Hello there,

First, I want to reassure you that my other fiction in progress won't suffer for this one, for both stories are almost complete and are undergoing the final revisions.

This new story is much closer to my heart, as I currently am battling with depression.

It has A LOT of triggers, so please proceed with caution. This very first chapter is graphic about suicide attempts, suicide, major character death and drug/alcohol abuse. They are very graphic too, as I put much more work into descriptions that I have in my other works in the past. So please, do not take this warning lightly. There will also be mention of sex-trafficking, human trafficking, concentration camps, war crimes, guns and drug trafficking, torture, death, non-consensual sex, consensual sex and so on.

Do not take this warning lightly!

And I'll say it here once and for all, I do NOT own The Expendable or its characters, I only own my original characters and this story line.

This storyline starts in the first movie and will slightly be off canon afterwards.

And well, the rest, you'll shall see for yourselves.

Enjoy your reading,

Pavs.


What's Left (Guns and Roses)


Prologue


She could feel the blood dripping from her wounds as her hand struggled to hold on the bottle any longer. Her vision was getting worse by the second as she was getting light-headed. Still, she could feel the warm winds of summer on her barely covered skin and smell the freshly cut grass in the deserted park she was walking through.

She looked up and sighed. The night sky was beautiful, as if it knew it was the last thing she would ever lay eyes on before she took a final step toward her final destination. She raised her hand to take a last sip of her cheap bottle of vodka and while her arm made the right move, she could still feel the glass slipping from her hand before she heard it shatter to the ground.

She sighed, knowing that not so long ago her soul had done the very same thing. She'd tried to run from the pain. Then she'd tried to face it once she'd understood that there was no way in hell she'd ever be fast enough to escape it. Only that hadn't worked out either.

Instead of facing her past to confront it, she'd come face to face with it hanging from an old military rope in a garage that had never been dirty enough to own up to its name with blue lips, a pale face and three small words: I am sorry.

I am sorry.

She was sorry. Between her self-pity, fear of judgment and destructive tendencies, months had passed, months, that had held her baby brother tears, depression and drug habits. Months that had turned into years. So many time. . .

Time, so much of it that had held him in its deadly arms while he had been suffering, screaming in a room full of family members that had become deaf from their own fear of judgment.

Time, that she had not seen pass as she was blinded by rage, fear and blood. She had suffered for a walking dead young man who had happened to be her whole goddamn world.

A world that didn't exist to her anymore, except from the crumbling piece of paper in her back pocket with those damn three words. She scoffed at the irony that she literally had those words almost right up her ass.

She kept walking while looking up at the stars, wondering why her brother had ended his life looking at an unnecessarily expensive costumed garage door when he could've had the view she had now.

Maybe he thought he didn't deserve it. Why on earth though? She felt herself being stopped by a rail and looked in front of her. "Right, the park was near a marina" she thought to herself as she then looked at the water below.

The water way down below.

She closed her eyes as she began climbing the rail, thinking to herself that she wouldn't hear a sound underwater. It sounded peaceful and much better than lying on the ground as her body slowly but surely was running out of blood.

She still had her eyes closed as she let herself fall.

She was unconscious by the time she reached the water.

She was drowned by the time a strong pair of arms had grabbed her to bring her to the surface.

"Never again," whispered Tool with a panicked voice and a faraway look on his face as he managed to secure her on a dock close from where they both had jumped. "I will not let you die again."