"No fucking way."

"Way."

"No. I don't believe it. I simply don't believe it."

"Right in his eye," said Leon.

"How do you aim a rocket launcher at somebody's eye? How would you even know it got him in the eye?"

"Well, his eye was in his mouth, so it was hard to miss."

"Oh, you're fucking high, man," said Chris, his fist to his mouth in disbelief.

"And guess who tossed it to me," said Leon.

"What?"

"Guess who tossed it to me."

"I know, tossed what?"

"The rocket launcher."

"Oh. Who?"

Leon picked up his drink, putting it to his lips.

"Ada."

Leon took a swig of his whiskey.

"Ada!?"

Leon swallowed, clenching his jaw. "Fucking Ada."

"No fucking way."

"Way."

Leon put the glass onto the tabletop.

"And not only that," said Leon, before compulsively picking up the glass again. "She blew up the goddamn island right after it."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Chris pounded the table and then leaned back into his chair. "I just can't believe it. It's legend stuff, I just can't believe it."

"Well, I hear you've punched a boulder until it did your bidding. You punched a boulder into submission, huh," said Leon with a chuckle.

"No, that one's made up."

The door swung open. Leon and Chris looked over to see HUNK standing in the doorway.

"Good to see you ladies again," said HUNK through his mask, sauntering into the room.

"Uh oh," said Chris, smiling over at Leon.

"Look who it is. Daft Punk finally arrived," said Leon with a smirk.

"We leave at 02:00," said Hunk, unpacking a duffel bag on the table near the far wall. He carefully placed a stock-armed TMP onto the table, before lining frag grenades neatly beside it. "I suggest you lay off the booze. This one requires precision. Not that you two ever quite cared about precision."

"I care about taking in some fresh air," said Chris, motioning over his face. "Doesn't that mask ever get musky in there? Seriously, this dank basement's got plenty of fresh smells in it. You should take a load off."

"Take a load off?" HUNK turned from the table to look at the two. "Taking a load off is out of the question forty-eight hours before the mission. A clear head is a clear take, and a clear take is the difference between living and dying. I'd recommend that with everything in life."

"Jesus, Socrates," said Chris.

"And some of us have a clean take with some whiskey in the system," said Leon, taking another swig.

"And some of us rationalize until it kills us," said HUNK, turning back to the table and removing a Glock 22 from the bag, placing it beside the grenades. "Have you read the Stoics?"

"Read the what?" Chris asked.

"The Stoics." HUNK removed a knife from the bag, placing it beside the TMP to the left. "Marcus Aurelius. Seneca. They speak about the virtues of loving your fate." HUNK removed four magazines for the Glock, placing them beside it. "Instead of drinking, you should consider the Stoics. It would help you stay alive."

Leon scoffed, placing the whiskey onto the table.

"And there you have it folks," said Chris. "HUNK is ready to go."

The door once again swung open. Four other men entered the room; a stocky man with a yarmulke, a bulky black man with one white eye, and a small sardine of a man with no distinguishable features. They surrounded the table and took their seats.

"Evening," said the stocky man.

Behind them came the Colonel, closing the door behind him.

"Well, isn't this the Avengers if ever I saw them," said the Colonel. "Put the whiskey away, you fucking bums. You two are fucking cartoon characters."

Leon took his glass, the bottle of whiskey, and Chris's glass toward the table HUNK stood beside. He placed them by his TMP.

"The plane is here," said the Colonel. "Stay sharp. You two, take a fucking shower. The rest of you, do your deeds, get a bite to eat, and I'll meet you out here in 30."

Before Hell breaks loose...