the first thing I hire!

Robbie: Because you’re a pansy.

Will: Fuck you, midget-gem!

Phil: Will, you shit-headed loon, will you shut up? Robbies right. You ARE a pansy.

Lynch: Guys, keep still.

Mercenaries: Why?!

Lynch points to their right: On the corner which connected one hall into another was another gun camera, lazily panning its surrounding. Several times it skated over the mercenaries, and not once did it open fire. Its lens also wasn’t a ruby red either, meaning it hadn’t detected intruders according to its AI.

Bill: This sucks. I am so not looking forward to facing a giant killing machine when even the camera hold grudges!

=Underground Lair=

Liquid: THIS LOOKS NOTHING LIKE THE PLANS! NOTHING!

Liquid is looking up at REX from the uppermost left catwalk, directly near REXs head: A huge, curling, black metal moustache has been welded below the cockpit, while a red flag is draped over the Radome, having been moved from the rail gun. Liquid looks over the railing down at the legs of REX, which have also been welded to give it the appearance of wearing black tights tucked into white socks, much like the garb of a bull fighter. That Hispanic Guy is standing on the top of the cockpit, and gives a quick Salsa tap of his feet.

That Hispanic Guy: OLE!!

Stoofer: I like it. It’s traditional.

That Random Guy: PLUSSSSS It will get you huge credit in Latin America!

Liquid: REX HAS A MOUSTACHE DAMMIT!!

Ocelot: I like it, sir.

Liquid: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPP!!!

The cockpit opens slightly to reveal the bulky form of Johan, who presses a button and the “Spanish Fly” starts to play throughout the Lair.

That Hispanic Guy: SI! SI! SIIIIIIII!!!!!!!

Liquid: Ocelot, just fucking pay them. I want them out of here before REX is launched.

Ocelot: Why?

Liquid: I fear they might have replaced my missiles with party poppers.

Sure enough, a huge *POP* fills the air and several giant multi-coloured streamers explode from behind REX and begin to drape the catwalk.

=Elevators to Underground Storage=

Lynch: ….Why is it watching?

Fabiens Voice: Greetings to ze Americeen Peegs!!

Phil: Hey! We’re British here too! And Indian! And Antarctica—Antarcticeen—Antartartic..Mr. Dibbleys a penguin!

Fabiens Voice: Ah, vell, my apologies…Greetings peegs in general!

Sal: I’ll give him that.

Vince: Yeah, yeah.

Dean: Yep.

Frank: I like that guy.

Lynch: WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

Fabiens Voice: Ah, I just came to zay, zat zere are Claymores in zis next hall behind me! Zoo might vant to leap over ze eastern railing vather than hunt for ammo!

The mercenaries look around, murmuring to eachother.

Lynch: That’s grand, but why are you helping us?

Fabien: LIQUID STIFFED MY PAY!!

A louder murmuring of agreement ripples across the mercenaries.

Maurice: Aye, Frenchy, that blonde-headed bastard stiffed us too!

Dave: Yeah! We’re going to find him and tear his balls off!

Mercenaries: YEAH!

Will: Then piss down his throat!

Mercenaries: YEAH!

Mr. Dibbley: Then tear his eyes out and feed him the optical nerves!!

Mercenaries Yea—What?!

Vince: Penguin dude, you’ve got issues.

Brick: BIG issues!

Jericho: Nothing wrong with a killer penguin!

Phil: Jerry, I’ll tell you how weird that sounds after this is over.
Fabiens Voice: Ah! Here comes zome guards, and zey look pissed vith me! I vill see you guys sometime soon!

The voice feed on the camera crackles, interspersed with gunfire, screams, and the sounds of bones snapping before it cuts off. Lynch stands there, scratching his head.

Lynch: …..Yeah. Let’s get this done with.

The mercenaries groan loudly and follow Lynch around the corner and to their right: Sure enough, just a few steps ahead of them is yet another elevator, which seems to be a carbon copy of the one they just ridden.

Bob: Methinks, low production costs involved in this base!

Moe: Know what I think? That when we get home I am never riding another elevator as long as I live. Between this, Curried Vindaloo Monster and Banana Man, I’ll be grateful never to SEE ANOTHER FUCKING ONE!!

Billy: I agree!
The mercenaries line up in a horizontal single-file and vault over the railing onto the concrete platform. Brick stops halfway, catching his groin on the railing.

Brick: Damn, wait a sec—wait a sec--

His legs struggle as he tries to lift his left leg over the railing.

Billy: Move it, dumbass!

Brick: Leg stuck! Leg stuck like a pig!

Lynch: Someone give him help!

Phil, Jericho and Maurice walk over, grabbing Bricks hand and pulling him violently over the railing, causing him to collapse onto his hands and knees before standing up, dusting himself off and tilting his camouflage baseball cap at Phil and Maurice.

Brick: Charmed.

Lynch: Alright, pansies. Get ready for ANOTHER long ride.

Lynch strolls across the metal platform and inputs the numbers one, seven, zero and seven into the control panel. The gargantuan platform jolts, screeches, but slowly starts its descent into the dark abyss. Billy leans over the railing and spits: Nothing. Brick leans over the railing beside Sal and drops a clip of ammo down. Not even a rattle.

Brick: Oh fuck, that was me last ammo thing!

Frank: Seriously Schmicker?

Brick: Yep. BUT I gots me a knife.

Brick pulls a fish-gutting knife out of his back pocket, wielding it and does a quick practice stab at Frank, grinning.

Brick: HEHE! See? Sharp thing!

Frank nods and aims his rifle at Bricks head.

Frank: Note this, Brick: By the time you run at me with that knife, your head will have ceased to exist, instead forming part of the floor where several assault rifle casings will be holding it down. What is your countermeasure?

Brick blinks and walks forward, shoving Frank over Vince, who had gotten on all fours behind him. Frank collapses over Vince, rolls backwards onto his feet, and slams against the railing. Frank grasps it tightly.

Frank: HAHA! See? No tumbling for me--

A raven swoops down and caws loudly at Franks eye. Frank screams and falls backwards over the railing, the sound of his back and arms thudding off the metal cable filling the air. Maurice walks over to the railing and watches.

Maurice: Damn keds! Looks like the drunken mans ganna get zapped! LOOK OUT FOR THE CABLE--

The sound of an electric crackle fills the air, followed by Franks screams.

Frank: MY ASS! MY ASS! ITS BARBECUING MY ASS!

Moe: Mmmm..I smell pulled pork..

After a short while, the sound of thuds and crashes commences again, until a few seconds later it disappears from earshot.

Maurice: Yeah, he’s not getting up from that one lads!

Lynch: That much is obvious.

A loud crackle and sizzle shoots through the air.

Franks Voice: My ass!

Will: Wow, he’s going to be uglier by the end of this. How shit..

Will pulls out a small bottle of aftershave from one of the satchels on his ammo belt and dabs it onto his neck.

Sal: What are you doing?

Will : Paco Rabanne..

Bob: Gay.

Will: You wish you smelt as good as me when you get tentacle raped, you giant dumb cock!

Ravens suddenly start circling the elevator platform, having appeared from various roosting places in the holes of the shaft. The mercenaries look above them, watching.

Phil: Where the hell did they come from?

Vince: Hammerspace!

Phil: Hammerspace?

Vince: A fictional plane of space where characters can pull out random objects at any time, popularized in many anime series.

Vinces hair shoots out, growing to waist length and turning a vibrant red.

Vince: DESUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!

Dean: Man, Vince, you have got to lay off the hentai!

Vince: EESA MUSHU DOKI NAY!!

Phil: Wooby blooby bloob to you too, Wapenis sucker.

Vince: HIYAAAAAAAAAAA!!

Vince pulls out a katana from his elongated hair and points the tip at Phil.

Vince: MOKAY DAN NO TESTU!!!!!!!

Billy walks behind Vince, holding a steel chair and slamming it into his back. Vince collapses to the ground, unconscious, his hair falling off. Billy throws the chair over the railing and brushes off his hands.

Billy: That’ll do, Vinnie…That’ll do.

Mr. Dibbley: Where on Earth did you get the chair from?

Billy motions behind him, towards Chris Sabin and Alex Shelley who are standing there, waving.

Shelley: Dudes.

Sabin: Dudettes.

Phil: Motorcity Machineguns.

Shelley gives the MCMG hand sign.

Shelley: Keep it real. Oh, by the way, WHY DID YOU THROW OUR CHAIR OVER THE RAILING?!?!

Billy: Why? Need it?

Robert Roodes arm appears from a small blue portal, wrapping around Alex Shelleys neck and pulling him back.

Shelley: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!

Billy: Oh, alright.

Shelley claws at Roodes arm while the mercenaries simply stand there, watching. Billy coughs,

Shelley: HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Billy takes a step forward, leans out a hand, but shakes his head and steps back.

Maurice: Ah think we should help tha lad, y’know!

Shelley: THANKS MAURICE!!

Maurice: Ah, sorry to tell ya, mate, I’m a fan o’ Beer Money instea’

Maurice cracks his knuckles and Shelley screams, backing into the portal and causing it to disappear in a blue fizz. Maurice turns around and shrugs.

Maurice: I’m no fan of that shit, lads!
Sabins eyes widen, and he turns to where the portal used to be.

Sabin: Ahhh..SHELLEY?!?!?!

Nothing.

Sabin: I might need some help..guys?

Phil: We’re not quantum scientists, Sabin! I can’t flick my wrist and cause a time hole to open!

Dean: No, but that’d be a cool trick for parties, wouldn’t it?

Dean flicks his wrist

Dean: I summon a Velociraptor..

He finished the flick and a blue portal appears with a Velociraptors head peering out of it, screeching at Dean and jumping on him. The mercenaries scream wildly: Sal jumps into Bricks arms, Jericho hides behind Karab. Dave shoves Robbie in front of him, and Bill dives behind Billy, pulling he collar of his fatigues over his eyes and rocking back and forth.

Bill: IT CAN’T SEE ME IF I CAN’T SEE IT! IT CAN’T SEE ME IF I CAN’T SEE IT!

Vince grabs the Velociraptor by its neck, but it simply turns around, latching its teeth to Vinces bushy beard. Vince screams, running around with the dinosaur attached to his beard.

Dean: DUDE! THAT’S THE LAST TIME I RUB MY BALLS IN THE FACE OF FATE!

Lynch rushes over to Vince, grabbing the Velociraptors legs and pulling.

Vince: NOOOOOOOOO!! NOT MY BEARD!!!

Lynch yanks the Velociraptor off, which takes out a chunk of Vinces beard hair. Vince falls to his knees, screaming wildly and Lynch throws the Velociraptor over the railing, dusting off his hands and breathing heavily.

Lynch: There, you pansi--

Bill screams as the Velociraptor digs its claws into the back of his fatigues as it falls, hanging on for dear life. Robbie rushes over, wielding his gun like a club and swings it at Bills back. The Velociraptor falls from its own weakness as Robbie smashes Bill full force in the back, sending him flat to the floor. To add insult to injury, Mr. Dibbley dives forward, only to land on Bill.

Robbie: Oops.

Robbie shrugs, sliding the assault rifle to his back and walking away from Bill, who coughs violently, his left leg twitching as Mr. Dibbley slowly gets up.

Mr. Dibbley: Sorry chap, my timing is awful these days!

Bill: I see..my mother..

Billy: Everyones seen your mother. Especially the postman.

Bill: ..Ha..fucking ha..I can taste my spine..

Moe walks over to Bill, slapping the top of his head.

Moe: Yo, get up weirdo!

Bills legs twitch and convulse violently.

Lynch: Get up, or so God help me I will shove my boot into your mouth!

Bill jumps up straight onto his feet with a grin on his face.

Bill: REFRESHED AND RESTORED!!

Sal: Retard.

Bill: Jerkoff.

Mr. Dibbley: Now now..You are both equally detestable!
Lynch: ARE YOU ALL DONE?!

The elevator turns silent. A raven swoops down onto Phils shoulder, pecking the side of his shaved head slightly before flying off again. Jericho is busy running his hands in his trenchcoat for a cigar that isn’t frozen, and Mr. Dibbley is standing there, goggles over his eyes and his flippers flapping boredly against his waist.

Mr. Dibbley: Anyone partook in a ripping yarn, lately?

Mercenaries: No.

Mr. Dibbley: Charming..

Jericho sighs and wraps his arms around himself as the air starts to get even more bitter.

Jericho: F-f-f-fucking cold!

Lynch: It is not chilly for me. My anger heats my body and keeps me alive.

Phil rubs his hands and holds them near Lynchs chest.

Phil: HE’S RIGHT! EVERYONE GROUP HUG!

Lynch screams as the mercenaries bound towards him, arms linking arms, arms wrapping around legs, heads and torsos. Moe hugs Lynchs legs and Sal jumps on top of the huddle, hugging them and humping the back of Bills neck.

Bill: SAL! THAT BETTER BE A GUN!

Sal: Nope, just my penis. Just my penis.

The mercenaries stand there, giving content sighs.

Dean: Wow..he really is warm!

Lynch stands there, teeth bared, eyes narrowed.

Lynch: ….You bastards give me the creeps.

Mr. Moneypennies: Oooooohhhh shiz! Lovin’ da heat Lynch man!
Lynch: I am very close to wiping you all out.

Sal: Shush! Shush! You’re just getting warmer..

Phil: Ooo..his chest is toasty. Although its hard to concentrate when you’ve got your dick in my back, Karab.

Karab: Sorry, but I too want the heat of champions!

Billy: Ach..nothin’ like heat..

Mr. Moneypennies: Shiz that’s toasty..

Phil: It’s odd, because Robbie just gives off an aura of ice.

Phil looks back at Robbie, standing next to Mr. Dibbley who is content rolling on the near-frozen metal chirping happily, standing still with his arms folded.

Sal: It looks like he’s about to do something..but I don’t know what..

Robbie narrows his eyes.

Dave: Is he going to..kill us?

The mercenaries remain silent. Robbie lifts his leg, and quickly puts it down, a small smile going over his face. Lynch retches and dives beneath the mercenaries, who turn around, groaning in disgust. Robbie simply chuckles.

Sal: NASTY! NASTY!

Karab: HOLY MOTHER!

Mr. Dibbley: DEAR GOD!

That Other Random Guy: MY NOSTRILS STING!

Billy: THAT STINKS!

Brick falls to his knees, looking to the sky.

Brick: BURNS THE EYEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

Robbie sniggers loudly.

Dave: Robbie, man, you have mass destruction in your pants!

Will: Oh yeah, that was very homosexual!

Dave: YOU’RE very homosexual!

Phil leans a hand on a nearby railing and quickly goes to pull it off, only to find it stuck thanks to a combination of freezing metal and sweat. Phil turns to his arm andkeeps shaking it.

Phil: HOW FUCKING COLD IS IT?!??!

Phil places his foot on the railing, pulling back as hard as he can to no avail.

Phil: JESUS! HELP!

A blinding flash appears and Jesus Christ stands before them, staring near Phils hand and shooting a beam of concentrated heat from his eyes before vanishing in another flash. Phil removes his hand easily and curls his fingers.

Phil: …Cool.

Sal sighs and shakes himself, only to hear a clinking. His eyes widen and he clutches between his legs, squeezing.

Sal: Oh, crap. I think my balls have frozen!

Billy: Seriously?

Sal squeezes harder.

Sal: Yep, definitely not yielding..feels good, though.

Billy narrows his eyes and steps back.

Billy: I hope you’re not getting ideas. I know we’ve been trapped here a long time, but I am not toasting your testicles!!

Sal: I wasn’t asking to you!

Maurice: Why aye, lads, can we stop with tha ball-fondling? Making me an’ Moe uneasy here.

Will: Can we stop being tremondously homosexual? My balls refuse to yield, but even now they regret staying strong!

Phil: Your balls are as strong as lollipop sticks!

Will: Be quiet, you round-headed peasant! My balls have topped many more exotic women than a sugar glider!

Phil: For your information, it was rape!

Billy: Same for ol’ Bob, eh?

Bob: It’s not rape all the time..

His eyes glass over.

Bob: …Not all the time..

Dave: Aw..see? Now Bobs emotional! Rape isn’t alright when it’s female on male, capiche?

Bob shivers.

Bob: TENTACLES!!

The whole elevator erupts in cheers.

Dave: HE SAID THE LINE!!

Vince: WELL DONE, BOB!!

Everyone turns to Lynch silently. Lynch stands there, arms folded, before narrowing his eyes and nodding silently in approval. Vince, That Other Random Guy and Maurice lift Bob onto their shoulders.

Mercenaries: BOB! BOB! BOB! BOB!

Mr. Dibbley: He is truly thy hero!

Lynch: Alright, calm down, elevators nearly there.

That Other Random Guy drops Bob, who screams and lands on Vince. Maurice shrugs and walks away. Notably, the room was becoming lighter as extreme cold had led to a thick covering of ice across metal and concrete, claiming it for its own. In fact, as the elevator reaches the bottom of the shaft, the room seems to be overcome by a blue haze, a byproduct of such extreme cold in a metal room. Much like the Snowfield, the mercenaries squint, finding it difficult to see much in front of them. The ice smeared across the metal simply compounds and reflects of the metal, making simple seeing a chore.

Sal: I see…WHITE!

Jericho: THAT’S ALL I SEE! IT’S SO FUCKING COLD IN HERE!

Frank: My god, it’s so cold, it’s visible!

Dean: Ehhh..Lench sehr?

Lynch: Dean..why do yousound retarded?

Lynch squints around, looking for Dean.

Lynch: No use. MEN! GOGGLES!

Lynch fumbles for his goggles in his ammo belt and pulls them out of a satchel, wrapping them around his head. The haze seems to clear, but now he can see that none of the mercenaries have bothered putting their goggles on, instead using the tried and tested method of walking around with arms out.

Phil: MARCO!

Maurice: POLO!

Phil turns around and slams into Vince.

Phil: DAMMIT VINNIE! WATCH IT!

Vince: Why don’t you watch it?!

Phil: If I could see you, I would deck you!

Vince: If I could see you, I’d bite your arm off!

Jericho: If I could see either of you, I would headbutt you!

Mr. Dibbley: SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dean: Helthp?

Lynch: Dean..have you licked the container?!

Dean: …..Yeth.

Lynch: ..WHY?!

Dean: Thoughth it conthained popthicthes.

Dean stands there, tongue firmly stuck to the door of one of four metal containers erected two apiece on the left and right of the room. Lynch sighs and stomps over, grabbing Dean around the waist.

Lynch: This is going to really FUCKING hurt, got it?

Dean: Yeth..

Phil: Uhhh..Lynth? Lithhle help?

Lynch: DAMMIT NOLASTNAME!! DID YOU LIKE THE CONTAINER?!?!?!

Sal: Thith noth a good thime to thalk?

Lynch: ALL OF YOU! STOP! NOW!!

The random scuttering of feet stops.

Dave: I see..blood!

That Other Random Guy: Jesus Dave! Don’t shut your eyes THAT tight!

Dave: Too late. Although I do have to say this hurts like a fucking bitch.
Mr. Dibbley: Lads, it would help if we all closed our eyes and followed a leader. Or maybe even chipped the ice away.

Will: This ain’t gonna involve my super hips and Karabs shield, is it?

Karab: You are not touching Patel again!

Robbie: Bloody hell, you named your shield?

Karab: Yes…Patel is a beautiful name for a shield.

Will: Everythings a shield for you, pansy!

Deans screams suddenly pierce the air, wailing in agony. Lynch dusts off his hands as Dean dances on the spot, rubbing his tongue.

Dean: MAHHHHHHHHHHH THONGUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THHHHHHUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Lynch: Yeah yeah..keep crying..Alright, Nolastname?

Phil: Yeah?

Lynch: Ti—Are you free from it?

Phil: Yes..

Lynch: How?

Phil: I smell Frank.

Sal: That’s my freedom too, the acid from his stench melted the ice..

Mr. Dibbley: Uh..I’ll say..I think he melted my goggles..

Lynch sighs and turns to the door, only to trip over a fallen bundle.

Lynch: WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT—Oh, Frank, so it IS you..is everything alright?

Frank groans loudly and gets to his knees, burping out a spark of electricity which hits Bill in his face, causing his stubble to burn to a crisp and fall of his face.

Bill: THIS AIN’T FUNNY! I’LL BE HAIRLESS IF THIS CONTINUES!!

Will: Awww..Bill? You ain’t hit puberty yet?

Bill: Says you!

Will: I didn’t HIT puberty, I took the bitch hostage, I’ve got the forest around the redwood, son.

Silence.

Dave: Dude, I don’t want to hear about your hairy balls.
Mr. Dibbley: Me neither, chap.

Lynch: Right, fuck this, can everyone see now?

Mercenaries: AYE!

Brick: Uhh..I wasn’t given the glass thingies.

Lynch: SCHMICKER! YOU NEVER GOT GOGGLES?!?!?

Brick: I did, but I used ‘em to fish.

Lynch: …FISH?!

Brick: Sunk like a pigs turd, Lynchy.

Lynch storms forward, grabbing Brick in a headlock and slams him into the blast doors, knocking him unconscious, approaching a keypad under the Keycard Reader.

Lynch: BASTARDS! MOVE!

Bob: Ssshhh..you guys hear that?

Vulcan Ravens Voice: I’MMA FIRIN MAH GUN!!

That Other Random Guy: Oh great, we’re about to face an angry shamanistic muscular black guy. This is going to fucking hurt.

Billy: I have a feeling it will.

Sal: It’s a good day to..LIVE!

Sal takes several steps backwards.

Sal: GO GET ‘EM GUYS!! GOOD LUCK!! OO-AHH MERCENAHH!!

Billy spins around, grabs Sal by his collar and shoves him forward into the line, right into Maurices back. Maurice growls and turns around, looking down into Sals eyes.

Sal: ..Parley?

Maurice grabs Sal by his arms and legs, lifts his leg and uses his torso to shine his boot before throwing him down to the ground.

Sal: …No Parley?..

Maurice cricks his neck in preparation. Phil gives a deep breath in and out. Jericho rubs his hands together out of nervousness and adrenaline, while Dean and Karab are squatting behind Karabs shield, mumbling amongst themselves.

Vince: I will become one with myself, and defeat that gigantic bastard.

Dave: I will become one with my gun, and defeat that huge fucker.

Robbie: I will become one with violence, and defeat that massive cunt.

Bob: I will become one with my feet, and run the hell away from that big thing.

That Other Random Guy: I follow Bob for eternity.

Lynch simply shakes his head.

Lynch: Alright, when I shout “OPEN!” you guys are going to open your eyes, right?

Mercenaries: RIGHT!

Bill: Maybe.

Lynch: So that’s a yes, Bill?

Billy: That is a yes on Bills behalf.

Bill: I never sai--

Billy swings his right fist backwards and catches Bill in the gut, winding him.

Bill: MOTHER OF SNUFF!!

Lynch: Thanks, Scot.. Alright..code..one seven..zero..seven! HERE WE GO!

With a hiss and a spattering of ice across the line of mercenaries, the doors part in the middle, opening up a damn-near white abyss before their eyes. They hiss, and some of the smarter mercenaries pull their ski masks out from their belts and jam them over their faces. Lynch puts goggles over his eyes and mask and slaps his cheeks.

Lynch: ALRIGHT! HERE WE GO! THE BIG ONE!

Dave: Big one?

As soon as the words leave Daves lips, a vicious sound rattles the air: The sound of a motor turning and thousands of pieces of metal clashing off concrete and steel, followed by the deathly rattle of bullet casings onto ice.

That Other Random Guy: ….About that, I have a doctors note saying I should stay away from guns.

Dean: …Same here.

Frank: And me.

Vince: Me too.

Mr. Dibbley: Don’t forget me.

Jericho: Me as well.

Lynch: LOOK! MOVE! NOW! OPEN! OPEN! OPEN!

The mercenaries groan amongst themselves, shuffling their feet hesitantly. Lynch sighs and fires his assault rifle at their feet. Dean, Frank, Phil, Karab, Vince, Bill and Brick scream, dancing to avoid the bullets. Lynch slides the magazine out and slips another one into the chamber, locking it.

Lynch: I’LL AIM FOR YOUR HEADS IF YOU DON’T MOVE!
The mercenaries begrudgingly tighten the straps of their rifles across their bodies and slowly march forward, muttering curses under their breath as they pass the boundary into the large warehouse.

Much like the hall, the walls and floor were coated in thick ice, although footsteps were just discernable on the floor. Notably, there were metal containers stacked two-high and two-across in four rows in front of them, the only difference to the pattern being a two-high and one-across stack of crates across the eastern and western walls, presumably leading to the back of the Warehouse in a similar pattern. The mercenaries glanced upwards: Amongst the frozen lights hanging by iced chains, black birds flew randomly, pecking their wings and at the cold metal, emitting a vicious cry every few seconds: Ravens.

Billy: Great, so we come all this way for a fight and now I’m Bill Oddie on Birdwatching.

Lynch: Shut up.

Frank: Alright, here’s the big question: Where the fucks the fight?

The mercenaries level their eyes to the horizon and watch as a metal container on the second row, barely visible, becomes engulfed in sparks as a vicious motor sound fills the air. After a few seconds, the sound and sparks cease, and the container resembles swiss cheese: Filled full of holes and looking much worse for wear, considering the hundreds of bullets that just pounded it. Jericho himself decides to step forward and tilt his head, examining the container. Seeing the damage, he turns to the mercenaries.

Jericho: FUCK!! DID YOU SEE THAT?!

Mercenaries: Yep.

Jericho: YOU HAVE TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!! WHAT GUN COULD DO THAT?!?!

Frank: A gun torn off a military helicopter?

Dean: Yeah, that sounds right.

Jericho: THIS COULDN’T GET ANY WORSE!!

The mercenaries eyes widen. Jericho looks around. Everyone is standing there, frozen and pale.

Jericho: What am I—He’s behind me, isn’t he?

Jericho looks down at the floor as a shadow engulfs him. He sighs and leans a hand behind him, running his hand up flesh stretched taut over muscles chiselled by years of precise and intense training in the Alaskan cold. Jericho sighs and turns around, coming face-to-face, or rather, face-to-gut, with the towering shaman Vulcan Raven.

Jericho: …I think I just voided my bowels.

Karab: I already have.

Sal: Sweet baby Jesus.

The gigantic form of Raven walks forward, and Jericho runs backwards, slipping onto Maurice, who weakly catches Jericho, who even himself is demoralized by the size of his giant black opponent, shamanistic tattoos and all. The tattoo of a tribal raven on his head bore down on the mercenaries as he stood over them and looked down at each of them.

Raven: Hello mercenaries. Nice to see you arrive from the future.

The mercenaries open their mouths to scream, but quickly shut them and look at eachother, confused.

Sal: Did he say future?

Bob: How does he know?

Raven: I see…everything.

Frank: …….You see my penis?

Raven: SHUT UP! If you turn back now, I will not harm you. If you advance, I shall cold-bloodedly murder you all.

Lynch: I’m sorry Raven, bu--

Lynch looks around, only to find that every other mercenary has left the room so quickly they left scuff marks on the floor. Lynch sighs and runs his hand across his face.

Lynch: Fucking cowards..

Raven: CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY! Turn and walk out, or fight against me!

Lynch: Can’t I fight with you!

Raven: I SEE YOUR FUTURE! YOUR DESTINY! YOU ARE HERE TO PROTECT MY FOE!

Lynch: Oh. I see what you mean.

Raven: You will fight against me?!?!?!?!?!

Lynch: With. Fucking. Pleasure.

Raven: A BRAVE FOE WITH GUTS!! But soon, I will see your guts personally!!

Lynch: So? Who cares? How the fuck do you train anyway, you giant cunt?

Raven: You know of the World Eskimo-Indian Olympics?

Lynch: Not even a little.

Snakes Voice: He must be a real threat in the Muktuk eating contest!!

Raven: QUIET!!

Sound of pattering feet.

Lynch: He is right. But there is another event I excel at. It is called the “Ear Pull”. It is an event where two opponents pull each others ear while enduring the harsh cold. It tests physical as well as spiritual strength.

Silence.

Lynch: …You wanna pull each others ears?

Raven: The form is different but the spirit is the same.

Lynch: No, it isn’t. Pulling ears would be a physical contest after which we shake hands. What we’re done is the “Ultra Violent Beating Contest.”

Raven: Then ours shall be a glorious battle!

Lynch nods and turns around: The blast doors have slammed shut, but Lynch pounds violently on them with his fists.

Lynch: ASSHOLES!! HELP ME!!

The doors part slightly and Franks arm waves out.

Franks voice: Good luck!

Lynch turns and grabs Franks hand, twisting it a few hundred degrees and causing a large snap to fill the room. His hand dangles limply, giving a small, timid thumbs up.

Franks Voice: Love you too..

Frank pulls out his hand and the doors shut. Lynch turns around to Raven, who gives a small “Bring it on” motion with his right hand, a pearly grin running across his large, well-fed face. Lynchs face looks crestfallen, but seeing the arrogance of his opponent, he narrows his eyes and gives a deep, gutteral cry, pounding his chest and ripping off his fatigues and combat vest once more, throwing them to the ground and pointing at Raven with a determined look.

Lynch: I’ve met men like you day in, day out, who walk around and think that because they win the Cheeseburger-eating contest they can walk around thinking they are some massive force to be contended with. You can stand there and claim your weight-training is best, and claim you will destroy me. You probably could in one sweep of a hand. You can stand tall and mighty, claiming that your shamanistic visions give you the probability of losing, which happens to be zero. You can look down at me and grin as if I’m nothing. Maybe I’m not. I’m just a Coach for a mercenary academy out in the Middle East built for the sole purpose of churning out idiotic, mass-produced grunts at a rate just to keep the Middle East locked down for reasons you probably already know, and I have perhaps the worst, stupidest, most badly-trained recruits the academy could vomit out..But I am not going to let you threaten my men, and you had better wipe that goddamn stupid grin off your ugly face, because you have made the biggest fucking mistake a lifeform like yourself could ever make, and that mistake is that YOU ARE STANDING IN THE WAY OF MARCUS FUCKING LYNCH!!

Lynch cracks his knuckles and stomps forward towards Raven.

Coming Soon: Chapter XIV!
Unlucky 13 for the Mercenaries as they go face-to-chest with Vulcan Raven! Their toughest obstacle to date holds no visible weakness, and soaks up punishment like a sponge! Can the mercenaries overcome Raven and arrive at the Underground Lair, ready to run away from REX? Can Lynch pound Raven into submission? Will Frank discover the wonders of personal hygiene? Will Bob say his fabled line ever again? Tune in next time, and see Nice Biceps, Wall Of Angry Guns, and the Taco Launcher!