Metal Gear Mercenaries : The Blast In The Past - Chapter II - The Traitors with the Brains of Potatoes

The scene opens up where we left off: With Ocelot and his GRU Operative surrounding Snake, Sokolov and the mercenaries. Snake warily eyes the GRU operatives, whilst Vince eyes Ocelot suspiciously.

Vince [coldly]: Furries…

Will: I mean, coming from an Otaku, I find your rage at another subculture hilarious, especially considering you own a pleasure-bot.

Vince [Coldly]: Don’t talk shit about Washu-bot.

Will: And that robot probably cost you far more money than a fursuit--

Vince [Angrily]: STOP DEFENDING FURRIES!!

Billy: I cannae believe yeh having this conversation right fucking now, while we’re surrounded.

Ocelot [Circling Snake]: What is that stance?!...That gun?

Ocelot starts laughing, which causes the other GRU operatives to laugh as well.

Ocelot: …If you’re not the Boss…then DIE.

Ocelot spins his gun with a flourish, pulling back the slide. A bullet swiftly jams in the receiver.

Ocelot: Oh.

Ocelot looks down at his gun. Snake grins brightly, lunging forward and grasping Ocelot’s right arm, extending it and moving behind him, holding his left arm which clutches his knife across Ocelot’s neck, holding the knife to Ocelot’s throat before slamming him backwards onto the ground. Snake stands over Ocelot, his right arm between Snake’s legs, and grasps the Makarov, wrenching it from Ocelot’s grasp. Sokolov yelps wildly, screaming and running off into the distance. A GRU Operative turns his head, watching.

GRU Operative: Major!

Johnny [Angrily]: FOR FUCKS SAKE, HE’S SPRY!

Lynch [Angrily]: WELL FUCKING CHASE HIM, THEN!!!

Jon [Angrily]: I WILL FUCKING SHOOT YOU IF YOU FUCKING KEEP RUNNING YOU FUCKING PINKO MOTHERFUCKING NERD MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF MOTHERFUCKING SHIT!!!! I WILL FUCK YOUR SHIT UP IF YOU TAKE ANOTHER FUCKING STEP YOU ABSOLUTE CUNT OF ALL CUNTS!!!

Jon hurtles after Sokolov.

Major Ocelot: Leave him! Shoot the other one!

The GRU Operative lunges forward, but Snake twists, grasping the back of the operative’s head and gripping him tightly, moving him aside and firing a tranquilizer dart at a second GRU Operative, hitting him in the arm. Snake shoves the human shield into a third GRU Operative, knocking them both down, before turning to the fourth. Before he can do anything

A fifth rushes forward, which Bobby swiftly clotheslines to the floor. A sixth moves forward as well, aiming down his rifle, but he backs into a stack of two metal boxes, atop which is Billy.

Billy [Bellowing]: WHO REMEMBERS AOKIGAHARA?!?!

Lynch: Oh please no.

”Natural Born Killaz” by  Dr. Dre and Ice Cube starts playing as Sal, Bob and Brick stand beside Billy. All four men leap off the top of the box, flattening the GRU Soldier and a second who rose to his feet behind him.

Eligio: Well, it gets results.

Lynch: I swear to fucking God if they start to New Jack every goddamn time there’s an enemy below a tall spot…

Sal [Getting to his feet and dusting himself off]: No promises..

Phil: And technically, the correct term is “Gangsta Splash”—

Lynch [Bluntly]: Shut the fuck up.

Phil: Okay.

Snake turns to the GRU Operative he shot earlier. The Operative stumbles around before collapsing forward. Ocelot gets to his feet, lunging at Snake who grasps his right arm and spins him, locking his arm to his side before slamming the butt of his pistol into Ocelot’s jaw and slamming him down into the dirt with a deafening crash. The gun flies out of Ocelot’s grasp, the bullet finally ejecting across the floor.

Ocelot [Groaning]: Impossible!

Snake: You ejected the first bullet by hand, didn’t you? I see what you were trying to do. But..testing a technique you’ve only heard about, in the middle of a battle? Not very smart. You were asking to have your gun jam on you. I don’t think your cut out for an automatic in the first place: You twist your elbow to absorb the recoil. That’s more of a revolver technique.

Ocelot’s eyes slowly open, glaring at Naked Snake.

Vince: Aw shit, he woke.

Ocelot [Angrily]: YOU FILTHY AMERICAN DOG!

Ocelot swiftly unsheathes a knife from the rear of his belt.

Bill: LOOK OUT, SNAKE, HE’S GOT A STICKIN’ KNIFE!

Ocelot swiftly sits up and lunges for Snake with his right hand. Snake grasps it and twists it under him, pushing the knife aside and punching him in the left kidney. Snake stands up straight and, smirking, hits the back of Ocelot’s head with the butt of his tranquilizer pistol. He locks his arm around Ocelot’s neck before twisting and throwing him straight to the ground, aiming his pistol down at him. Ocelot grunts in pained anger.

Snake [Lunging downwards and holding the knife over Ocelot’s throat]: But that WAS some fancy shooting. You’re pretty good.

Ocelot [Angrily grasping Snake’s forearm]: Pretty…good…

Ocelot flicks out two fingers on his right hand in the shape of a pistol, his thumb extended into the air, before he slumps backwards to the floor, unconscious, his arms splaying out. Snake holsters his knife and pistol, getting on one knee to communicate with Zero.

Will: Big Boss got some moves.

Lynch: Wish I could knock people out that fancy.

Bill: Eh, fists work just as good.

Sal: So, there’s an internal Soviet power struggle going on?

Fabien: Ve could play zis to our advantage, non? Play one side against the other.

Lynch: We’re only here for this mission. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

Snake slowly rises to his feet, turning to the mercenaries.

Snake: Well?

Lynch: Come on. Let’s head back to Dolinovodno and hope Jon and the others have caught Sokolov.

Lynch leads the mercenaries and Snake forward.

Sal: Well, hopefully this’ll be a quick mission.

Lynch: Homesick already?

Sal: Well, yeah, aren’t you?

Lynch: Well….

**BEALE STREET – LAMB AND FLAG - PRESENT DAY**

In the Lamb and Flag, everything is kitted out for New Year’s celebrations. Given the Lamb and Flag, however, this simply means a few pennants hanging from the dusty wooden timbers in the ceiling and a line of tinsel nailed across the bar, with a few party poppers strewn across tables. The fathers of the mercenaries, called in to protect the streets from intermittent PMC attacks, are all firmly lodged within the small confines of the pubs, and the round wooden tables are now littered with a variety of empty drink bottles and cans. Emilie herself is sat in the back right corner, closest to the toilets, with her arms folded and sulking foully with a party hat perched on her head, and with Crumpet, her pet rat, laying on her right shoulder.. Michael Kingston climbs onto the bar, raising his wine glass.

Michael Kingston: ALRIGHT, CUNTS, LET’S HAVE A CHEER!!!

The entire bar roars out a bellowing cheer, raising their glasses in unison.

Rick Sykes: GIVE ME A MOTHERFUCKING HELL YEAH!!!

A huge, unified “Hell Yeah!” goes up from the bar.

Maurice [Watching from the kitchen]: I ain’t cleaning this puke up.

Moe [Watching from the kitchen]: Should we go see Mother?

Maurice: About what?

Moe: Getting the fuck out of here and onto the mission.

Maurice: We have specific orders for being here, mate.

Moe: Which are?

Maurice: To protect these assholes.

Moe: From what?

Maurice: Themselves.

Moe [Sighing]: Ah.

Dick: Well guys, I’m glad you’re all happy but—

Boris Hellgenstrand [Jovially]: MORE DRINKS!!

Dick: Guys, we--

Rick Sykes: MORE DRINKS!!

Dick: Will you jus—

Stephen LaMarr: MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!!!!!!!!

Michael Kingston: Shit, this is the life! Getting paid to sit around and drink beer!

Dick [Angrily]: You’re supposed to be protecting this place!

Joey Studlin: Hey, we sent out Truly Terrifying Tommy on patrol! That’s all we need!

Dick [Angrily]: HE’S NOT ON PATROL! HE’S STANDING OUTSIDE DRINKING!

Truly Terrifying Tommy [Peering through a crack in the door and waving an empty bottle]: Guys, empty out here.

John Chevrolet [Getting out of his chair]: Alright Tommy, I’m coming.

Joey Studlin: See? John’s his wingman.

Dick [Turning to Maurice and Moe]: I don’t even know what to do.

Maurice: Don’t look at us, mate, we don’t got a clue either!

Moe: Maybe we can ask Jericho’s lass.

Moe, Maurice and Dick look over towards Emilie who hasn’t moved an inch, still sulking foully.

Moe: Where did he find her anyway? Wearing that corset and with her ringlets and shit. She looks like she came from the Victorian era.

Maurice: Nah, it must be a new fashion or some shit.

Moe: That lace skirt, though?

Maurice: Never proclaimed myself to be an expert on current fashion mate.

Ian Stone [Squeezing past the bar]: I GOTTA TAKE A PISS!!

Dick [Angrily]: NOT ON THE BAR! JUST TAKE IT OUTSIDE!

Moe: Where did they find these guys?

Dick: I’m sure a few came from homeless shelters, knowing what veterans are like.

Dalip Tevany-Singh [Angrily, pointing at the kitchen]: DICK! YOU BETTER BE MAKING ME MY GODDAMN MANGO LASSI!! I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR FIVE MINUTES!!

Dick: I guess we’re not going home anytime soon.

Maurice: Don’t kid yourself, Dick, this is our home.

Dick: I meant London.

Maurice: ….Don’t kid yourself, Dick, this is our home.

**RASSVET – 1964**

Lynch: Absolutely fucking not.

Sal: Yeah, I can’t blame you.

The group emerge in Dolinovodno, making their way back to the area where the rickety rope bridge crossed over the yawning chasm that held a rushing river. Standing behind a tree, close to the bridge, is Sokolov with his nose pressed against the trunk. Jon stands behind him, aiming down the sights of his M16.

Lynch: At ease, Jon.

Jon slowly lowers his rifle. Sokolov turns around and Snake approaches him.

Snake: You okay?

Sokolov: Those men were from the Ocelot Unit.

Snake: Spetsnaz?

Sokolov: Yes. The best GRU has to offer…they’re coming for me. …I’m finish--

Snake [Sighing]: Calm down. I’ll get you out of here, I promise, and we’ve got some of the best damn backup we could ask for.

Lynch: Well--

Snake: Not you.

Sal: Bitch!

The sound of a huge explosion scars the air. The mercenaries, Snake and Sokolov turn around, looking for the source of the sound. Sokolov points upwards: In the distance, on the edge of one of the mountainous sides of the chasm, is the barely visible form of what is essentially a gigantic tank. The turret, smoking from firing a shot, stands on top of a hulking chassis, whilst two ‘treads’ peering from the front of the body actually appear to be ground drills, tucked into the treads to give the appearance of two stubby legs. Snake looks through his binoculars at the monstrosity.

Snake: That’s what they were making you build?

Brick [Squinting]: Looks like a pony.

Jon: What kind of fucking ponies have you been riding?

Sokolov: Shagohod. “The Treading Behemoth”. A tank capable of launching nuclear IRBM’s.

Snake: It can launch nukes from THAT terrain?

Sokolov: Oh yes, and without support from friendly units.

Snake: A nuclear-equipped tank capable of operating solo. Well, that just about ruins my day.

Lynch: Ruins anybody’s day, really.

Snake: Is it finished?

Sokolov: No, this is only the end of phase one. It won’t truly be finished until we complete phase two.

Snake: And that is?

Sokolov: The weapon’s true form. If it is completed and the Colonel gets his hands on it, it will mean the end of the Cold War.

Will: Wait, true form? You mean that launching nukes ain’t enough?

Snake: The end of the Cold War, huh?

Sokolov: Yes, and then the age of fear will truly begin.

Snake: So, a world war.

Sokolov [Sighing, pacing around]: I had no choice but to co-operate. I didn’t want to die! I wanted to see my wife and child again in America! Please, take me to America! Quickly! They cannot complete it without my help!

Snake: Well, let’s go. All of you: Behind me.

Snake readies his knife and pistol, taking point and moving across the bridge with Sokolov behind. Jon moves directly behind Sokolov, with the other mercenaries choosing to stay on solid land. Sokolov peers over the bridge, whimpering before uneasily moving ahead. As they get past the midway point, Lynch walks onto the bridge, staying behind Jon, with Frank also moving forward. A wispy fog slowly starts to descend.

Jericho [Looking around]: Well that’s coming from nowhere.

Bob: Bad signs ahead.

Footsteps slowly echo across the bridge. Snake stops, aiming down the iron sights of his pistol: Through the fog emerges a female figure, wearing khaki fatigues and carrying two metal gun cases in each of her hands, her blonde hair tyed back behind her head with a blue bandana.

The Boss.

Jon: Hey, you’re--

Female [Looking past Snake and at the mercenaries, confused]: Who are you?

Jon [Pointing at Sokolov]: Jon Manguel. I’m here to kick ass and remove this son of a bitch, and I’m all outta ass. Although honey, I got to say--

Frank [In disbelief]: HOLY FUCK JON, DON’T FLIRT WITH HER!!

Female: Do you know who I am?

Jon: Somebody important.

Female: The Boss.

Jon: …..Bruce Springsteen?

The Boss falls silent.

Tim: He’s gonna die, isn’t he?

Bill: Wouldn’t surprise me.

Snake: Boss?

Lynch: Well. This is something.

The fog slowly dissipates. The Boss drops the crate in her right hand, causing the bridge to shake violently. She drops the crate in her left hand, the force of the bridge shaking causing Sokolov to fall onto his rear and causing Lynch, Jon and Frank to grip the sides of the bridge to keep their own footing.

Jon [Angrily]: DAMMIT WOMAN! STOP DOING THAT!

The Boss: Good work, Jack.

Snake: What the hell are you doing here?!

The Boss: Sokolov…comes with me.

A dark cloud suddenly appears, sweeping through the air and blotting out the sun slightly. However, as the cloud descends, it reveals that it is actually made up of thousands upon thousands of swarming…

Frank: Hornets.

Jon stops, looking around. His eyes widen slightly as a swarm of hornets swiftly descend from the sky, stopping between him and Sokolov, whilst also swarming Snake. He stops, his brow furrowing angrily.

Jon [Angrily]: I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT NO GODDAMN STINGING BEANS!! OUT OF MY WAY, TINY CUNTS!!!

Jon stomps forward and into the swarm of hornets. As he does, a Russian Hind flies over them, hovering over the bridge.

Tim: JON!

Jon [Wincing]: DAMN HORNETS, THEIR STINGING IS HURTING ME!!!

Lynch: JON, RETREAT!

Jon [Wincing]: I’M FINE! NANOMACHINES, SON—ACTUALLY, THIS IS VERY PAINFUL!

Jon spins around on his heels, jogging out of the cloud of hornets and barging into Lynch, sending both men down. Snake looks over his shoulder at Sokolov, and at the mercenaries. A figure descends through the hornets, grasping Sokolov by the back of his jacket and pulling him into the air, towards the Hind. Both of them are obscured by the swarm of hornets as they ascend. The hornets disappear, revealing a heavily-scarred man wearing a ski mask and black-and-yellow tiger stripe camouflage vest over black fatigues leaning out of the side of the Hind. Snake looks up, as does The Boss.

The Boss: My friends. Let us fight together again!

First Figure: I have waited long for this day!

second, Scarred Figure: We will fight with you once more!

The Boss: Now that all five of us are together, it’s time we go to the depths of hell itself.

Snake: Can we stop the exposition and cut to you telling me what the hell was going on?

Lynch [Calling over]: I AGREE!

The sky darkens suddenly, and rain begins to pour over them.

Bill: And just what the fuck is this?

Vince: Some real bad juju.

Jericho: I’ll tell you what it is: Bollocks. Stupid bollocks.

The Boss [Holding out her arms]: It’s raining blood..

Vince holds out his tongue.

Vince: Tastes normal to me.

The Boss: Is he crying?

The Boss looks around the bridge, as if she hears a presence nearby.

Sal: Well, she’s nuts.

Bob: Of course she is. We’re all mad here.

From behind her, through the rain, emerges a gigantic figure, tall and imposing. Clad in a khaki greatcoat, with gold buttons, red shoulderpads and a black holster belt crossing across the chest, the figure strolls onto the bridge, red leather boots echoing off of the wood.

Figure: Kuwabara, kuwabara…

Jon: And just what the fuck is this?

The figure continues walking forward, revealing a heavily scarred face, almost as if the flesh had been stripped away in certain places, and cold grey eyes. Perhaps the most striking feature of this figure, however, were the arcs of electricity dancing off of his body.

Lynch: Well, this is new.

The rain stops.

Commander: Ah, what a joyful scene.

The Boss: Colonel Volgin..

Lynch: What the FUCK?

Volgin’s head snaps up, looking at the mercenaries who instinctively flinch.

Frank: Oh crap. Lynch! Don’t mess with the lightning man!

Volgin: Who are these?

The Boss: I have no idea.

Lynch: We’re…friendlies!

Volgin: I don’t recognise any of you.

Lynch: I’m Lynch…ski--

Frank: He’s our Commander. We’re here under orders of Kosygin.

Volgin: You. Under Kosygin’s orders.

Frank: We’re double-agents.

Volgin: Explain.

Frank falls silent.

Jon [Calmly]: Our unit is a black ops unit under the CIA, known as BAU or the Bad Ass Unit within the ranks. During the Cuban Missile Crisis we were approached by spies within the CIA’s ranks who offered us a lot more money to ally with them with a view of eventually travelling to Russia to train with and alongside GRU. We managed to make our way here and the first mission to prove our loyalty was to hunt down Snake and Sokolov.

Volgin: I was never informed of this.

Jon: We ARE a Black Ops unit. If the CIA discovered this, they’d put a burn notice on us and have us all hunted down to the ends of the Earth. And if they discovered we’d allied with the Russians, of all people?

Volgin: I see. Secrecy is of the utmost importance. So what is the CIA’s official reason for being here?

Jon: To take Sokolov back to the West.

Volgin [Smirking]: But the odds were always in my favour. Excellent. Very well then, comrades. I take it that’s why those four were chasing Sokolov?

Lynch: He’s sadly spry and our orders aren’t to kill him. I ordered them to chase him out of Rassvet towards the ravine where he’d be apprehended.

Volgin: Very well done. I’ll take it from here, comrades.

Volgin turns around.

Lynch [Quietly]: Well done, Jon.

Jon: Hey, I’m smart, what can I say? That and Frank was close to pissing himself.

Frank: He’s fucking terrifying!!!

Sal: Bad Ass Unit? Really?

Jon: He believed it! And plus now we order people to call us bad asses because we’re at the same rank as the GRU!

Bob: How did we even talk ourselves into this?!

Phil: Jon. That’s how. And I like it.

Volgin: Welcome to my country. And to my unit!

Snake: Boss? What is this? And you lot?!

Snake looks over his shoulder. Lynch, Jon and Frank shrug.

Phil: The rules have changed!

Snake [Angrily]: What rules?!

Will: Our personal rules. The one’s where we stay alive.

The Boss: Also, I’m defecting to the Soviet Union.

Bob: See? We’re all staying alive here!

The Boss: Sokolov is a gift for my new hosts.

Lynch: We don’t have gifts. Dean makes a mean steak, though.

Dean waves from the huddle of mercenaries until Samuel slaps his hand down, shaking his head.

Volgin [Leaning down and picking up the gun crates]: And recoilless nuclear warheads! These will make a fine gift for me!

Snake [In disbelief]: This CAN’T be happening!

Volgin: Who is he? Another one of your disciples? Are we taking him with us?

The Boss [Turning to Volgin]: No, this one is still just a child. Too pure for us Cobras. He has not yet found an emotion to carry into battle.

Snake: What are you talking about?

Volgin turns around. Snake swiftly readies his pistol and The Boss moves forward.

The Boss: Think you can pull the trigger?

Lynch: Snake, just let it go.

The Boss jolts forward, pulling back the slide of the gun and managing to remove it from the body of the gun in one deft movement, pushing Snake down onto his rear. Snake aims down his pistol, only to notice its missing, before The Boss throws it at him. He quickly gets up, aiming a left-handed strike at Boss who catches the arm, jolting it downwards and swiftly punching him in the face, twisting his arm around and taut to the side. The Boss swiftly slams her forearm down into the elbow, dislocating Snake’s arm and causing him to scream in pain.

Lynch [Wincing]: Jesus.

Dean: And this is why we defected.

Samuel: To avoid broken arms?

Karab: And death.

Snake falls onto all fours. Volgin sets down the crates gently and turns around.

Volgin: He’s seen my face. We can’t let him live.

Volgin flicks out his arms as The Boss moves behind Snake, marching towards Snake.

Volgin: If Khrushchev finds out about this, we’re finished.

Volgin reaches into his pockets before pulling out bullets held between each of his fingers, crossing his arms over his chest as his arms crackle with electricity.

Samuel: I mean, what even is going on at this point.

Eligio: Something interesting.

Samuel: Interest--

Eligio: Yes. Interesting. Which is the story I’m keeping because I don’t plan on getting on the bad side of a guy who can manipulate lightning.

Volgin: He must die.

The Boss: Wait. He’s my apprentice. I’ll take care of him.

Volgin lets his arms hang by his side as The Boss turns to Snake.

The Boss: Jack, you can’t come with us.

The Boss holds out her hand. Snake hangs his head but takes her hand anyway: She grips his hand, pulling him towards her and elbowing him roughly in the abdomen. Snake hunches over her arm, but grasps the back of her head with his right hand, glaring at her. The Boss grasps the collar of Snake and throws him ruthlessly over the rope and towards the ravine below. Her bandana is torn off by Snake, who lets out an angry bellow, which quietens as he heads to the bottom of the ravine.

Brick: Aw. Fuck.

Steve [Aside, to Lynch]: I thought you said that, as long as you were here, nobody would be getting thrown off of the bridge.

Lynch: I meant our guys.

Steve: Did you?

Lynch [Calmly]: Steve, I lie. Is that so hard to believe?

Snake crashes into the water with a huge splash.

Joseph: Really hope he can swim.

Vince: That looks like it hurt quite badly.

Sal: Thanks, Sherlock. Any other nuggets of wisdom you wish to share?

Vince: That was a very high drop he just suffered.

Billy: Well, yeh did ask..

The Boss walks over to the side of the bridge, watching the rushing water below.

Volgin [Standing beside her]: Are we done here?

The Boss: Now, on to Sokolov’s research facility.

Volgin: Shagohod is ours!

Volgin walks away. The Boss grips the rope on the side of the bridge.

The Boss: Drift away…My place is with them now.

The Hind slowly lowers towards the bridge.

Lynch: So, what do we do now?

Volgin: Come with me.

Lynch: Well, lead the way.

Lynch leads the mercenaries across the bridge, following Volgin and moving past The Boss..

**BEALE STREET – PRESENT DAY**

Back in Beale Street, Emilie is stood outside the Lamb and Flag, eyes shut as she sighs loudly, listening to the sounds of breaking glass, whooping and party poppers in the building behind her. She slowly opens her eyes, turning her head to the left and watching as Tavi slowly walks over to her, hands tucked in the pocket of her jeans beneath a thick, quilted black parka. She lets out a visible breath, chuckling as she stands near Emilie.

Tavi: Cold desert night, huh?

Emilie: Yes..

Tavi: You alright? Sitting here in the cold with nothing but laces and petticoats?

Emilie: Yes…

Tavi: The drunken assholes getting to you, huh?

Emilie [Quietly]: I hate this. I want to be out there with my love, killing his enemies.

Tavi [Chuckling]: That’s cute, hon, but you really don’t want to be out there.

Emilie: Why?

Tavi: They have a very unique habit of messing things up horribly.

Emilie [Frowning]: You speak ill of your allies?

Tavi [Chuckling]: Of course I do. Have you seen them? They’re hardly useful.

Emilie: What do you mean?

Tavi: Look at them! They’re hardly house-trained, they’ve been discharged from their militaries and they’re given the most unimportant location in the entire Academy area!

Emilie: Last I checked, this is one of the closest locations to the Suez Canal.

Tavi falls silent.

Tavi [In disbelief]: Are you telling me they’re stupid on purpose? Like, as a ruse?

Emilie: Have you not thought that they like to have mindless fun? Much like children, they have simple, one-dimensional tastes and pleasures. That does not make them stupid. Childish? Of course. Stupid? No.

Tavi: Hm. Guess I’ve never thought about it that way.

Emilie: You’ve lived amongst them and haven’t thought about it?

Tavi: No. It’s like when you hear a pneumatic drill: You don’t think about it, it just fucking annoys you.

Emilie: You underestimate them.

Tavi: I do?

Emilie: You mock them, but they have protected these arid lands for many years. You dislike them, but they keep you amongst them without penalty. You laugh at them, but they are trusted enough to be committed to a top secret mission with grave implications.

Tavi [Taken aback]: …Huh. I guess when you put it that way..

Emilie: You may speak ill of them, but they are highly trained men of worth. After all, do you think they would fail this mission? Let those who they were sworn to protect die? Ally themselves with a great evil? Of course they would not do that. They are heroes, regardless of your mockery.

***

The fleet of transport helicopters are beginning their flight away from the jungle, carrying the now-Volgin aligned group of mercenaries and transporting the Shagohod to its new location.

On Volgin’s helicopter are Ocelot, a member of the Ocelot Unit and an unidentified blonde female wearing glasses and a khaki uniform, complete with a short skirt, pale brown stockings and, oddly enough, black leather boots. Accompanying them are Lynch, Phil, Frank, Bob and Steve. Lynch is stood to the left of the helicopter, opposite from Volgin, gripping the side of the open door as he watches the landscape roll past under him.

Lynch: We let Big Boss die.

Steve: Yep.

Lynch [Bluntly]: …….Well, guess we better write that in our report.

Phil: “Failed mission by killing the asset we were supposed to protect”--

Lynch: We didn’t kill him!.....We just stood idly by, is all.

Phil: “Failed mission by failing to protect the asset”--

Lynch: Shut up!

Phil: Mother’s gonna have our nuts in a sling for this one.

Lynch: Not if we don’t return.

Phil: Wait, what?

Lynch: What if we don’t go back to our timeline? Let’s just…ride this one out.

Steve: You cannot be serious.

Lynch: I like my balls intact, thank you very much.

Lynch sighs, raising his head. Across from their Hind is a second Hind, the side doors open just like theirs. Standing in the open doorway is Brick, head leant out as he looks down, whooping loudly with his fishing hat in his hand.

Lynch [Angrily]: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, REDNECK!!!

Brick [Cupping his hands over his mouth]: HEY, BOSS, THIS IS SOME OLD SHIT RIGHT HERE I TELL YA!!! HIND’S AND SHIT?!?!?

Lynch [Cupping his hands over his mouth, angrily]: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

Brick [Cupping his hands over his mouth]: I CAN’T HEAR YOU, THESE THINGS ARE TOO LOUD!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE WE’RE TRANSPORTING A BIG TANK THING?!?!?!

Lynch slides the door shut with a resounding slam.

Lynch [Turning around]: I shall murder him.

Steve: Well, wait til we get back. We have a mission to complete.

Lynch: I’m mighty impatient, Steve.

Steve: Anyway, there’s probably a lot of murdering going on there anyway.

Lynch: I doubt that. We don’t murder, we get even in other ways. Sneaky, underhanded, vicious ways.

**BEALE STREET – MODERN DAY**

Back in Beale Street, Emilie gets to her feet, dusting off of her skirt.

Tavi: You alright?

Emilie: I’m going to head home. Maybe I’ll go and see Mother later.

Tavi: Are you sure about that? She’s very strict about her missions and you…Well, honey, you ain’t even trained.

Emilie: I have skills.

Tavi [Shrugging]: Either way, hon, she ain’t gonna like it.

Emilie [Smirking]: All I need is a sign and I’ll go to her.

As if at will, a few flakes of snow slowly drift from the sky, dropping on top of Emilie’s head. She looks up, watching as a small flurry of snow slowly begins to fall from the sky.

Emilie: ..Snow….

Tavi [Looking to the sky]: Snow. Never seen it before?

Emilie [Quietly]: I never knew it could fall here…

Tavi holds out her arms, feeling the snow fall as she smiles.

Tavi: The snow glows white on the mountain night. Not a footprint to be seen..A kingdom of isolation, and it looks like I’m the queen! The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside, couldn’t keep it in; Heaven knows I’ve tried! Don’t let them in, don’t let them see, be the good girl you always have to be. Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know…Well, now they know! Let it go! Let it go! Can’t hold it back anymore!

Emilie watches, her mouth hanging agape in slight horror.

Emilie: What are you doing?

Tavi: Singing.

Emilie slowly slides down the wall, hugging her knees to her chest and covering her ears. Crumpet places his paws over his own ears, huddling against Emilie’s neck. Tavi spins on the spot, holding out her arms.

Tavi: Let it go! Let it go! Turn away and slam the door! I don't care what they're going to say! Let the storm rage on…The cold never bothered me anyway!

The doors to the Lamb and Flag open and Stephen LaMarr takes a step outside. He stops, taking one look at Tavi before slowly shaking his head and turning back around.

Stephen LaMarr [Jabbing his thumb over his shoulder]: NAH LADS, IT’S JUST THE FURRY! SHE’S GONE FUCKING NUTS!

The doors to the Lamb and Flag are shut as Emilie starts rocking slightly.

Tavi: It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small; And the fears that once controlled me, can't get to me at aaaaalllll! It's time to see what I can do, to test the limits and break through! No right, no wrong, no rules for meeeeee, I'm freeeeeeeee!

Emilie [Quietly]: Please stop..

Tavi: Let it go! Let it go! I am one with the wind and skyyyyy! Let it go! Let it go! You’ll never see me cryyyyyy! Heeere I staaaaaaand! And heeeeere I’ll staaaaayyyyyy! Let the storm rage ooooooonnn!

The doors open once more and Maurice peers his head out, looking on in disbelief.

Maurice: Aw, fuck, he was right!

Maurice slams the door shut as Tavi ignores them, her head looking at the sky as she takes in the snow!

Tavi: My power flurries through the air into the grooouuund! My soul is spiralling in frozen fractals all aroooouuund! And one thought crystallizes like an icy blaaaaassst! I’m never going back! The past is in the paaaaaaasst! Let it go! Let it go! And I’ll rise like the break of daaaawn! Let it go! Let it go! That perfect girl is gooooone! HERE I STAND, IN THE LIGHT OF DAY!! LET THE STORM RAGE OOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!! The cold never bothered me anyway..

Tavi nods her head, snorting and tearing off her parka, tossing it aside. The entire street falls still, and sound stops within the Lamb and Flag.

Emilie [Shaking her head]: I really wish I was on this mission now.

Tavi: Sometimes, you’ve just gotta--

Emilie: Please do not say ‘let it go’.

The doors to the Lamb and Flag open and Rick Sykes head peers out, looking at Tavi.

Rick Sykes: Was that you singing that shitty fucking song from a shitty fucking film?

Tavi: Yes.

Rick Sykes [Shaking his head]: You, woman, have issues. Don’t fucking do that again.

Rick slams the doors to the Lamb and Flag shut. Tavi grins wickedly.

Tavi: Say, Emilie, do you want to play a little prank?

Emilie: Does it involve these troglodytes?

Tavi [Evilly]: Yes. Very much so.

Emilie: Then yes, please! I would enjoy it much more than singing!

Tavi reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small, rotund ball with a black fuse: A cherry bomb. With her free hand, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a box of matches, looking around. She turns around and stops: In the alleyway opposite is a dearth of building materials, remnants of when Al and Dick had a variety of competitions to see who could outdo the other and score the most visitors. Tavi nods towards the alleyway, specifically a pile of six pieces of lumber peering just out of the entrance.

Tavi: Grab a plank, Emilie.

Emilie [Grinning goofily]: Oh my goodness! I have not experienced such fun for a long time!

Emilie trots quickly over to the alleyway, grasping a slender plank of wood which she quickly pulls out, revealing its relatively short, roughly two feet in length. Holding it in both hands, she quickly turns around and walks back over to Tavi.

Tavi: See those door handles? Put it through them.

Emilie: Post haste!

Emilie slots the plank through the door handles, effectively barring the door shut. Emilie claps her hands, grinning brightly. Tavi holds the cherry bomb out to Emilie who takes it before lighting a match, also handing it towards Emilie.

Tavi: Emilie. The honours go to you.

Emilie lights the cherry bomb, placing it delicately at the foot of the door before both her and Tavi scuttle away a few feet, watching. After a few moments, a small explosion scars the air. Tavi and Emilie listen closely as the sounds of dozens of boots hit the wooden floor, growing louder before being punctuated by the sound of thudding and yelping, the door shuddering and shaking as dozens of bodies slam into it.

Tavi [Grinning, nodding]: They truly are their son’s fathers.

Emilie: What now?

Tavi: Let’s go. They will find a way out. Until then, let us enjoy the New Year.

Tavi and Emilie walk up the street. A few moments later, Boris Hellgenstrand dives through the right-hand window which shatters violently. He rolls through, quickly getting to his feet and looking around.

Boris Hellgenstrand: WHO GOES THERE—

Boris is flattened as David Ross leaps through the broken window, tackling him to the ground…

**RUSSIAN AIRSPACE – 1964**

The mercenaries look around, confused at hearing voices of known comrades seemingly emerge from the ether.

Phil [Cocking an eyebrow]: We shouldn’t have been able to hear that. I guess the time streams are awfully fragile.

Steve: Well, considering we’re converging two different points of time, I’m surprised the weakness of the time stream isn’t more pronounced. Like, where we fight velociraptors.

Bob: Does the Man in the Banana Suit count?

Steve: I notice how we never ran into him this year.

Lynch [Mumbling]: Give it fucking time..

Phil: Man, that sounds exciting.

Steve: Fighting velociraptors does not sound all too exciting to me.

The mercenaries watch as Volgin drops to his knees, letting out a hissing rumble of laughter as he flips open the gun crates: One reveals a small, red nuclear warhead, and the other a missile launcher of some description.

Phil: Ooo, new toy, Colonel?

Volgin slowly rises to his feet, clasping a large handle on the launcher.

Volgin: Excellent. A great success! Thanks to the Boss and her Cobras, I have Sokolov and the Shagohod…

Lynch: We helped.

Volgin: You certainly did. And your reward is not dying.

Steve: I find that to be a highly underrated reward.

Ocelot sniffs the air audibly before rising from his seat, turning to the young blonde and moving behind Volgin.

Ocelot: What are we going to do with the girl?

Volgin [Looking over his shoulder]: Who is she?

Ocelot: Apparently, she’s Sokolov woman.

Phil: No fucking chance!

Volgin turns, walking towards her. The woman shuffles away, turning her head away, but Volgin grasps her chin and pulls her head to face him.

Volgin: She’s a nice catch. I’ll take her.

The woman slowly reaches for her skirt pocket.

Bob [Pointing]: SHE GOT A GUN!

Volgin quickly grabs her arm, pulling it towards him to reveal a tube of lipstick. Volgin takes it and opens it to reveal no lipstick, but instead a small barrel.

Volgin: A kiss of death? Well, you were half-right.

Ocelot: Are you KGB?

Lynch: CIA?

Phil: MI-Five?

Volgin: Either way, we may be able to use her.

Volgin grasps her hand again, forcing the ‘lipstick’ tube into it.

Volgin: She has spunk.

Phil sniggers. Volgin reaches inside the metal crates, loading the nuclear warhead into the launcher.

Frank: Just don’t, Phil.

Phil: What? I was agreeing with him.

Lynch [Quietly]: Goddammit Phil, stop agreeing with the enemy!

Phil [Whispering]: Look, if they haven’t killed us yet, I refuse to class them as an enemy. And will you shut up? We’re double agents now.

Ocelot: Shall we take her back to base?

Volgin: Well, we have no further use for Sokolov’s research facility and I wish to test out this new toy. Any objections, please raise them.

Lynch [Quietly]: Me.

Volgin: Why are you so quiet?

Phil: My commanding officer seems to wish to express his hesitancy at launching a nuke into that jungle.

Lynch scowls. Volgin walks over to the side of the Hind, aiming the launcher out of it.

Volgin: Any objections? I repeat, any objections?

Ocelot and Lynch [In unison]: I--

Volgin: Overruled.

Ocelot: But Colonel, even if they are our enemies, they are still our countrymen!

Volgin: I’m well aware of that. But I’m not the one pulling the trigger: It’s our friend, the American defector.

Ocelot [Angrily, grasping Volgin]: YOU’RE GOING TO NUKE YOUR FELLOW RUSSIANS!!!

Volgin shoves Ocelot, causing him to stumble to the right and hit the floor.  Volgin simply girds himself.

Volgin: Remember the Alamo.

Lynch: Davy Crockett never fired no nukes.

Phil: I’m sure if he had a nuke, he’d have launched it right up Santa Anna’s arse.

Volgin: Exactly.

Lynch [Angrily]: Phil!!

Volgin: So, there are no objections?

Lynch: THERE ARE--

Volgin: Overruled.

Volgin presses the button on the handle. With a huge explosion and a burst of smoke, the warhead surges forward from the launcher. After a few moments, a fiery mushroom cloud rises from the jungle, sending a shockwave cascading towards them. The fleet shudders somewhat, but remains resolute as it continues to fly forward.

Lynch [Angrily]: WHY MUST YOU KEEP SAYING OVERRULED?!?

Volgin: My word is law. Yours is not. And while I appreciate that Kosygin has brought you here, I will not appreciate further insubordination.

Lynch walks away, clutching his lower jaw in shock and irritability, marching to the opposite side of the helicopter and folding his arms. Frank walks over, hands in his pockets.

Frank [Quietly]: Lynch?

Lynch: Snake’s still down there.

Frank: Is he dead?

Lynch: I hope not, otherwise we basically just fucked this up in record time.

Frank [Quietly]: Nah, he’s gotta be alive. Gotta be.

Lynch: I fucking hope you’re right..

The helicopters fly into the sunset, the scene fading to black.

Saga III Chapter IV - Superdupercalifragilacisticnatural

**KATHMANDU, NEPAL**

The bustling city of Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, is one of the few cities to retain its freedom and total neutrality in the face of the rampages of both Liquid Ocelot and the Patriots. The indomitable spirit of the Nepalese people and their army ensures that their freedom remains intact, even when their total neutrality is far from the case, with the Nepalese Army regularly making excursions to battle PMC forces who dare wander too close to the fertile Kathmandu Valley that hosts the city.

Deep in the heart of the city sits a house. Only a single storey high, the interior of the house is plainly decorated with a bare minimum of furniture. With only a couch opposite a flatscreen television, perched upon a carved wooden cabinet, being visible, the home appears to have very little. Within the house, at a small wooden table, sits Karab. Opposite him sits a figure who appears similar to Karab, with darker skin and his scalp covered with a blue turban. Unlike Karab, who is still growing out a beard, the figure has a bristly black beard which hangs loose and free, untrimmed but minimally groomed so that the end hangs in a point just down to the top of his chest. Wearing a tight white t-shirt and a pair of baggy grey cotton trousers, the figure appears to be in much better shape than Karab, his body and particularly his arms a lot more toned. With a large dish in front of him and a cup of milk tea beside it, the man eats as he stares at Karab.

Karab, however, doesn't appear to be in high spirits. Staring glumly at a cup of milk tea in front of him, Karab remains motionless. The man opposite of him remains eating dal bhat, steamed rice accompanied by a small steel bowl of spiced lentil soup known as dal. The man eats the soup, his head slightly raised as he stares daggers at Karab.

Karab: Patel....Just....say something.

Patel remains silent, continuing to eat.

Karab [Quietly]: Please, Patel..

Patel [Slowly setting his spoon down]: I don't know what you want me to say.

Karab: Just consider the request, please?

Patel: Brother, that is not a request that I can consider in of myself. Even if it was, you would not like the answer.

Karab: ....Why?

Patel [Calmly taking a drink of tea]: To be both Sikh and Gurkha is a blessing. Our father, Anri Gurung, a Gurkha by trade in the British Army. Our mother, Nahi Singh, a proud Sikh. The blood of warriors flows in our veins. Some may call us a contradiction, may say that we must embrace either the Gurkha way of life or the Sikh way of life and not both: I say that we are both. We are warriors.

Karab: Patel, what are you--

Patel [Slamming his cup angrily]: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO REPRESENT US WITH HOW YOU CARRIED YOURSELF!!!

A small silence fills the room. Patel lets out a deep breath, scooping up another spoon of dal and eating it before looking over at Karab.

Patel [Calmly]: Brother, you ran. At Sucre, the Shree Naya Gorakh Battalion marched forth and cut asunder the Pieuvre Armament PMC, taking their barracks. But simply because they launched a few Gekkou's, you threw your gun down and you ran. That is an unforgivable act.

Karab [Desperately]: I left the battalion myse--

Patel [Snorting]: And they shipped you to the Middle East to die. You did not uphold any honour by saying that you wanted to leave: You did nothing.

Karab [Growing more desperate]: If I get some more training, better training, rather than being forced through--

Patel [Coldly]: You received the same training as everyone else. Do not bring up the fact that father was a beloved member of the battalion several years prior: That has nothing to do with this. You received good training and you threw it away.

Karab: I didn't mean t--

Patel [Scoffing]; Oh, so now you didn't mean to. That makes it better, does it?

Karab: I wasn't--

Patel: So now you come back. You come into my house as a coward, one who betrayed his oaths and his honour. Now, what do you want of me? Oh, and you had better answer this question really fucking carefully.

Karab: .........I.....want....to be bac--

Patel [Laughing loudly]: BACK?! YOU WANT TO BE A GURKHA AGAIN?!?!

Karab [Meekly]: Well...yeah..

Patel: You? A Gurkha? Brother, you are an embarrassment. You, little boy, would be more suited to a marathon track than to a battalion. You suffered such embarrassment that you had to change your name just to escape your foul deeds.

Karab [Breathlessly]: Because it was horr--

Patel [Sternly]: Yes, it was horrible. Yet you want to come crawling back in, even with a name that is not the one we know, with a legacy tarnished beyond compare. Do you think I would even allow the Battalion to see you? They need to trust their brothers with their lives.

Karab: But this is the only life I know!!

Patel: KNEW.

Karab [Desperately]: PLEASE, PATEL! PLEASE!

Patel [Darkly]: You beg like a dog begs for a treat. You are no more a Gurkha than a dog is. Walk away.

Karab [Pleading]: PLEASE!!

Patel: I'm not even a recruitment officer. I am a soldier. You're just begging for the sake of begging. That's even worse.

Karab [Pleading]: YOU'RE MY BROTHER, JUST DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING!

Patel [Pointing at Karab]: You trimmed your hair in violation of the teachings. You changed your name. You ran away from battle. I don't know what you want me to do, but I cannot work a FUCKING MIRACLE!!

Karab [Desperately]: TO SHOW MY REPENT--

Patel: Repentance? By going against the teachings and abandoning what our parents gave you at birth? That's not repentance: You just wanted to stop feeling guilt so you took the cowards way out by trying to follow a new way of life, and you even failed at that.

Karab: But i've changed!!

Patel: At least you put down the riot shield, but as far as i'm concerned? You still have a long way to go before the Gurkha's will even look at you. Now, brother: Leave my house.

Karab: Seriously?

Patel [Pointing towards the door]: Go.

Karab sighs, getting to his feet and pushing the chair under the table. He drags his feet towards the door, his shoulders slumped and his smile and optimism completely gone. Karab drags himself towards the door, only for Patel to raise his head, taking a drink of tea.

Patel [Calmly]: If you ever...EVER want even the smallest chance of being recruited back into the battalion, you must prove yourself to be a soldier beyond compare. But short of climbing to the stars and seizing Orion, I have no idea what you could do to even make the battalion look in your general direction.

Karab [Quietly]: I will. You'll see.

Patel: Then don't waste your time. Go. And take that foul name and legacy with you.

Karab walks over to the door and leaves the house, slamming the door shut behind him. Patel slowly raises his head, shaking it slightly.

Patel [Under his breath]: I pity you, brother...I don't hate you..

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

ONE WEEK LATER**

In stark contrast to Kathmandu, New York City is akin to a warzone, and that was before the PMC's even bothered to deploy within it. With the threat of Ocelot and the Patriots hanging over them, and with the United States fielding its own sizeable PMC's, the city of New York remains surprisingly neutral. Thanks, in part, due to the fact that no sane living being resides there. New York is, instead, filled with the most violent people from all races, religions and otherwise walks of life. The only reason as to why the city, as it currently stands, is in a state of relative peace, with businesses open, carts being tended by sellers and tourists still flocking in droves to eat in the latest overpriced gimmick restaurant is simply because every citizen is armed to the teeth, and any intrusion into personal space, any insult, any spark will light the powder keg and cause the city to descend into absolute anarchy.

The presence of hundreds of Gekkous, bipedal war machines with no meaning to existence other than to kill and subjugate, alongside several thousand FROGs, Ocelot's own elite brigade of heavily armoured and armed female soldiers, certainly helps to keep the order alongside the uneasy status quo.

Deep within the city, in an unassuming side street simply labelled "Boss Street", stands the Adamska Hotel. Early in the morning, the red neon letters stand resolute beside a glowing golden neon star. Outside, however, are three NYPD police cruisers, sirens pulsating silently. The front doors have been marked with warning tape and several police officers stand outside. The parking lot stands to the right of the casino, driving into which is a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Once parked, the driver and his passenger climb out, revealing none other than Dean and Samuel Chevrolet, the two brothers whose purpose to the mercenaries is still relatively shrouded in mystery, with the only guesses being that they are glorified cannon fodder.

Dressed in black suits, white shirts and black ties, the brothers walk out of the parking lot, heading up the sidewalk towards the hotel.

Dean [Looking around]: Everyone here is packing heat.

Dean looks to his left, down the sidewalk: A group of four young male children, the latest being no older than 10, walk past the police officers with M4 assault rifles strapped to their backs and extra clips strapped to their waists by means of duct tape. Dean flashes an uneasy smile, and a young child with shaggy brown hair glares at him, drawing his thumb quickly across his throat as they walk past him.

Dean [Nervously]: We gotta make this quick, Sammy, even the kids here are packing.

Samuel [Looking around]: Yeah, New York City never was a civilised place.

Samuel and Dean walk up to the front doors of the hotel. An officer steps to the left before the brothers even reach inside their suits, allowing them to lean under the tape and enter the hotel.

Dean: Well, that was easy.

Despite its namesake, the inside lobby of the hotel is almost threadbare, with a reception desk to the right, a dusty, glass chandelier above them and little more than an elevator ahead of them. A black leather couch to their left, beside a glass coffee table, are amongst the sole furnishings of the room.

Samuel [Looking around]: Looks like Ocelot is too busy buying up PMC's.

Dean: Nah, Ocelot doesn't own this hotel. If he did, there'd be probably be more females around.

Samuel: Huh. Aging ugly guy who loves to surround himself with young females.

Dean: It's like Gaddafi all over again!

Samuel and Dean walk towards the elevator where a lone officer is standing, arms folded. They approach him and reach inside of their jackets, pulling out a pair of forged 'FBI' badges and showing them to the officer who steps aside motions towards the elevator.

Officer: Go ahead, sirs.

Samuel [Quietly, aside to Dean as they walk forward]: I can't believe that worked.

Dean [Quietly, to Samuel]: Yeah, well, the NYPD isn't exactly the most well trained police force in the world. All the talented people went into the PMC's: I've heard the NYPD actively recruit Special Olympics winners.

Samuel: .....Well, I won't argue with you on that one.

Dean presses the control panel, calling the elevator. The doors open automatically and Dean and Samuel walk in. The doors shut and Samuel pushes the button for the 7th floor as the elevator ascends.

Dean: So, what have we got?

Samuel [Reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a piece of paper]: Deceased male, mid-twenties. Came into the hotel last night, never came back out. Had a suitcase and that's it.

Dean: Businessman?

Samuel: No idea, he didn't look like the type. Reports are saying he's been bled dry.

Dean [Cocking an eyebrow]: ....Vampire?

Samuel: No visible wounds reported. Then again, the police here aren't exactly thorough. It matches a second case that was reported last week: Again, deceased male, late twenties, reports saying he was bled dry. Of course, being New York, we can't access the body because they threw it into an incinerator.

Dean: Huh. Odd. Well, let's go check him out.

The elevator stops, the doors opening as Samuel and Dean step out. On the wall in front of them, slightly to the right, is a wooden door that is ajar, marked off with police tape. Samuel and Dean walk forward towards the door, looking around.

Samuel [Quietly]: There's no officers here..

Dean [Chuckling]: You don't think the NYPD actually care, do you?

Samuel: Well....you'd think that they would..

Dean: Come on: They have PMC's running rampant throughout the city. Who needs a police force when you can just shoot someone?

Dean and Samuel enter the room, dimly lit by a sole lamp on a bedside table beside the bed. The room itself is barely furnished, a lightbulb hanging by a wire above their heads, a dresser to the left and a flatscreen television on a desk at the foot of the bed, which lies to their left. Dean turns to the left, walking over to the bed where the linen has been strewn over the body. Samuel walks into the room, walking towards the window which is opposite the door and looking outside at an alleyway below them. He runs his hands across the window, lifting his hand and sniffing it, smelling nothing but a musty scent. Over by the bed, Dean throws back the linen, revealing the corpse of a relatively young man with brown hair. An odd smile crossing his face, his eyes appear clouded over and his skin appears sunken and pale, almost leathery in appearance. It appears as if the blood has been sucked straight from him, though no marks are immediately visible on the body.

Dean: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand ew.

Samuel: What is it?

Dean: Male. Sapped of energy. Looks like he's been bled dry. Look at that sunken skin, all gross and leathery.

Samuel walks over to the body, flipping the sheet off of the body and revealing the body further. Though shrunken and lifeless, there appear to be no marks on the body whatsoever.

Samuel [Wrinkling his nose]: Yeah, he's dead.

Dean: Well, what gave it away, Sammy?!

Samuel: The question is, though....what killed him?

Dean: Well, there's no marks, so he hasn't been bled out............Unless he bled out through the anus.

Dean and Samuel look at the body, then at eachother, before looking at the body again.

Samuel [Gulping]: ....No blood on the bed or anywhere I can see.

Dean sighs in relief, wiping his brow before looking down at the bar.

Dean: ......So...

Samuel [Shrugging]: I don't know, Dean. He's been sucked dry: That's all we have to go on.

Dean [Quietly]: ...Don't suppose......A succubus?

Samuel: A succubus?

Dean: Well, yeah.

Samuel [Sniggering]: Sounds like the a plot of a low-grade porno.

Dean [Mumbling, looking around]: Don't give our shitty fucking writer any ideas..

Samuel: What?

Dean: I said that I agree with you! It does!

Samuel [Taken aback]: Er, alright, anyway, yeah, it seems like a succubus. Don't succubi usually mate and hound their pray, though, rather than outright drain and kill them?

Dean: It's a theory, Sammy. I mean, it's the only real thing we have to go on: He's naked, in bed, he's smiling and he's been sucked dry. It's gotta be a succubus.

Samuel: Hang on.....Do you see that?

Samuel takes the head of the body and gently tilts it backwards. Somewhat hidden beneath the figures chin, just on the upper throat, is a long gash, the length of the figures chin, deep enough to slice directly through several major arteries. What is odd, though, is the very distinct lack of blood in the wound. In fact, the pale colour of the flesh and the light colour of the wound suggests that the figure has been heavily drained of blood.

Dean [Examining the wound]: Don't tell me it's fucking vampires now.

Samuel [Narrowing his eyes]: No, that's....that's a very deep cut....Just the one, too......Quite ragged.....Drained of blood...

Dean: I'm still saying it's a succubus.

Samuel: That CAN'T be a succubus. His blood has been drained, his throat cut: What kind of succubus does that?

Dean: One on its period.

Samuel shudders.

Samuel: NO!

Dean: So what do we do now, then? The guy's throat has been cut, we have no clues whatsoever aside from another case in the city where a guy was found with a similar wound. I mean...could a succubus do something like this?

Samuel: Well...we should do something.

Dean: Why?

Samuel [Sighing]: That's what we do, Dean.

Dean: Nuh-uh! We're mercenaries, not hunters!

Samuel: We have to do something, Dean. Dad was a hunter.

Dean: Well, we aren't!

Samuel [Sternly]: DEAN.

Dean: ....Alright, alright! But...how do we get rid of a succubus? Give it the d?

Samuel: Well we--.....What the fuck is 'the d'?

Dean [Smirking]: You know!

Samuel shakes his head. Dean hipthrusts and Samuel steps backwards, narrowing his eyes.

Samuel: No, Dean. No.

Dean: Then what we do?

Samuel: Well, the lore is kind of......difficult.

Dean: How difficult?

Samuel [Shrugging]: It differs. Some say that you need to dispel it using prayer, others say a full-on ritual cleansing.

Dean: ....So, we don't know?

Samuel: No.

Dean [Laughing exasperatedly before sighing]: Wow. Okay.

Samuel: C'mon, maybe we can find something that'll tell us that a succubus is definitely here.

Dean: You mean the poor asshole here isn't proof enough?

Samuel: Not definitive, Dean.

Dean: LOOK AT HIM!

Samuel: I'd rather not.

Dean and Samuel continue looking around the room. Samuel walks over to the bed, leaning down beside the body and grasping a long, black fabric. Pulling it free, Samuel glances at it, realising that it is, in fact, hair.

Samuel: Black hair, quite long. Smells like...

Samuel brings it to his nose and takes a deep sniff before looking over at Dean.

Samuel [Taken aback]: It smells like wet dog, Dean.

Dean [Confused]: What in the actual fuck?

Samuel: No lie.

Dean squats down beside Samuel, taking a strand of hair and taking in the deep, musky smell before dropping the hair to the ground.

Dean [Quietly]: Isn't this shit supposed to smell like sulphur if it's a succubus?

Samuel: Records on succubi are sketchy at best. All we've got is Dad's drawings and scribblings on his collection of napkins to guide us and, to be fair, they all smell like alcohol and shame.

Dean: So that's why he left us at such a young age...he was a drunk, not a hunter!

Samuel: Now, Dean, let's not stray from our path too much: We're here to find out what is giving these men the ride of their life.

Dean: ...Okay then. Yeah, sure, let's do that. But where do we go?

Samuel reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few napkins and flicking through them.

Samuel [Examining the various scribbles]: Well, it turns out there's an old brothel in Amityville--

Dean: Great, a haunted brothel.

Samuel [Looking up]: Was that sarcasm, Dean?

Dean [Scoffing]: Well, yeah!

Samuel [Continuing to scan the napkins]: I can never tell with you.

Dean [Angrily]: Screw you, Sammy!

Samuel slips the napkins into his pocket, walking across the hallway and into the elevator. Dean follows him, scratching his nose as he does. As soon as Dean enters the elevator, Samuel leans over and presses the button for the ground floor, watching as the doors shut and the elevator starts descending.

Samuel: It's going to be difficult fighting a succubus.

Dean: Yeah, well, we don't know what the fuck we're doing.

Samuel [Sighing]: Yeah, we don't...Incantations, talismans, breaking the contract..So many ways of battling it. We have no idea what, if anything, will work.

Dean: Great.

Samuel: I guess we'll just have to try our best.

Dean: Yep.

Samuel: I mean the worst case scenario is having a lustful demon attached to your soul, who will have sex with you to the point of death by exhaustion.

Dean: Ye--Wait, why me?!

Samuel [Smirking]: I'm pure.

Dean [Laughing]: You, pure?

Samuel: Hey, i'm more pure than you, and when a succubus is hunting for a mate, that's all I need to be!

Dean: You're a real asshole underneath that calm face, Sammy.

Samuel: Yep.

The elevator stops, the doors opening as Dean and Samuel wander out into the lobby. The police presence is still notable as they walk across the lobby, pushing the front doors open and ducking under the police tape before jogging down the stairs.

Dean: Do you think they'll ever know what it was?

Samuel: Doubtful. I mean, who is going to suspect a succubus?

Dean and Samuel turn right, heading up the sidewalk and towards the parking lot. Upon reaching the parking lot, they began to walk towards their Impala.

Samuel: Well, next stop: The old brothel.

Dean: Sweet, an old brothel! Hope we can score some ghost poon!

Samuel: Dean, that's sick and wrong. Besides which, there's probably a law that makes it illegal to sexually accost a ghost.

Dean: I'd like to see THAT law!

Samuel sighs, climbing into the passenger's seat of the Impala and slamming the door shut. Dean climbs into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut and looking at Samuel, still grinning.

Samuel [Taken aback]: What?

Dean: Seriously, show me the la--

Samuel: Shut up and drive, Dean.

Dean grins, firing up the engine and speeding up the road.

**AMITYVILLE, NY**

The Impala, and the brothers, arrive outside of a rickety old house on the edge of Amityville, NY. Set at the edge of an unassuming street, the large American Foursquare house looms over them: The white paint is peeling on the facade of the building, and the large porch appears decrepit, with four wooden steps leading up onto it, the paint having peeled completely and revealing wet, rotten wood. The windows, both the dormer windows on the second floor of the house and the single-paned windows dotted across the ground floor, are clouded over with thick layers of dust. The best days of the building are far behind it, and the two skeletal rose bushes flanking both sides of the stairs up to the porch simply add to the horrifying mystique of the property.

Samuel climbs out of the Impala, clutching a Maglite flashlight in his right hand and shining it at a pair of wooden doors which appear chipped, the paint having completely peeled away.

Samuel: Here it is: The Purple Rose.

Dean [Climbing out of the Impala and laughing]: Hey, Amityville! How cliche...What next? Salem?!

Samuel: Could be worse: Could be in Detroit.

Dean: Detroit doesn't exist! It's a myth to scare young children!

Samuel and Dean walk forward and up the four steps towards the front door.

Dean [Taking a deep breath]: Yep, it smells like sex and death. This is our place.

Samuel: Is that a scent that you are used to, Dean?

Dean [Bluntly]: Shut the fuck up, Sammy.

Samuel [Gripping his flashlight]: Shut up, will you? Open the door.

Dean grasps the handles of both doors, wrenching backwards and pulling them open. Samuel jumps back as the dusty, rotten interior of the old brothel opens. Dean coughs slightly, waving his hand over his nose as Samuel walks into the main lobby of the brothel: A large, square room, completely plunged into the darkness, with the moonlight highlighting moth-eating red carpet and a staircase directly in front of them that leads up to a second level, where the landing covers all four sides of the room and is held up by rickety, mouldy wooden beams. Samuel walks forward between two beams holding up the landing above him, looking around.

Dean: Smells like..........................................things.

Samuel [Coughing slightly]: Sm-Sm-Smells like rot!

Dean [Taking a deep breath]: Smells like a case. So, what are we looking for? Traces of sulphur? Summoning circles? Half-naked babes with grey skin, massive tits and who are wearing nothing but thigh-high leather boots and a grin?

Samuel [Looking at Dean suspiciously]: Dean, we're here to hunt. Get whatever you're thinking of out of your mind.

Dean: But I like Metallica!

Samuel: Well, y--[Taken aback]--Wait, what?!

Dean: I was thinking of "The Thing That Should Not Be".

Samuel scowls at Dean.

Dean [Taken aback]: .....What? I like that song!

Samuel sighs bitterly, shaking his head.

Samuel: No, let's see.....I don't know....A...summoning circle or something similar. An altar maybe.

Dean: Where?

Samuel [Impatiently]: I don't fucking know!!

A cough sounds within the brothel.

Dean [Hastily]: Nope.

Dean twists around, jogging towards the door, but Samuel extends a hand and grasps the collar of his suit jacket, quickly stopping him.

Samuel [Quietly]: C'mon, Dean...Gotta find what coughed..

Dean: What if it wants to eat us?!

Samuel: Not everything wants to eat us, Dean.

Dean: You never know, Sammy..

The brothers walk forward, walking up the staircase somewhat gingerly. A loud crack is heard and both brothers stop suddenly, looking down: The staircase, at least, is intact. Samuel and Dean look up, watching as a dusty crystal chandelier, covered in thick cobwebs and placed directly in the middle of the ceiling, violently discharges one of its bolts, hitting Dean on the forehead.

Dean [Somewhat annoyed, sternly]: Ouch.

Samuel: We best get moving, I don't like the look of that chandelier hanging precariously.

Dean [Squinting]: Nah, it's got several bolts keeping it in place. We're safe.

Dean and Samuel continue climbing the stairs.

Samuel [Calmly]: At least the staircase hasn't broken beneath us.

Dean: Yeah. Lucky, eh?

Dean jogs up the stairs, but stops as he disturbs a cloud of dust. Taking a breath, he breathes it in and lets loose a barrage of four sneezes, each one causing him to edge slightly backwards. On the fourth sneeze, he stands on the edge of the step, screaming loudly as Samuel walks behind him, placing his hands on his upper back and gently nudging him forward to stand firmly on the step.

Samuel [Calmly]: Let's not do the slapstick routine here.

Dean [Sighing gratefully]: Alright, alright..

Dean and Samuel climb up the stairs, standing opposite a room where the entirety of the doorframe appears to be covered by a curtain of purple velvet. Samuel grabs it and pulls it aside, shining the Maglite's beam inside the room: Aside from a Queensize bed, the mattress and duvet almost eaten away, revealing a rotten wooden frame, there is nothing of note in the room.

Dean: Where is it?

Samuel: ....Well, not here.

A cough sounds again, in the room to their left. Samuel and Dean exchange a quick look, stepping out of the room and walking over to the room immediately to the left. Samuel grasps the curtain and Dean gives a small whimper.

Samuel [Hissing]: What?

Dean: What if it wants to ea--

Samuel [Impatiently]: Nothing's going to eat us!

Samuel grasps the curtain and shoves it aside. There's no bed in the room, but a figure sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, gazing up at the ceiling. Samuel flashes the Maglite on the figure, revealing a familiar friend: Karab is sitting in the middle of the room, gazing up at the flashlight. Dean screams, as does Karab, before stopping.

Samuel: Hey, it's Karab!

Karab [Suspiciously]: Hang on, it's midnight. Why are you guys here?

Samuel: We're..........inspecting things.

Karab: Like ghosts?

Dean: NO!

Karab: You two act as if I never helped you fight off zombie livestock, and proceeded to continue to fight off said livestock during one of the numerous virulent outbreaks of what I have come to call "undeaditis".

Dean [Muttering]: Couldn't think of a better name?

Samuel: Wait, why are you here?

Karab [Sighing bitterly]: Well......I needed somewhere quiet...just to think...

Samuel: And you chose an old brothel. In Amityville.

Karab [Sighing]: ......Look.....

Dean: At what?

Karab: Guys, I have something to say.

Dean: Can it wait? We've gotta find this succubus.

Karab: No, you know what? Shut the fuck up and let me say something for once, Dean!

The brothers fall silent, standing up and turning to Karab.

Dean [Calmly]: .....Alright.

Karab: Look, firstly, my name isn't even Karab...

Dean: Well, of course it isn't.

Karab [Taken aback]: .....You knew?

Dean [Laughing]: Yeah, Karab ain't a real name. It's stupid. It's like you took the 'S' off of Scarab and thought it'd be a cool name.

Karab falls silent.

Samuel: Oh...

Karab [Grimacing]: I did because I was ashamed....My....My name is Avanash Gurung-Singh. My real name.

Dean: ...........How the fuck did you get 'Karab-Tevany' from that?

Karab [Sighing desperately, pulling at his beard somewhat]: I was...I was just trying to distance myself from the world....from the old world....from the old me...from my family....I felt ashamed, too ashamed to carry the Gurung name. My father's name. If it wasn't for the fact that my mother is still alive and would hunt me down and slay me, i'd have abandoned her name too.

Samuel: .......I'm amazed you're Gurung and a Sikh.

Karab: The world's a changing place, Sam. Anyway, why i'm here.....Well, you know how I came to be in the company, right?

Samuel: Yeah: You were part of a unit taking Sucre from Pieuvre Armament and you ran like a bitch.

Karab [Scowling]: You don't have to put it like that...

Samuel: But Gurkha's don't run. They fight on. Hence: You ran like a bitch.

Karab [Sighing darkly]: ....Yeah..you know what?...Yeah....you're right...I did.....Anyway....I was in Nepal last week....and.....visiting my brother.....I wanted to get back into the Gurkha's.

Dean: I bet he liked that.

Karab [Looking up]: He told me that it would be practically impossible for me to get back into the Gurkha's.

Dean: No shit.

Karab [Sighing]: Yeah...I know...

Samuel: Can you get back in?

Karab [Laughing desperately]: Not without doing something really gutsy and brave..

Samuel: So definitely not, then.

Karab [Scowling]: You could try and be fucking helpful.

The three men stop, hearing the front doors creak open. Dean whimpers, hiding behind Karab who grasps Samuel's Maglite flashlight, gripping it tightly and nodding.

Samuel [Hissing]: What are you doing?!

Karab [Determined]: I've got this.

Samuel: The Gurkha's aren't watching now!

Karab: This is for myself!

Karab lunges up to his feet, grasping the curtain and throwing it aside. Samuel follows, dragging Dean with him as Karab shines the flashlight towards the doors.

Karab [Loudly]: HALT! YOU SHALL NOT PA--

A shotgun blast explodes out. Dean screams, ducking further behind Samuel but Karab, to his credit, stands there as the shot splinters a wooden beam in the ceiling above him, spraying him with dust and wooden shards. Karab keeps the flashlight trained on the figure: A surly, aged man, with a trimmed beard around his jaw, a thick moustache on his upper lip and a truckers cap on his head stands there, aiming down a double-barrelled shotgun. Wearing a blue and white plaid shirt over a red t-shirt, a pair of ragged jeans and a pair of dusty brown hiking boots, the figure appears scruffy, hostile and dangerously American. The man calls up in a thick Southern drawl.

Figure: Who are you?!

Karab: MY NAME IS A--My...MY NAME IS KARAB TEVANY-SINGH!!!

Dean: Bullshit!

The figure, on hearing Dean's voice, slowly lowers his shotgun, taking a step forward and narrowing his eyes.

Figure: ...That voice.....That......Dean?

Dean slowly gets to his feet and steps beside Karab somewhat hesitantly, glancing down at the figure. Dean goes to step back, but stops, looking down at the figure and giving a small, surprised laugh.

Dean: Bobby? Bobby Bingham?

Karab [Bluntly]: Of course. Of course, of course, of course. OF COURSE!

Samuel [Waving]: Uh, i'm right here too, Bobby.

Bobby: Yeah, yeah, what the hell are you boys doing here?! Get your asses down here!!

Dean, Karab and Samuel walk down the stairs towards Bobby. Dean walks over to Bobby with his arms open, but Bobby simply slaps him.

Dean [Reeling backwards]: What was that for?!

Bobby: No reason.

Dean [Grinning]: Damn, I missed you, Bobby!

Bobby: Anyway, what the hell are you guys doing here?!

Dean: Hunting a succubus that killed a guy in New York. You?

Bobby: Same thing. Found in the Adamska Hotel?

Samuel: Yep.

Dean: What a pleasing coincidence!

Bobby [Narrowing his eyes]: You boys ain't hunters, though...

Samuel: We know--

Dean [Quickly] --But Dad was! You and him worked together!

Bobby [Laughing: What? John? Seriously? You're Daddy wasn't a hunter! The only thing he left to hunt was a six pack of beer and a cheap slut named Wanda!

Dean [Bluntly]: He said he was on a hunting trip..

Bobby: Well, he wasn't on that kind of hunting trip.

Dean: Bobby, can you just fucking help us?!

Bobby: HOW?! We don't know what it was that killed the poor sap! You say it's a succubus but I saw that body myself: That ain't what a succubus does!

Dean [Pointing at the body]: It's clearly a fucking succubus! There is no other explanation!

Sam [Interjecting]: Dean, what if it isn't a succubus....but a.....

Sam sighs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and looking around.

Dean: What?

Sam [Sighing]: ...Y'know...like...Tavi and Stephen?

Dean [Taken aback]: An anthropomorphic sugar glider?

Sam: ...Like......a furry--

Dean suddenly screams, running over to the window to the left of the door and wrenching it open before leaping out of it.

Bobby [Scratching his chin]: Well, ain't that a bunch of shit.

Sam: It was only a theory, he really didn't need to leap out of the window.

Karab: You're telling me that it's a furry.

Samuel: Look, we don't know about them, but that hair smelled like dog. That is not the scent that a succubus emanates. What if...I don't know....they have like a....season in heat?

Karab [Blankly]: This man was fucked to death by a dog.

Samuel: It's a theory! Y'know...maybe...maybe it isn't....

Karab: The man was clearly drained of his life force and you're thinking that he got fucked by a dog.

Samuel: Well, i'm coming up with blanks here, Avanash!

Karab [Angrily]: It's still fucking Karab.

Samuel: Look, what if.....I don't know...it fed on him--

Bobby: Then he would've been eaten!

Samuel [Squatting down]: But what if he bled out? See, the gash in his throat! What if a furry mated with him and slit his throat!

Karab: You know, these theories are just getting stupider.

The sound of pattering feet is heard before the door opens and Dean emerges, brushing away plant debris from his leather jacket.

Dean [Letting out a deep breath]: Alright...alright...let's hear your theory...

Sam: ...Right, what if it's a furry BUT......I dunno...it's in heat?

Dean screams even louder, turning to the window and simply leaping through it, smashing the glass and wood.

Bobby [Looking at Sam, somewhat disgusted]: Y'know, I actually agree with the kid. THAT'S your theory?! That.....I don't even know what a furry is...

Sam: Well, it's an anthropomorphic animal. Y'know, walks, talks, has human characteristics, plantigrade or digitigrade feet, wears clothes, has almost human genital--

Bobby: Alright, please stop, i've heard enough.

Samuel: It...could be. It could be.

Bobby [Looking at Samuel, deadpan]: So I should just get some kibble and draw it out?

Samuel [Shrugging]: You can try i--

Bobby: Look, kid, this is stupid. Furries aren't real.

Samuel: Bobby, the danger is real.

Bobby [Angrily]: I AM THE DANGER!

Samuel: Alright, Walter, alright, but we may have a feral furry on our hands.

Bobby sighs, throwing his arms up and walking out of the room.

Bobby [Mumbling]: Bunch of stupid fucking shit..

Samuel: ..........What? It's true!

Samuel sighs, throwing his own arms up and following Bobby out of the room.

**NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

Early in the New York morning, the city is at a standstill. The hustle and bustle of the vibrant city has been replaced by an eerie stillness, and though the neon lights and advertisements still blaze in the dark, they simply highlight empty roads and sidewalks.

Very few pedestrians wander the streets of Times Square. Though mostly devoid of life, the neon lights highlighting little more than the roads and the pavement, there are still a few workers hanging around, particularly in the McDonald's on Broadway, with a gigantic projecting red and gold sign, garish even by the particularly low standards of New York. The only real signs of life are Bobby, Samuel, Dean and Karab, hanging outside of the McDonalds. Dean is the only one eating anything, chomping on a Big Mac as Karab watches, somewhat disturbed.

Bobby: So, what's our next port of call?

Samuel: We wait and see if anything comes up. That's all we can do. I've already got a contact working around the city, seeing if she can find any leads.

Bobby: Leads? Really?

Samuel [Shrugging]: It's the best we can do.

Karab [Wincing]: Dean...man..slow down..

Dean [Chewing ravenously]: NEVER!!!

Bobby: Kid has an iron stomach.

Dean stops suddenly, choking and spitting out a pickle before continuing to eat. Karab turns to the right, taking a few steps forward and sighing.

Karab: Great. This is my life now, is it?

Bobby: Get used to it. It's hell.

"Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas plays quietly. Samuel reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out and answering his phone.

Samuel [Turning away]: Yeah? Yeah? Oh, hi, Ruby..

Dean glares at Samuel who takes a few steps down the street, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. To their left, a figure approaches them, walking up the sidewalk: Karab, Dean and Bobby turn to the figure, watching as none other than Steve Llarec-Barrett approaches them, now wearing a white dress shirt, a navy blue tie, black dress pants and matching black leather shoes with a tan trenchcoat finishing off the ensemble. Over this is his trusty rucksack which appears to be weighing him down considerably as he slowly walks forward.

Karab: Oh...hey, it's Steve!

Steve [Giving a small wave]: Hi guys.

Dean [Letting out a sigh of relief]: Well, it could be worse, could be the asshole who's following everyb--

Phil's Voice [Calling out]: BREW ON THE MO'E!!! SAY 'OUI' TO TEA!!

Dean [Angrily]: FOR FUCKS SAKE, YOU ATTENTION SEEKING ASSHOLE!!

The "Brew On The Mo'e" wagon, approaching from their left, stops in front of the kerb. Phil leans out of the serving window, pointing at Dean.

Phil: Hey, fuck you, not my fault I'm touring the world and selling shitty British tea to the unsuspecting masses.

Samuel: Has anyone even bought some tea?

Phil: Some lads in Tennessee did. A few people in Texas did. I think one or two in Whitby did.....Aaaand that's about it.

Dean: It's New York. Five in the morning. Who the FUCK wants tea?

Phil: Well--

From behind the van emerges a figure. A woman with somewhat dark skin, African in appearance, she stands there, gazing up into the wagon. Long black hair almost obscures her features and her bulbous brown eyes, almost watery in appearance, gaze upwards at Phil, her lips pouting slightly. Phil wrinkles his nose, looking down at her.

Karab: Where the hell did she come from?!

Woman [Quietly]: I'd like some tea..

Samuel: You're actually going to buy that stuff?

The woman nods.

Phil: Must be insane. Funny, I used to know four women who were insane. And several men.

Samuel: And yourself.

Phil [Nodding]: And myself.

Phil sighs, boiling the kettle as the other mercenaries simply stand around.

Steve [Calmly]: So, has anybody seen anything strange?

Dean: Damn straight. We've seen men sucked of their lifeforce and we think it's furries.

Steve [Taken aback]: Wow, that is...........wow. Just wow.

Phil leans out of the serving window, handing a polystyrene cup of tea down to the woman.

Phil: Here you go, love, one cup of steaming hot British tea. It may be British, but don't cry, the shittiness of the tea will subside after a few hours of drinking it.

Woman [Quietly]: I don't cry..

Phil: We all do, love. For example, I wake up and cry. It's part of my daily routine every single I look in the mirror AND WONDER WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY LIFE!!

Phil doubles over, laying his arms on the counter and slamming his head against them, sobbing wildly. The mercenaries watch, wincing slightly as he does. The woman raises her right hand, patting Phil's head slightly.

Woman [Quietly]: ....It's...alright to cry....

Bobby: And this is one of your own?

Dean: He barely counts as one, to be honest.

Bobby sighs bitterly, shaking his head as Phil slowly raises his head, clapping his hands.

Phil: Well, time for me to move on. Catch you lot later.

Phil whistles as Winston, Born Of Winstons, appears in the front cab of the truck, placing his paws on the steering wheel and panting as he drives away north up 7th Avenue. The woman, for some reason, follows the rear of the cart, clutching the cup tightly. Phil leans out of the serving window, watching the woman.

Phil: Hey, what are you doing? Do I look like the Pied Piper of Tea? I AM THE PIED PIPER OF TEA!! ONWARDS, WINSTON, WE SHALL AMASS A CONVOY!!

Bobby [Watching]: I'm guessing he's insane.

Dean: Pretty much.

Samuel hangs up on his phone, slipping it into his jacket pocket and turning to Dean, Bobby and Karab.

Samuel: Right, guys, i've heard of a cryptohominid sighting over in Yonkers.

Bobby: Yonkers is literally full of cryptohominids, though.

Samuel: This one's six foot tall and covered in fur.

Dean [Narrowing his eyes]: Must be a furry: Let's waste it.

Samuel: Or we can just check it out rather than going in all guns blazing.

Bobby [Scoffing]: Where's your sense of adventure, kid?

Samuel: Look, let's just go, shall we?

Karab: What about Steve?

Steve [Looking over]: I'm just a tourist here, guys: Don't mind me.

Bobby: Then let's get moving!

Bobby, Samuel, Dean and Karab jog up the street, towards their Impala as Steve looks around Times Square, jaw hanging slightly open. He quickly closes his mouth.

Steve [Calmly]: Come to think of it, this place is actually quite crap.

**YONKERS, NEW YORK**

Yonkers, New York: One of the largest cities in New York, the city has the dubious distinction of essentially being the backyard of the Bronx. Despite being quite large, the city remains relatively unsung in New York, potentially due to the fact that the Bronx nearby has the notiority whilst the city of New York close by completely overshadows it.

The brothers, Bobby and Karab find themselves tracking the lead to Northeast Yonkers where Irish and Italian-Americans are prominent. A fairly wealthy area, there are certainly worse places to live. The brothers, Karab and Bobby find themselves walking down Salisbury Road, towards Tuckahoe Road.

Samuel: Here we are: Yonkers. Ruby said she saw a strange figure last night, leaving the Grassy Sprain Pharmacy on Tuckahoe. We need to search the area, maybe knock on a few doors, see what's happening.

Dean: ....Well, at least that twat and his stupid tea van won't be here. Loads of Irish Americans here and, being a bunch of IRA supporters, he'd probably find a bomb strapped beneath the van.

Samuel: Not all Irish-Americans are IRA supporters, Dean.

Dean: Fuck 'em anyway. Italian-Americans all the way, baby!

Bobby [Narrowing his eyes]: You don't have any Italian blood in your veins.

Karab: He's American. He has so much European blood in his veins that he bleeds genocide. There's probably a little Italian in there somewhere.

Bobby: Yeah, that's true.

Samuel and Dean are quickly pushed aside by a figure walking quickly. Clad in a thick grey woolen overcoat, with a tipped black fedora with a white band obscuring their face and their hands shoved into their pockets, the figure is definitely suspicious to say the least, mostly because nobody wearing a fedora would ever be seen in public. Dean and Samuel swiftly turn around.

Samuel [Quickly reaching into his jacket and pulling out his fake badge]: Hey, FBI!

Dean: M'lady.

Karab: Wow, easy joke for you there.

The figure suddenly sprints down the street, moving extraordinarily fast.

Bobby [Eyes widening]: Fuck.

Karab suddenly sprints forward, chasing after the figure as Dean, Samuel and Bobby just stand there.

Samuel: Well, he really is trying to be useful.

Dean: He ain't going to catch that thing.

Bobby: He's certainly trying. Let's go.

Samuel: Wait, what?

Bobby [Angrily, jogging forward]: COME ON, DIPSHITS!!!

Dean and Samuel exchange exasperated looks before sprinting forward, chasing after the figure who is now far down the road. The figure swiftly reaches Tuckahoe Road, bustling with traffic in the early morning, and tries to cross it. Stepping onto the road, the figure is quickly forced back as a speeding car almost makes contact with its left leg. Not far behind, Karab is desperate in the pursuit.

Karab [Angrily]: HALT, DAMN YOU!!

Looking left and right, the figure makes a decision to beginning sprinting left. Karab is gaining ground pretty quickly, twisting around the corner and quickly following the figure as it begins to sprint up the street. Samuel, Dean and Bobby are still some length behind, still running down Salisbury Road. Samuel quickly reaches the end of the road, but looks over his shoulder at Dean and Bobby who are both struggling to catch their pace.

Dean [Breathing heavily]: FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK!

Bobby [Jogging forward at a steady pace]: Shut up and keep running!

Samuel [Calling out and clapping his hands]: COME ON! COME ON! COME ON!

Samuel runs around the corner, shortly followed by Dean and Bobby. Karab, without thinking, pulls off his white t-shirt, scrunching it into a ball and throwing it towards the back of the figures feet. It hits the figures feet and somewhat tangles around their right foot, causing them to trip forward on all fours. The people of Yonkers have now come to a standstill, watching in amazement as a half-naked Indian-Nepalese man gives chase to a shrouded figure desperately holding onto his fedora.

Karab [Pointing forward]: YOU BETTER STAY! YOU BETTER STAY!

The figure stumbles up to their feet, limping slightly before twisting left and running into an alleyway. Karab quickly gives chase, followed shortly by Samuel who stops near the alleyway, looking over his shoulder as Bobby and Dean continue to jog forward. Despite Bobby being middle-aged, he is easily outpacing Dean whose limbs are flailing in agony as he continues to run.

Dean [Panting]: Nobody said anything about running!

Bobby [Angrily]: Maybe you ought to stop eating and start training more!

Samuel [Pointing into the alleyway]: HURRY UP! IT'S IN THERE!!

Dean [Panting]: What....do we...do?

Samuel: ........Well, it ran into the alleyway: Let's chase it.

Dean [Panting]: What if....it...wants to....eat--

Samuel [Angrily]: FOR THE LAST TIME, DEAN, NOTHING WANTS TO EAT YOU!!

Samuel, Bobby and Dean quickly round the corner into the alleyway, conveniently blocked off by a chainlink fence. Karab is standing in the middle of the alleyway in a three-point stance, seemingly ready to tackle the figure should it try running at them. The figure leaps onto the fence but Bobby reaches into the side of his waistband, pulling out a sawn-off shotgun and aiming it at the figure.

Karab [Taken aback]: Do you have a howitzer in there too?!

Bobby [Angrily]: ALRIGHT, SON, STOP RUNNING!!! WE NEED TO TALK WITH YOU!!!!!

The figure looks over their shoulder before twisting around and hopping off of the fence. The figure swiftly takes off their fedora, revealing an animalistic face resembling a Saluki dog. Completely white with a somewhat stubby muzzle tipped with a black nose, with the long, whispy white ears tied behind the back of its skull to resemble a ponytail, the somewhat skinny figure gazes ahead with bulbous brown eyes, its hands clutching the fedora tightly.

Dean: I don't like it. It's got fur and it smells like wet dog and it doesn't look like a dog and i'm scared.

Anthro: Don't you think i'm scared?

Dean: NOT AS SCARED AS I AM!

Bobby: I.............don't know what to say right now.

Karab: Who ARE you?

Bobby: Hell, WHAT ARE YOU?!

Anthro: And why should I tell any of you?

Samuel: ...Because maybe we have answers to your questions.

Dean: That's highly unlikely.

Anthro [Scoffing]: So YOU can tell me where to find other anthros?

Dean [Smirking]: Hey, look, it suddenly became likely!

The anthro looks shiftily at the men before sighing and rubbing his eyes.

Anthro: ....Alright, whatever, since you idiots are so desperate....My name is Andrew Kane. That's what I was named after I was picked up outside of Bielefeld by a group of men calling themselves....Fuck....uhh....Oh, right, the Special Air Service.

Karab [In disbelief]: THE Special Air Service?

Dean: Hang on, didn't Stephen come with IRA guys? Are you telling me that the IRA and SAS raided a single compound?

Samuel: Remember: The IRA said that the compound had been abandoned and it looked ransacked. The SAS could have raided it first and took more than Stephen.

Kane [Scoffing]: Do you think only two groups were interested in the Perfect Soldier Project?

Dean: Oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Kane: There were several of us in that compound. All created after the Project had been officially abandoned. It carried on in secret, and I really don't think we were the only ones created.

Karab: Why?

Kane: When I got picked up...there were.....damn....uhh..........a few maps. I remember the Special Air Service picked them up. They tore one from the wall and I do remember a few red pins on it......Only one place......Goddammit.....I can almost see it........uhh.....hmmm........Oh, yeah.....The other place I remember wassssss...

Dean: Spit it out!

Kane: Hey, this was two decades ago, gimme a break........Pretty sure it was....Ah! Finland! North Karelia in Finland!

Bobby: Well, you can forget about dragging me along to that cold wasteland.

Samuel [Aside to Bobby]: Actually, North Karelia is supposed to be quite beautiful.

Bobby [Scathingly]: Well, I don't give a shit.

Karab [Interjecting]: Hang on, something I want to know: Why anthropomorphic creatures? Like, I can understand making human super soldiers that, y'know, looked like humans and you couldn't tell who was a super soldier on the battlefield. I mean, look at Solid Snake, but last I checked, the Project churned out some guy called Null and nothing more.

Kane: Well....you know how the Academies and the Perfect Soldier Project were officially scrapped in Nineteen Seventy-Five because it was deemed a failure?

Samuel: Yeah.

Dean: I didn't.

Bobby: What a shock..

Kane: Well, unofficially, the Project continued, just without the Academy being used to train soldiers and, from what I know, across the globe....Basically, they wanted to create soldiers with the traits of animals. Stupid, eh? Well.....we were the ones created.....It was.....Well, you may be surprised to hear this, but our appearance? This animalistic appearance? It's all we have....I mean, some can fly, glide...Some can climb well....but really, the Project was a disaster. The Special Air Service were disappointed because...what did they say?.....uhh.....well, that I was just like a human. Skills-wise, that is. That's why the project failed. That's why it never continued. That's why it was abandoned. That's why, when the Middle East Academy was seized and secured in Nineteen Eighty-Nine, they never continued the project: It was a failure on all fronts. A waste of money. Plus, with the war economy these days, they don't need to go back to the Project. Who needs a perfect soldier? You earn money by sending out cannon fodder to die. That's it. I was secured in.....Ninety-Five. After they found out my skills were lacking, they just kept me around and trained me up in combat as best they could.

Dean [In disbelief]: Fucking hell.

Kane: Yeah, we're not special. I mean, yeah, we look like THIS, but combat wise? We're nothing, really. Just the same as you guys.

Samuel [Gravely, aside to Dean]: We need to contact Mother about this, quickly.

Dean: Why?

Samuel: Well, there was a continuation of the project in Karelia? I mean, we know Bielefeld was abandoned but....what if.....the Project is still ongoing?

Sudden ominous music is heard. Dean looks up at the sky.

Dean: What the fuck was that?

Karab: Look, if the SAS seized the maps, maybe they seized the other soldiers. Maybe they even killed them.

Kane [Quietly]: I hope not...I'm trying to find others like me....

Samuel: Maybe we should take him home, Dean.

Dean: JEEEEESUS!!! Is Beale Street going to be renamed to Furfag Avenue? No! Fuck that! Fuck that straight to hell! We can't just keep befriending fucking weirdos--We already have that stupid, hyperactive rich English guy, a furfag who is apparently in with the IRA and a female furfag who is INSANE. Why do we need more shit?

Samuel [Bluntly]: Well, Dean, we're not exactly normal. Not even you.

Dean: I'm more normal than his thing!

Kane: Excuse me, but I told you the information I know, now tell me what you know: Where are the others like me?

Dean: That's classified--

Samuel: We have one working for us, currently in the Sinai Desert as part of our company from the Academy. Sugar glider, female. A second sugar glider, male, was recently made known to us, working for the Irish Republican Army PMC.

Dean [Scathingly]: It WAS classified information?

Kane [Stepping forward]: If you don't mind, i'd like to leave now. As enlightening as this conversation was, I need to go about finding others.

As Kane walks forward, Dean holds his arm out, forcing Kane to stop.

Dean: Hang on, son, we have another question..............Do you know anything about the men dying around here?

Kane: There are people dying here?....Huh.....No: I'm just trying to find my own kind.

Dean: Then who is fucking all these men and subsequently killing them?

Kane [Bluntly]: It's not me. If I stuck my knot into them they'd--

Karab [Disgusted]: WE DON'T WANT TO KNOW, DAMN YOU!!!

Samuel: It's gotta be female. The original theory was right: It's gotta be a succubus.

Dean: Why the fuck were we even chasing anthros anyway? An anthro couldn't drain a man of their life!........Could you?

Kane: Nope.

Dean: So, there we go. We were busy chasing a stupid lead and now we're back to square fucking one. Gee, what a fucking episode this turned out to be. Not a single fucking thing changed.

Samuel: Karab told us his real name. And we found another anthro. Plus we learned about the Perfect Soldier Project. And things.

Bobby: So are you telling me that this entire episode doesn't have a conclusion?

Dean: Oh, i'm sure there'll be a second part that will bring everything to a nice, neat finish.

Dean grins brightly. Samuel just stands there before looking at Kane.

Samuel: But now we've found a furry.

Kane [Speaking up]: I prefer the term 'anthro'.

Dean: So?

Karab: We need to uncover the mystery behind where he came from--

Kane: Bielefeld. I told you.

Dean: WE ARE NOT GOING TO BIELEFELD!

Kane: Just let me continue on with my mission.

Karab: No, it's a mystery that we have to solve, for we are.....................................

Samuel [Calmly]: We don't have a name.

Dean [Grinning]: Dean and the Scoobs!

Bobby [Bluntly]: Fuck. Off.

The scene begins to fade to black.

Samuel [Quickly]: No, we need a resolution! We need a resolution!

Dean: We need to find out if there are more furries out there!

The scene fades to black.

Dean's Voice [Angrily]: GODDAMMIT, WE WILL HAVE OUR RESOLUTION!!!