New Story where I've rumored I would do and now thanks to the help of SPARTAN-626. It's here.

The events that happen are completely fictional, any and all events relating to real life are completely coincidental. Real life scenarios are featured as well as some dark subjects.

You've been warned.

[Somewhere In Austin Texas]

The newspaper that a man was reading at his desk showed all the major developments in other countries across the world. Such as 'Villages Liberated From Crime Lords' and 'Corrupt Mercenary Group Taken Down' or the favorite, 'Government Secret Military Plans Put to a Hault by unknown red haired woman.' Seeing that always put a smile on his face.

Why?

Because he's the one who tasked the teams to take care of it. He was the one who was in charge of planning the whole operation. His name and title was Dr. Leonard Leeroy Church Sr. and his job was being the head Director of the Mother of Invention. As well as the head of his lesser known secret, Project Freelancer, a cousin to WOOHP. Granted the cousin is more focused on constantly developing their agents with enhancements and super suits, as well as unafraid to dirty their hands.

But he read the paper with great joy as he looked at all the program that had developed. Until his partner and trusted assistant, who went by the nickname Counselor on account he is in charge of taking care of mental issues for everyone in the building.

The Director smiled, hoping to hear good news, "Counselor, what brings you in here?"

The Counselor shared the smile, but was empty in returning it, "Well, it'd be easier to show you." He said as he clicked a remote on the Director's desk.

Whatever was on the TV had changed the Director's mood from pleased to irritated. He removed his glasses as he pinched the middle of his nose.

"Please get the boys and bring in Sarge as well." The Director asked nicely.

Before the Counselor did anything he corrected the Director, "Umm, they call themselves Bad Company. The boys."

"Just get them." The Director groaned.

[2 Hours Later and In The Front Entrance to a Large Ranch]

A blue pickup truck, came driving by the white posted fence that spread for quite a few acres of land. The truck had some grey metal cracks as the paint was chipping off. Small holes were scattered throughout the sides of the, bullet holes.

Besides the truck, the landscape was beautiful all around. Wide open space filled with either lush various fields of various harvests. The thick forest area bordering the land, connecting with the white stretching fence. Or the freshly painted barn and house, everything in sight was breathtaking.

As the busted pickup truck came in front of the barn, the driver noticed three figures already in front. All male, the biggest one holding a sledgehammer over his right shoulder as he faced the truck with a big smile. The other one a little husky, on the second level of fatness, bordering the third level. The last one was a rather smaller, lanky man with a wrist gadget he was showing off to the wide friend.

{For those who are unclear, there are 5 levels of fatness: big, healthy, husky, fluffy, and DAMN!}

As the driver pulled closer to the barn entrance the details on each and every one of them became more and more clear.

Starting with the giant, strong friend, Michael J. Caboose, aka The Train. Standing 6 feet 2 inches, weighing a powerhouse weight of 275, he was the muscle. He had the body structure of a lightweight bodybuilder, his muscles all evenly matched one another, everything was proportional to each other. While looking at faces, Caboose had a rather nasty scar on his head that looked like it was from surgery. His hair was a dirty blonde and his eyes were a glistening jade green, his skin was white but with some color in it as he looked like he tanned. How he earned the name 'Train' is either due to his time as a youth working, training and playing at his local train yard or the fact that he hits like one. Today Caboose wore a blue flanel with black jeans and wearing matching DCs, with the laces tucked into the shoe.

Next the round one, fellow smart-ass, Dexter Grif, aka 'Crash'. Standing 6 feet 1 inches and weighing the most with 312 pounds, he wasn't physically fit by first glance, but his arms were fit and his calves were well shaped. His knee in a clothed brace, probably due to years of earlier physical therapy, after an incident. His hair was a light brown that was all over the place in a complete mess, his eyes were a honey brown and tan skin. Grif received his name after playing so many contact sports in his past life, he also has had the most intentional crashes that he got himself the name from his teammates and friends. Today Grif wore an black T-shirt with orange sweatpants and black Converse.

The Last one, for the moment, the smart one of the group, Richard Simmons, aka 'Hacks'. Standing next to 5 feet 9 inches, and weighing a very light 153, making him the lightest of the team. He was definitely skinny, not too much muscle or fat, he could've been the before picture for every superhero. No noticable injuries or scars yet, but given the career they were in, it was too early to tell. Hair a mix of brown and red, eyes hazel, and skin pale with scattered freckles on his cheeks. It's pretty obvious to see how Simmons earned his name, being the tech wiz wasn't an easy feat to accomplish. Simmons wore a white shirt with a marron vest and brown jeans, finished with black Stacy Adam's, or dress shoes from a similar brand.

The man from the truck leaned on to the green hummer that the chunky one had brought, "Where's Tucker?" The leader asked.

"You know him," Grif said, "fashionably late, as usual."

After a second or two later, the man they were waiting for was riding in on a motorcycle. Chopper to be exact, riding with a teal helmet, wearing a black leather jacket and a teal tight fitting T-shirt with skinny dark blue jeans and a fresh pair of white leather boots for men. The man known as Tucker finally arrived as he hopped off his bike, "So what's up?" He asked.

"Waiting for your ass." The leader said as he greeted his friend.

Lavernius Tucker, the flirtatious one, aka 'The Face', because every team needs one. Standing at 5 feet 8 inches the smallest only by a few inches, but physically in shape and fit while weighing 186 lbs. Just like Simmons, no scars or injuries that were noticable, which he loved showing off and rubbing it in their faces. Hair; dark brown, eyes; amber and his skin was a dark pigment. Tucker got his name because of the rumors floating around his name: the one where he dated Taylor Swift and Katy Perry, in the same night. Today he decided to take Church's old leather jacket over his teal jersey, with double zeroes and his last name, along with light skinny jeans and fresh sneakers from Nike.

The group had Caboose and Grif open the barn doors, to see the usual display and decor everywhere. Hay all over the floor, wooden stables with farming tools on the walls. All that the room was lacking was the barn life itself, no cows, goats, pigs or chickens to be seen. The leader himself went past the center of the room while his team stepped into the middle of a oddly perfect metal rectangle. As the one in charge stepped in front of a camera at the end of the room, he yelled into, "Hey, want to get off your lazy asses and let us in?!" He questioned the guys who looked through the camera on the other end.

The rectangle in the middle of the room lit up around the edges and corners as it slowly descended down the floor. The leader went back before the floor dropped any further than a step down and stood back into position with the rest of the group.

As the floor was dropping the entire group looked around to see a wide room under the barn with four directions of hallways. The ramp was lowering by some kind of clockwork system as some gears turned on the platform they were on. Throughout the white walls and black floors were different combat armored personnel. All hurrying through, going about their business with either papers, cargo or in a few cases prisoners. Three figures stood at the bottom of the elevator waiting for the five usual screw-ups.

As the elevator hit the bottom floor, one of the men came forward, "Great Paul Bunyan, how did you all screw up?" The first man asked.

"Easy Sarge, we didn't screw up. Our mission was completed." The leader said stepping forward.

Sarge: was both his real name and his alias, at least according to his license and badge. Military man based on posture, facial features, hair and clothing. Dressed in red camouflage clothing and black combat boots, as well as the shotgun on his back. Sarge was the man who pushed the boys of Bad Company into shape, he was tough and rough. Scar across his nose and cheeks, crew cut style hair and rather strong build. Standing at 6 feet exactly and weighing a precise 250 he could've been manufactured in a factory.

Speaking of being manufactured, the weapons specialist, Lopez pulling a hover cart with green cases. He began going down the line taking the boy's assault weapons, and placed them in their designated cases. Lopez is a hydrogen-cell powered cybernetic organism with a living tissue that coats a metallic exoskeleton. He was found when Sarge was involved as the Director's first troop in the field, on a raid.

Sarge stopped a mad scientist from releasing an army of robotic soldiers from invading the White House from the Atlantic Ocean. Sarge found him after searching through the ship after the mission, Lopez was found in the bottom of the ship as an incomplete project.

The Director had a team of his engineers reprogram him, repair him, and upgrade Lopez to be a highly valued asset. Lopez's skills rely on his vast knowledge of weapon modifications, vehicle customization and mission assessment. And when it comes to combat of any type, not much can stop him, being bulletproof does have its perks.

Lopez weighed a quarter ton, 500 lbs and stood at 6 feet 2 inches, making him an intimidating force to gaze upon. His hair was was dark brown, skin a deep tan that covered chiseled structures. Problem they had with Lopez was that he only spoke spanish, due to one of the programers messing up with the language settings, a problem that was easily worked around.

As Lopez was gathering all of the weapons, Sarge continued, "Then how come we were called to the big man's office?" he asked as they were walking in the direction of the 'big man's' office.

"Probably to congratulate us." Simmons suggested.

"Early retirement for our work?" Grif suggested out of nowhere.

Sarge then twitched his eye as a large vein popped in his head, "Yes, Grif. You get to retire early. You were a big help to this program. So much in fact that we're holding a parade in your honor. I get to drive the float and Simmons here is in charge of confetti!" Sarge answered, sarcastically yelling.

"I'm not stranger to sarcasm, sir." Grif stated.

The leader snapped as he turned his head back to the group, "Hey! Who's in charge here? Because last I remember, I'm leading this team. Now shut-up!"

"Dude, what crawled up your ass and died?" Tucker asked.

"We're here!" The Leader answered.

The group then fell silent as they entered the room, for their careers were now in danger. The Leader entered first going into the center left, Sarge center right, Tucker left, Caboose far left, Simmons right, Grif far right. Everyone hands behind their backs, at attention waiting for the orders and commands of the man in front of them.

The Director turned to face the group as he finished typing onto his computer to view what was the last thing he needed to prepare. Taking off his glasses, to rub his eyes for a moment he replaced him for the conversation.

"So. Before we begin, would anyone care to confess where they messed up?" The Director asked calmly.

After a few shared glances they wondered how their mission was a failure or where they screwed up, "Um, permission to speak freely, sir?" Grif asked.

"You may." The Director answered.

"Where did we mess up?" Grif asked.

The Director then explained the mistakes, "The task was to gather information and evidence of corruption and heinous crimes against your target, correct?"

"Yes, sir." Simmons answered.

"Then with the evidence you were then supposed to make public..." The Director continued.

Tucker then nodded with a smirk, "Oh yeah, we publicized that shit!"

"...To the proper presses?" The Director questioned.

"Ohhh..." Simmons, Grif and Tucker realized in unison as they realized that last detail.

"Son, anything you want to say?" The Director asked the leader.

The Leader, Leonard L. Church II, callsign and nickname The Ghost. Standing 5 feet 11 inches and weighing 217 pounds, while not the biggest, definitely the toughest, due to the few little scars on his face. His body type normal, while his hair was jet black and slicked back in a pompadour, and his eyes were a steel blue accompanied by pale skin. Only Tucker, Leonard and his family by choice know why he earned the nickname 'Ghost' and it would stay that way. All Church wore was his sky blue T-shirt and baggy combat pants and Timberland work boots.

Church now took it among himself to address what was definitely the problem, "Yeah, I live for this shit." He stated.

"You live for reckless actions, dangerous conditions and lack of reasoning." The Director asked.

"Kind of: to the first. Hell yeah: to the second. What lack of reasoning, though?" Church asked.

The Director then clicked on the TV that was turning towards them, "You do realize that the evidence needed to go to the proper presses because if it came anywhere else, that would be an unreliable source. Therefore, can not be trusted." Director explained.

"However, you fail to realize that the evidence might be destroyed by the proper presses because the Senator we were after has his hand in their pockets. Thus why the papers and news only report on the good, rarely the bad." Church answered back.

"True but it may go public if you had people on the inside who might let somethings slide. Who are very good at being undercover." The Director argued back.

"Yes, but there is also the outcome of which they will never make it to the right people, therefore the chance and risk were too great." Church finally concluded.

The Director then showed them the screen, "Yes, but this only appeals to the sensitive group, not the hardcore serious group like mine. And this does not make it any better." He said referring to TV.

Now before I show you what had happened on the screen, let's go back to before shit had hit the fan. Specifically, around 27 hours ago in a country club area.

[27 Hours Ago: At a random country club]

The Palm Oasis Lake Resort Lodge was the playground for the rich, wealthy and the most powerful. A 50 square mile paradise of golf, water and all rich activities both legal and non. All guarded by an almost literally army of security guards, fairly armed and well trained.

So it made since that one of the most corrrupt and influential Senator Richard 'Dick' Hotchkiss. For those of you who are wondering who 'Dick' is, simple nothing short of a bad man. Reasons why? Church explains best as 'Dick' pulls up in his black Ferrari.

As 'Dick', a grey haired, pale faced man walked stepped out of his shiny new car, which was paid for with tax dollars. He and his very attractive female partner, definitely not his public wife and not his daughter, a working woman maybe. 'Dick' walked over to one of the first of the staff that was near his car dressed in a valet suit.

Immediately the Senator wasted no time harassing the first person in front of him. Which was a rough looking young man in his early twenties who seem to have been lucky getting this job. 'Dick' then began to speak rudely to the person in front of him, "Hello? It's about time, now listen. Which penitentiary are you coming from? Listen, keep it out of the Sun, I don't want any of that bird sh*t on it. Do you understand or are just stupid. I've had enough of you people." 'Dick' said as he handed the keys to his car over to the valet.

The supposed valet driver hade gotten into the car and started it up. What the Senator and many other people fail to realize is that this man had a tattoo on the back of his neck. The tattoo was of 5 black wolves of different positioning, the one in the middle stood the tallest, with the word 'ALPHA' below the five pack members.

The driver then floored it, attracting the attention of everyone in the entrance to the country club. The car's tires cried out as they dragged against the road and onto a narrow pathway. The car had barely fit through the slim path, barely being stressed because the headlights were destroyed by the pillars of the sidewalk.

As the car was on the verge of disappearing out of sight, the Senator had questioned the club's manager as to who that was. Eventually, when the car had finally disappeared from sight, the Senator pulled out his phone, "Hotchkiss! This is Senator Hotchkiss. Listen, my car has just been stolen!" The Senator said as he screamed at his phone to the authorities.

(Meanwhile; with the car)

The driver had found a clearing where there would be about a few moments of free clearing from police. As the thief parked the car large, a forest green truck approached from behind a few trees. Out came Dexter Grif and Richard Simmons, the duo; who then proceeded to stick, place and tape cameras onto the newly stolen, freshly pristine sports car.

After a minute at most, the car had hit the road as police cars had now appeared out of nowhere. The law enforcement vehicles came in by the threes, flooding the rear view mirror of the exotic car in front of them. One of the many car's many passengers began to shout through a speakerphone, "Attention driver, pull over to the side of the road!" The officer demanded.

Thus begun the show as the driver glanced back, "Yeah, yeah, I hear you." The driver, Ghost, Church II wearing a motorbike helmet to hide his face, said in response.

He then turned to the 1st of many cameras in the car to the right side of him, on the passenger door, "See, these pigs are chasing me because of this car. Obviously it doesn't belong to me, it's not my style. It belongs to a certain Senator, Senator Dick Hotchkiss." He said as he began switching to his front dashboard cam.

"You remember Dick, right? He's the guy who wanted to propose a whole bunch of stupid laws, such as making rap and video games illegal. Stupid but not why I'm here." Church said as he began explaining the long list of crimes.

"See, he had his son enter the MLB recently. How? Steroids and forged papers. But due to many other players with similar dreams there was a lot of competition. So little Johnny boy had Daddy dearest pay for a hit squad to break bones. And because of that, many players, their families, friends and hometowns never got to root for them. Exhibit A1 and 2." Church said showing them a short video of the Senator's son walking towards his car talking to a few thuggish looking beings. The next video was the same looking thugs assaulting around seven or eight specific high-school baseball players, "Don't worry about him though, he won't be playing soon." Then the next video showed the criminal baseball player walking to his car. Out of the shadows came a large figure in a sports helmet with a hockey stick. The hockey stick wielding man then smashed the right hand that was on top of the car's roof. A scream came from the athletic fraud and the assailant then jabbed the end of the stick at the right kneecap. Crippled the jock faker fell to the floor with a moan and groan of pain; his career, now officially dead.

The faceless driver, Church kept driving as he switched to different cams, "He is also part of a secret group, which is knows for their hatred towards everything not 'Perfect America'. If you need a hint, it starts, ends and has a middle with the letter K. Yeah, that group. Need convincing. Exhibit B1 through 3, one my colleagues infiltrated a secret meeting in the basement of the Senator's mansion. The same coworker found the white robe within traces of the Senator's DNA in it. Finally, in a call that was recorded to one of the Senator's secret friends the brave colleague recorded this." Next played a phone call filled with so much profanity and hatred that it would make anyone sick.

"Bad but trust me when I say it gets worse." Church said as he continued driving away from the police, "One of the social media and networking companies owned and funded by Dick, began stealing personal information all this information from accounts who had joined. Now this would've been secret, had it not been for another friend who has posted all of their information on a website that the 'administrators' posted on a recent update. Link in the description below."

"Oh and finally." Church was about to conclude, "The exact same Senator tried to have millions of honest, hardworking citizens, thrown out of the job. Not due to bankruptcy, but due to the money he could receive from said bankruptcy. After they were out of the business he was going to hire a lot of cheap robots that made the products his companies produced 1.5% faster but at the cost of quality. But the first replacement batch was delayed, due to a roadblock."

As the driver was reaching his destination, he glanced at the camera in front of the camera in front of him, "Dick, you're a bad man, and you know what we do to bad guys. We punish them." Church said as he drove forward, "You've just entered the Blood Gulch. Okay guys everything set?" He asked his radio to check if everything was perfect. As the car reached it's destination the driver stood up with one hand on the wheel and the other against the dashboard.

[I promised myself I'd never do this again but just because this was a mix of Triple X and Fast and Furious, I had to]

"Phyllis, shuffle play." The Ghost said as his music started. Bodies by Drowning Pool, the punk rock song filled the air as

He drove furiously as he came to a bridge with a blockade at the end of the road. As the police prepared to intercept they failed to see the deployable ramp in the middle of the road a few dozen meters ahead of them. The car then sped up and turned to the right, moments after the ramp propped itself up. Flying through the air for a moment, The Ghost jumped out of the falling car and deployed a parachute he had strapped to his back.

As the expensive car fell, the gliding good doer smiled and laughed as he saw his wrist gadget. The screen on his arm showed that he caught that action on live video feed, from many different cameras that he had placed at different angles. He smiled as he saw that the hijacked car he stole had crashed to the bottom of the bridge causing a large explosion. The luxury car of that corrupted politicians had caught flames.

While the car burned, a large green amored truck drove forward and out came his crew. His second in command, The Face, took action, "Grab the cameras." Just like that, 'Crash', 'Train' and 'Hacks' jumped out and used fire blankets to retrieve the cameras from the burning wreckage.

As 'Face' pulled out a hand camera he looked up at his masked, descending leader, "Moral is: Don't be a dick, Dick!" The Ghost said as he landed and hopped into the jeep with the rest of his crew.

[Now]

The same team stood in the office waiting for their punishment, as usual. Normally it begin with Sarge yelling at them followed by subtle, calm lectures by the Director. Today was not one of those days as the room was quiet while the Director kept shuffling a few folders on his desk as he prepared to leave his son.

He sighed as he glanced up from his glasses, "Listen, I gathered this team with an idea." The Director then elaborated the why, with a story, "Years ago in a classified regular people ranging from office workers to prisoners were tossed into a boxed canyon because some sick pricks wanted to see a blood bath. Now normally the people would fight, but given a moment to realize what would happen when one would win they knew no one would win. So they tore the stone walls down and hunted their kidnappers, they were called the Blood Gulchers. Just like you, soldiers and agents are the uniformed way that these tasks were carried out. Until I saw potential in you all, you aren't soldiers or agents, you're people who have been through your own hells and emerged victorious."

"We know. You've told us this many times." Church halted the Director's speech, "So, why are you pissed when we do what you ask of us?"

The Director held his head, "I'm just saying that you've been given opportunities but had them snatched away by corruption of hearts, minds and souls. This is your second shot to do something right." He explained as he waved his hand away, "Now if you'll excuse I have to handle a bit of damage and put out some fires you made."

With that the boys then left the office and began making their way to the mess hall to get some grub. Leaving the Director to sigh in his office as he began to open emails and regular letters as he usually does. One specific letter caught his eye, from his companies non-violent twin: WOOHP.

[With The Boys of Bad Company]

Church had led Grif, Simmons, Caboose and Tucker to the Mess Hall where pizza was on today's menu. For obvious reasons, the lunch people loved Grif because he enjoyed their food the most. So it was no surprise that they had two whole pizzas, one for him and the other for the rest of Bad Company.

As the boys sat at a booth instead of one of the many tables they each took a few slices. Grif had his whole pizza, Simmons being slimmer only took one slice, Tucker watching his weight had one as well, Caboose who was a lot larger than everyone had taken four, while Church took the last two. Sarge who had joined them had an MRE in front of him as he ate next to them. Lopez drank motor oil through a straw as he sat next to Sarge.

Grif and Simmons sat on the left side of the booth with Simmons closer to the wall. Caboose, Tucker and Church sat on the opposite side of them while Sarge and Lopez sat at the end. Church was on the outside as he didn't like being trapped in closed spaces, Tucker was fine in the middle as he enjoyed his small slice.

When Church was thinking or stressed he wouldn't eat just sit there staring into the blankness of the table. Right now he was thinking about a matter that kept constantly plaguing his mind. Whenever a mission was never perfectly executed by the book, which was usually always Church would ask himself this question. Unfortunately he wouldn't complete this answer as something or someone was approaching.

As Church finally reached for his drink, Agent Georgia from the Freelancers division came to the table with ten other of his teammates. He always became egotistical, ever since he became one of the top 10 just because a few of the agents became sick for a week. He approached the group from behind after coming from a mission, "Well, look who's back. The fuck ups." Agent Georgia taunted.

Church reached for his metal cup and began drinking his drink to keep himself calm. Meanwhile everyone else besides Caboose looked away from his gaze to ignore him. Sarge who had more pride pushed back as he placed a hand in front of Georgia, "Beat it son. We're busy." He stated seriously as he continued to eat meal.

Georgia laughed it off as though Sarge was nothing, "Ha. Doing what? Getting hopped up on Red Bull? Slacking off while we do your jobs? Keep up the good work losers. Hell the only team you'd beat is the triplets."

Church, who's head veins had bulged uncontrollably, stood up from the table to confront Georgia, "Listen dickless, if you want to start shit best remember; me and you can go one to one."

"Ooooh, I'm really scared of number 2." Georgia sarcastically said, acting intimidated, "Do something." He said pushing against Church.

Grif finished his last slice as he took a swig from his cup. Finally walking over to the trashcan just a charging distance away from , "Hey Church, what's the play?" casually asking.

"Remember the rule you had, no red shirts at practice?" Church asked back.

"Yeah."

"Forget that." Church ordered.

"Gotcha."

"Hey George, look here." Church said getting Georgia's attention. As Georgia met Church's glance, he met the five knuckles of Church crossing his cheek.

Immediately two of the guys grabbed Church pushing back into the wall behind him. As Georgia recovered Grif charged him, lifting him up in the air and them slamming him to the floor. As the fight began Sarge couldn't resist so he got involved dive bombing two people. If Sarge got involved Lopez was left with no other choice and armed barred one person to the ground. When Church was involved Caboose being the self proclaimed had to get involved, same with Tucker being second in command and all. Meanwhile Simmons, who was in band in high school played the violin he just happened to bring as he added classic brawl music.

[The Next Day]

The Director was taking off as he finished loading his suitcase and briefcase in his armored luxury cruise vehicle. As he finished and was about to take off he turned to those who were before him. His trusted employees, his reliable Counselor and his son and his rebellious bunch. Instead of some words he simply nodded for them to get back to work, including his son.

The Director got into the back car and began to ride off out of the secret barn doors. Church was used to this, even younger he was taken for granted, always expected to carry everyone. He simply saluted in a sarcastic and walked over to his pickup truck.

That was the way they grew up, Church was just a creation of the Director, while Carolina was his daughter. But it was alright, after all the Director wasn't really Church's father, Church was orphaned til 17. He made a life for himself, but got into some trouble when his former boss wanted to make him a fall guy. In return, Church spread the secrets of his company to the press, but his boss had his hands in the courts pockets. About a few days later after being homeless, the Director picked him up, gave him a gun and said "Get the bad guy, save the day and look nice doing it.", that day opened a new opportunity for Church. He got justice and a little vengeance; after he finally broke the company he introduced his old boss to a wrench. Now he eats his food through a straw, meantime Church is free and able to take down bastards like that all over.

As Church pulled the door open *BOOM* a loud explosion and a burst of flames appeared in the distance. The exact same distance and direction of the Director's limousine and convoy. After a moment of clarity and realization Church began running over to the attack site across the field. Sarge who was in the armored car behind the Director hopped out and created a perimeter around the crash, for cover and to keep others away.

Sarge turned to see Church running over to the burning wreckage, and ran to intercept him. As Church and Sarge made contact, they were forced to the ground by Sarge's weight and gravity. On the floor, all Church could do was scream for his boss he respected the most.

[Days after the Director's death: 7]

After the days of grieving and funeral arrangements no expense was wasted to honor the memory of the Late Director. Today was truly a depressing day, the rain made sure of that. Everyone dressed in black suits circled around the coffin as it was being lowered down into the ground. 500 employees and operatives gathered around to toss in a handful of dirt.

Everyone believed that they were important to the Director, a select few believed that they weren't. But now wasn't about them, now was about the man who brought so many people together to save lives and liberties. The 21 gun salute broke everyone's heart as this was the final farewell.

No one would be the same after today.

[Days after the Director's Funeral: 4]

After over three days of doing nothing we find ourselves misfits spread out around a bar. All legal drinkers, Church 23, Tucker 22, Caboose 21, Simmons 22 and Grif 23. Church and Grif at the bar while the rest found a booth to rest at. Church wasn't in the mood for a drink, but the rest were, aside from Caboose who simply didn't like the taste of alcohol.

This bar, they were at wasn't a club for say, but more of a kind of hole in the wall place. It was known for its nachos Grif favored over regular places and it's bar rumbles. The fact that the establishment hasn't been shut down was a mystery, but people come to drink away their problems. Businesses are also done here, the bartender also is a fan of Bad Company, she was like an aunt in a way.

"What's up guys, no new stories to tell." She asked picking up the leaders mood.

Grif spoke for Church, "We lost our mentor."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She responded to the sad news.

"It's fine, it's not your fault." Church said taking a swig out of anger, "What's worse, the Counselor won't send us out on a mission. So while Georgia is out there somewhere, We have to deal with the fact that we're wasting away."

The bartender refilled Church's mug, "Well, at least you have each other. That's not much anyone else can say."

"Thanks." Church appreciated.

Grif went back to the group as Church thought about the next move in his plans for the team. Unfortunately no idea that crept into train of thought was looking like a best option. Thankfully he didn't need to think of an alternative, Sarge had just called him on his cell, "We need to talk."

Church activated face to face connection and put on a blank expression, "Hello, you have reached the Life Model Decoy of Captain Leonard Leeroy Church. Please leave a message after the beep." Church lied to Sarge hoping he'd take the hint.

"It's urgent." Sarge insisted.

"Then leave it that way." Church ordered.

The front doors to the bar opened showing the war veteran standing tall. Phone in hand, glum and depressed face as he continued walking in.

Church groaned as he signalled for Sarge to pull up the chair next to him. As Sarge approached the bar, Joan offered her drinks, "Can I get you something Corporal?" She asked.

"No thanks." Sarge answered as he folded his hands together.

"What is it?" Church questioned to save time, "What does Project Freelancer want us to fuck up?"

Sarge sighed as he put down a piece of paper, "As of today, Bad Company is now being transferred over to a neighboring espionage division known as WOOHP. Meanwhile I'm stuck here. Sorry."

"Bullshit! What right does that spineless shit have to give that order." Church argued, referring to the Counselor's leadership.

Tapping the paper, Sarge revealed who truly gave the order, "Think again."

"Director, Dr. Leonard L. Church." Church read to himself, "Shit."

[Later Back at the Locker Rooms]

The entire Bad Company unit all unpacked their lockers and loaded them up into their duffel bags. For some, it took longer because of the junk they stuffed into their locker over the short years of service. Church took the longest, being the leader hurt his pride as he threw his bag over his shoulder.

Despite only being transferred it felt like being excommunicated from their holy land of purposeful rampage. Church, Grif and Simmons knew that other teams thought they were a mistake because of their comments. Caboose and Tucker just shrugged the hatred off as jealousy, after all they did stuff only others could dream of.

As the boys finished up, Sarge entered and pointed to each of them, "You boys, come with me." He ordered as they followed him down to the armory and garage level.

Curious, Grif asked the first question, "Why the hell are we here?"

"Can it." Sarge barked without any demeaning nickname. Clearly this matter was serious, "Now orders are you ship out tonight at 2200 hours."

"Yes sir." Simmons answered, nodding and standing at attention.

Sarge then flipped the switch, opening the gated armory, "However, previous orders stated in a side note: Take what you want. Keep it. You might need it."

The armory, home to many different weapon types along with the garage became open to the boys of Bad Company. Wasting no time they began to grab whatever caught their eye. As Tucker was about to grab the sniper rifle, Church held the gun by the barrel and placed it back down. He made one more demand, "Take what you specialize in. Tucker: close combat, Simmons: intelligence and infantry, Grif: crowd control and defense, Caboose: heavy weapons. Me, long range and surveillance." Church ordered as he began to walk away from the crowd.

Tucker who frowned went from snipers to shotguns to grab other weapons they may need. Eventually Sarge stood by the gate along with Church to approve of the weapons.

The first to the gate, Simmons layer out his weapon sort on the table next to the exit. Simmons laid out the weapons and listed them off:

"X16 handgun, check. FR 5.56 assault rifle, check." Church listed off as he went through the list, until he came to the rocket launcher Simmons tried to sneak in, "No."

"Oh come on Church." Simmons begged.

"No. We don't need it."

"But we might."

"We won't."

"We might."

"No."

"Please.

"No."

"Please!"

Knowing this wouldn't end, Church gave in, "Fine, Sarge please put the STRELA-P back and trade it for something lighter."

"RPG or PILA?" Sarge questioned as went to the rocket section.

"PILA." Church answered.

"DAMMIT!" Simmons cursed.

"Get your specialist equipment, Next!" Church shouted as Tucker came back.

Upset with his forced change, he dropped everything onto the display table. Really wanting to use the sniper rifle he grabbed his close quarters load out:

"M19 pistol, great choice. KSG shotgun, nice pick. And... an EBR-14?" Church asked as that was a marksman rifle, "Really Tucker?"

"I never get to use the fucking sniper rifle, what do you expect." Tucker argued.

"Next." Church said as Tucker went to the his grab historical equipment.

Grif walked up with his bag and dumped his assortment out onto the table. Sarge groaned while Church nodded with the assortment, "Let's see:" He began

".357 revolver, that's a beauty. M4A1 assault rifle, iconic. And the one for instant room clearer, the China Lake." Church said as he was pleased someone followed orders. In truth he just got it right so he wouldn't have to go back and fix his inventory, bare minimum is how he avoids doing anymore work.

"No problem, brother. I read you." Grif nodded as he went to the side to reclaim his other gear. The real reason being that

"Caboose, you ready?" Church asked

Coming with arms full of the heavy weapons, he was about to list them off but forgot the names. Caboose instead pointed to each gun, "Okay so, this."

".50 GS pistol." Church corrected.

Pointing to another he called out again, "And this."

"M91 Light machine gun."

"This one last."

"FN SCAR 17." Church finished as he went to grab his load out.

Going over his mind he went for all the key ingredients when it came to his weapon of choice. Power, accuracy, firing rate and lastly weight. He kept with the same pattern as everyone else, Pistol: 1911 model, Sub machine gun instead of assault rifle: MP5, and lastly his sniper rifle the HDR.

Before leaving Sarge gave each of them their specialist gear, in order of weapon first come first serve. Simmons: his computer interactive gauntlet, which is basically the world's smartest computer in a wrist device. Tucker: his pheromone stimulating cologne which was used by Rasputin to seize power over Russia via the wife of the leader. Grif: his holographic projecting body armor able to absorb explosions and deflect bullets. Caboose: his plastic explosives, untraceable, portable and equivalent to about 89 sticks of dynamite. Church: The camera slingshot and motion tracker dart gun, pretty self explanatory items. s

Satisfied with their gear they began making their way to the garage until Sarge stopped them. Holding keys to another part of the garage, he smiled, "Any melees?" Sarge asked.

As he lifted up the door open, there were melee weapons out the wazoo. Ranging from spears, swords, clubs, bladed, blunt, if it whacked, stabbed, cut or bludgeoned it was there. Fanning out each of them picked up their own weaponry that suited them.

Simmons, a World War 1 hammer wrench; useful, reliable and fits along with his line of work. Grif, cedarwood baseball bat; can't beat the former baseball star inside him. Tucker, a medieval style longsword; possibly compensating for something or maybe big enough for his ego. Caboose, the door knocker, the sledgehammer; unlike most sledges weighing with a ten pound head, this was a twenty pound hammer, the wood was modified to hold the head. And for the leader, a six foot length of a steel chain. The meaning? Part of his history. The reason? Forever a mystery. But it made him more dangerous.

Now onto the garage. Excited, Tucker already hopped onto his chopper. Pretty suiting for a man like him, the main bad boy of the team besides Church. The chopper itself was equipped with multiple features such as: oil slick, trap titanium tinsel cable, ski attachments, etc. The quickest of the vehicles.

Next the specialized Warthog jeep, a light assault vehicle that leaves the passengers exposed but makes up for that with speed and destructive force. Upon viewing it Grif made a call out, "Shotgun."

"Shotgun! Fuck." Simmons cursed being just seconds late. Armed with a detachable .50 cal. chain gun, two tow cables and winch, along with other modes. Best of it, each vehicle made itself slicker by transforming into more civilian like vehicles.

The good, the better and now the best, The Scorpion Hummer, an actual tank. Made with steel that makes bank vaults look like paper, almost indestructible. Armed with an actual tank cannon that hides away in the roof to lower suspicion. And folds out the tires to go over any terrain.

"Where to?" Church asked as he hopped into the driver seat of the Scorpion.

"Your assignment is in Beverly Hills, California." Sarge began, "You'll meet a man by the name of Jerry Lewis, he's your new boss. Play nice."

Church put in the destination, this was gonna be a long road trip. Especially because they stop for snacks, bathrooms and funny street signs. Church loaded in his mix tape as he started to lead the long drive ahead, followed by Tucker on the chopper and Grif on the Warthog.

Tucker pulled ahead of the crowd as he seemed too excited, "California here we come." He cheered.

"Easy there, remember the mission." Church advised.

"But the beaches, the sun, the hunnies?" Tucker pointed out as he explained the real reason for his excitement.

Tucker revved up his engine and speeded off towards where his dream location. Church rolled his eyes as the disguised assault jeep came from the side to pass him. Thus officially beginning their long awaited journey.

[Beverly Hills, California; WOOHP HQ]

The phone to the main office in WOOHP began to go off rang as the man behind the desk was busy. The many separate files on his desk had cluttered the work environment. Jerry Lewis grew impatient as he called upon his assistant, "Franklin. Franklin. Would you please get that." He pleaded.

An agent in a black suit and pink tie entered the room with a fresh tea on a tray. He placed it in front of Jerry and picked up the phone, "Franklin Delano Donut of WOOHP speaking, how may I help you?" He asked, then handed it to his boss.

"Hello?" The old British man answered, "Understood... Yes... thank you very much."

He paused as his assistant came to his side, "Anything you need sir?" Agent Donut questioned.

"Yes! We'll be expecting company soon so get many of the agents ready to go." Jerry ordered as he put the files away and prepared to inform another specific task force team.

[End of the Beginning]

Holy shit! Longest Chapter I've ever done. Over 8000 words were put into this. Next Chapter will take some time. Please leave a favourite and follow. As well as your opinion in the comment section.