ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ Battlescars [The Expendables]

01

Suspiciously, Barney looked around, trying to figure out why Atlanta of all places. In the middle of the night, mind you. That 'we're meeting at a little after ten' didn't exactly make everything look right, but that wasn't the problem. Some of the things the Expendables did were beyond the law. After all, there were mercenaries for such tasks.

For now, no need to worry, just wait and see, Bonaparte told his friend as the two men walked down the street, stopping when a group of cars came into view. A possible candidate, but to Barney it was just a couple of kids with cars, causing Bonaparte to let out a chuckle.

"I hope this kid isn't a bust like the last one," but Bonaparte started to shake his head at Barney's words, "What else was he supposed to be? Ex-Navi?"

"Surely no one could have guessed that his resume wasn't entirely kosher," Bonaparte defended himself, pointing at the people gathered about twenty meters away from them, "You'll like my current candidate, and so will Christmas. But only if he can handle the competition, of course."

"He can't," Barney replied evenly, one corner of his mouth turned up, knowing his long-time competitor and friend very well, "What makes you think Christmas can?"

"Knives," was all the explanation that came from Bonaparte.

Three young men, in their early to mid-twenties, walked over from their cars to a blond boy and handed him a bundle each; the boys nodded at each other and a few words were exchanged.

"So," interjected a brunette girl who had slammed the car door and hurried across the street as if it were too late, "what's up?"

"Gen," the brunette was greeted by the blonde, and they both clenched their fists, "the usual. Two hundred meters off the main road."

An all clear followed, the brunette nodding in agreement as she walked back to her car, started the engine and drove off.

The rest of the small crowd began to cheer as eight people walked to their cars, got in, and drove to the makeshift starting line, which consisted of tape on the ground. Those who had been standing in the street cleared the way and the blond walked to the red line to give the starting signal. As he dropped the flag on the ground, the cars sped off, their engines roaring.

When Barney asked which of the people present they were both here for, Bonaparte simply took his little book out of his pocket, flipped through it, and then put it back in his pocket. No answer, great, Barney thought, and let it go for now. As the people ran forward and began to cheer, Bonaparte tapped his friend on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow.

Both men stood in the crowd to get a better look at who would return first. A dark green car was heading straight for the finish line; the distance to the others was a good car length, but Bonaparte pointed to the opposite side of the street where the brunette's matte black car came to a stop.

"La Santa," Bonaparte said, with Barney in tow, approaching the brunette who was just getting out of her car to join the group, "La Santa Muerte."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the brown-haired woman replied coolly, only giving them a quick glance.

"Sierra Génesis Salamanca," was Bonaparte's reply, causing the brown-haired girl to stop, nod, and turn around with a panting, miss brave look, "Why not? Don Emiliano's little darling."

"What do you want?" replied Sierra, whose voice had become weaker than it had been a minute ago, "or much more from my father?"

To offer you a job. Not a deal, not a business deal, but a job, and for you. Not your father.