American organization: P.A.T.R.I.O.T
P.A.T.R.I.O.T stands for Paramilitary, All-Terrian, Reinforcement, Intelligence, & Operations Taskforce. They are the American brothers of Kingsman…well, the brothers that don't always get along. So when their paths cross again, it's hard to keep the organizations from getting at each other's throats. This time, the organizations are forced to work together against a common enemy. Will they be able to stand each other long enough to get the job done?
The sound of her mother's vase crashing to the floor woke Mona up from her deep slumber. She had been resting peacefully (which she hasn't done in a very long time), dreaming of nothingness and a giant black space in which she pictured herself floating. The second the crashing noise echoed up the staircase Mona's eyes flickered open and a mildly irritated groan escaped her tired mouth. The twenty-one year old grumpily pulled herself from the comfort of her warm blankets on her bed and attempted to wipe the sleepiness from her dark brown eyes.
As Mona left her room her hand lazily grabbed a long object off her nightstand. She silently descended the stairs and stood at the entrance of the small old rustic-style kitchen of her and her uncle's home.
Yawning, Mona mumbled, "Okay…who broke Mom's vase?"
Mona's uncle, Desmond, sighed at the sight of his sleepy niece, "Sorry, for waking you up, kiddo."
Mona squinted at the light in the kitchen. She thought she'd been seeing things, considering it was 2 am and she literally just crawled out of bed, but she swore she saw a third blurry figure in the room with them. As she blinked the blurriness out of her eyes she recognized the man as a broad, bushy haired brute, he was like a lumberjack on steroids. And he definitely wasn't a friendly, she could tell by his stance behind her uncle and acting all coy.
"You didn't tell me we were having guests…this early." Mona scratched the top of her head, attempting to detangle the messy brown knots on her head. "I would have dressed more appropriately."
"Don't worry, Momo." Desmond stepped toward his niece, though stopped himself quickly, he was almost hesitant. "Just go back to bed, I'll wake you in the morning."
Mona frowned as she observed her uncle's behavior and it pissed her off. More so than she already was for being woken up at 2 am and not have the appropriate amount of caffeine in her system.
"Sir," her brown eyes bore into the mysterious man standing close behind her guardian. "I'm trying my best to be polite, but if you move that knife a centimeter closer to my uncle I will tear you apart."
Silence.
The man hadn't realized Mona knew what was actually going on. She knew the second the sound of the vase crashing something was severely wrong, because never in millions of years would Mona nor her uncle would ever touch her mother's vase.
"I suggest you step away," Mona growled. "Now."
In a split second, her uncle had ducked out of the way at the sound of one of their safe words. Mona reached around her back to where she had tucked away the object she grabbed from her nightstand, a weapon, duo fighting batons; her uncle had specifically designed for her since she joined up in his ranks as a mercenary.
Mona pressed a hidden button on one of her fighting batons, which activated the Taser feature, and hurled it at the knife wielding man, striking him inches away from his heart. He crashed to the floor in a large heap, pretty much taking up most of the kitchen floor. As the man laid unconscious on the kitchen floor Desmond disarmed the baton stuck in his chest and tossed it back to his niece.
"You were three inches away from the center of his chest, what gives? Sleep deprivation finally getting to you?" he teased.
Mona scowled good heartedly back at him and replied sarcastically, "I've forgotten what it's like to have a normal sleeping pattern due to my…work schedule."
Her uncle snorted and tied the unconscious man up. Mona casually stepped over the body and made way to the fridge. Before opening it she clicked her batons together and let her bo staff lean against the fridge.
"So, who is this idiot?" Mona asked as she pulled out a glass for milk, a jar of peanut butter, and bread, balancing the objects perfectly on her arms. She dropped the items on the cream counter top and simultaneously began a search for this knife wielding lumberjack on the government grade tablet.
"Uuh," Desmond paused in his actions and eyed the man again. "Uh, I forgot…I think Russian mob?...or…maybe he said MI6…I'm not sure all those accents confuse me."
Mona nearly spewed out the milk she just poured. As she coughed she slammed her hand on the counter top, "MI…freaking 6? Uncle D, they're our allies, remember?"
Her uncle chewed the inside of his cheek in thought for a moment before looking back down at the unconscious fellow.
"Huh…I wish I could have asked him more specifically before he pulled a knife out on me." Desmond rolled his eyes at his niece and pulled his phone out, about to dial a number.
Mona smirked and used the knife the man was using against her uncle to spread the peanut butter on her sandwich. She took a quick picture of the lumberjack's face and let the database run its search for any match.
Desmond raised an eyebrow at his niece, "A peanut butter sandwich? At this hour? Just go back to bed, I'm calling Rushmore."
Suddenly, Desmond's phone rang out in the silence of their house. Mona and Desmond glanced at each other, sharing similar confused stares.
"…Or," Desmond eyed the blocked cell phone number with a raised eyebrow. "Rushmore is calling me."
Her uncle answered the call, "This is Pierce."
Mona sat down at a stool near the kitchen counter and watched the man with a knife curiously. The tablet she was using beeped, coming up empty in its search. So, this man didn't have an identity…or at least not in America. She sighed as she shoved the rest of the sandwich into her mouth and chased it with the rest of her glass of milk.
"Ok, sir, we'll be right there." Desmond hung up his phone. "Get your Go Bag, we're going to Rushmore."
Mona frowned. "What? Why? I was just put on leave, why would they want me back already?"
"They don't." Desmond said as he nonchalantly picked the lumberjack up and tossed him over his shoulder. "But I don't trust you home alone, so you're coming with me."
Mona groaned obnoxiously and tucked her tablet beneath her arm; she used her free hand to pick up her bo staff.
"Fine." She said. "But if Bruno gets pissed off and tries to kill me, I'm blaming you."
LOCATION: Washington's head in Mount Rushmore
Head Quarters to PATRIOTS
Time stamp- 4:00AM
"WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING HERE!?"
Mona's grin was as big as the Cheshire Cat's. The furious roar of the person that disliked her the most. Bruno Wilkson, a volatile, anti-social ex-SEAL who was discharged for severe substance abuse. He's crass and vulgar…and Rushmore considers him a Viking of the modern age. And he cannot stand Mona Pierce.
"You little shit!" Bruno spat at the young mercenary standing only six feet away; basking in the atrocious behavior of a man she called uncle, though they weren't related. Luckily, several other large men were holding him back, but they were barely holding. "I'm going to kill you."
Mona placed her hands on her hips, relishing the displeasure in the air, "Yea, Uncle Bruno? Take your best shot!"
"Mona!" her actual uncle called to her from the other side of the brightly lit conference room. "Don't encourage him. Bruno, leave Mona alone."
Ignoring his ex-SEAL pal, Bruno leaned forward and growled in Mona's face, "I'm not afraid to hit a girl."
"You hit my niece, I shoot you, Bruno."
"It'd be worth it."
A spark of excitement flinted in Mona's dark brown eyes as a devious smirk remained permanently on her face. She leaned forward, closing the space between her uncle.
"Bring it, Gramps." She challenged.
Desmond sighed deeply as he handed some papers back to a young operative and the operative departed from the room. He was already so done with this mission and it hadn't even started yet.
"Doc and Red are on their way." Desmond said as he settled in a chair at the long wood table. He waved the men holding Bruno off, "Let him go, if he gets any ideas I'll take care of it."
The men glanced at each other before hesitantly releasing the beast. Bruno stood there, all 6 feet 5 inches and 260 pounds of him, looming over Desmond's niece intimidatingly. But this didn't faze Mona.
"Uncle Bruno." Mona addressed him curtly.
"'Ain't your uncle, brat." Bruno snarled.
"Are we still on this?" Dr. Marley Quincy, aka Dr. Death or Doc said as she entered the room with a legendary Patriot. Garret Redford, or Red…for all the red on his ledger. No one really knows what he used to do before Patriots, mainly because they're too afraid to ask.
"Get over it already, Bruno." Doc sighed and shook Desmond's hand.
"Mona, wouldn't have had to shoot you if you behaved." Red pointed out as he came up behind Mona. Bruno's deadly gaze didn't leave the young mercenary.
Mona continued to smile up at him, "In my defense, I was left unsupervised."
"Children shouldn't play with guns." Bruno's gruff voice muttered.
"Who said I was playing?" she teased.
"Attention Patriots."
The team looked up at the holographic screen projecting at the center of the conference table. The face of their leader, and leader of their country, the President was projected before them.
"I'm glad you could all make it." The President said. "Now, let's cut to the chase. I'm sure you all remember my daughter-"
"Libby?" Mona raised an eyebrow and grinned cheekily. "Who could forget her?"
"Ah, Mona." The President's voice sounded rather disappointed. "You're back early."
Mona winked and gave him a two-fingered salute.
"Glad to be of service, sir."
"Ah, right, anyways, due to the lack of security I need you five to look after my daughter."
"What?" Bruno burst, slamming his fists on the table. "We're a trained killers, not babysitters."
"I am aware of that, Mr. Wilkson." The President continued on. "But as of recently there has been a threat on our country by a foreign power, so until we get more information on this attack I need you all to look after Libby."
"With pleasure, sir." Desmond spoke up quickly before anyone else could object to their highest power.
The second the hologram shut off Bruno was up from the table and leaving the room. He nearly trampled Mona in the process.
"Hey!" Mona snapped, making him pause in his rush for the door. "Twinkle toes, watch your step our you'll squash a small village or, more specifically, me."
"I ain't a damn babysitter." Bruno grunted. "I'm a mercenary."
"We all are, Bruno." Desmond said. "But more importantly, we're Patriots, and we do what ever it takes to protect our country-"
Mona leaned toward Red and whispered, "We're trying to reason with a man who swallows scorpions for fun. Why don't we just let him go?"
Red's eyes flickered in amusement.
"In fact," Mona grinned at the large Navy SEAL. "Leave. We don't need you."
Bruno turned around and eyed the young mercenary darkly. Doc frowned and backed up; not wanting to be involved in the fight Mona was about to start. Desmond sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, mentally preparing himself for the onslaught.
"What'd you say, brat?"
Mona shrugged and raised her hands up, all nonchalant. "I'm just saying, bro…I mean, hey, you couldn't even watch me for two minutes. You're a shitty babysitter."
Bruno's eyes widened and he let out a feral growl.
"Fuck it, let's go." He snarled.
"Yea, ok," Mona suddenly became more perky and looked around the room at the other faces. "Anyone else wanna go? I'm for a road trip."
"Oh," Doc grinned cheekily and nudged Mona playfully. "We know why you want to see the President's daughter."
A corner of Mona's grin pulled upwards as Desmond began to usher the team out of the room and to the hanger.
"I'm ready to set you up," Doc insisted to Mona. Mona rolled her eyes and groaned in annoyance.
"Not another blind date, Doc!"
"It'll be good for you, Mona!"
Mona stopped in her tracks, took her comrade by the hand and thoughtfully patted the back of it, "Doc, the last person you set me up with was an accountant. An accountant." Mona snapped. "He wore a business shirt tucked into his khaki pant with a holster for his phone. Who could he possibly be getting a call from that he needs to have his hand, OK-carral style, and would render his phone smoking so he'd to immediately holster it?"
"Ok, I get it, my bad on that one." Doc admitted and tugged Mona along to the plane. "But this other guy, he's not as boring, I swear!"
"I don't trust your judgment anymore," Mona shook her head. "You're lucky I still love you, though. So who is the poor sap you strangled into dating me?"