A Humvee, quad and dirt bike pull up alongside the abandoned American container. The white vehicles belong to team Australia.
A tall, lanky man, Levi Jones, jumps out of the Humvee. He aims his M16 at one of the dead Japanese sprawled on the salt pan floor, then walks over to the lifeless man, reaches down and yanks the body over onto its back.
A young, bespectacled studious, looking-younger man, Kip Jones, joins Levi. He glances down at the flag on the dead man's uniform. "Japanese."
"Who the fuck cares—they all looks the same to me anyways," Levi growls. His teammates hang back. He yells at them, "No need to worry, boys, just a dead Asian."
Reassured, the Australians lower their guard and shuffle over to the dead body. Apart from the dark patches of sweat, their uniforms are pristine white and show no signs of having been in any conflict.
Kip walks over to the container. "I'll get the code." He takes out the remote from his pocket and enters the numbers from the outside of the container into the gadget.
Levi looks out towards the decimated Japanese vehicles. "A bunch of fucking dead half-breeds and no Americans. What the fuck went down here?"
"Looks like the Japanese attacked the Yanks and got themselves well and truly fucked over." Kip enters the last digit into the remote. A second blue LED lights up on all the Australians' collars.
"Never happen," Levi says.
"Why not?"
"They can't even brew a decent batch of grog, so there's no way a bunch of fuckwit Americans had the nowse or the balls to do this." Levi becomes distracted by the hundreds of ten-thousand-dollar notes scattered all over the salt pan. He picks up one of them.
"We need to go," Kip says.
"We get the rest of this money first." Levi orders the Australians, "Don't just stand there, yous fucking drongos, start collecting."
Apart from Kip, the Australians scurry out over the salt pan and begin to collect up the bills.
"Hey?"
"What?" Levi asks.
"The boys might respond better if you bring it down a few notches," Kip says.
"Don't fucking tell me what to do, yous soft cunt."
"I'm not telling you wh—"
"Then shut the fuck up, pull yous finger out and help me open up this container."
"No."
"What the fuck yous talking about?"
"We've got what we wanted," Kip explains. "We've wasted enough time already. We have to go and find the next container. Like I've said before—it's the codes we need or we're all fucked."
Levi strides over to Kip and prods him in the chest. "I'm running the fucking show here, so why don't yous mind yous own fucking business yous four-eyed cunting faggot."
"Mate, losing my head is my business," Kip says.
"Like it or not, I'm opening up this container, so don't try and fucking stop me."
"Go right ahead but I can't see the see point of wasting a shit load more time."
"Money's the fucking point, yous blind bogan!" Levi yells.
"We got a white case in there"—Kip points over to the Australians' Humvee—"with a hundred million in it. We don't need any more money right now—what we need is time. We've got less than four hours to find another eight codes. Don't you get it?"
"Fuck yous, I'll do it myself." Levi grabs the handle on the container's locking bar and clanks it downward, then swings open one of the heavy doors. He shuts his eyes, raises his M16, and empties a full magazine into the dark interior.
The sound of the gunfire is deafening. The Australians duck for cover as the bullets clatter, ping and ricochet inside the container. The din blasts out over the salt pan.
Levi stops shooting.
"JESUS CHRIST, what the FUCK!" Kip screams.
"Just taking precautions." Levi peers into the gloom of the container. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" He steps inside the metal box and creeps over to Rita and Nevada's covered bodies.
"Hey, mate, leave it alone," Kip says.
Levi pulls back the tarpaulin sheet and uncovers the two Americans. "Two dead shelias—fucking Laurel and a headless Hardy by the looks of them." He kneels next to Rita's decapitated head and talks to it. "G'day there, me fat little dumpling."
Silence.
Levi stares into Rita's dull, lifeless eyes. He lays down his M16 and pulls out a handgun from his holster. He places the pistol up against her bloody temple. "When an Australian says g'day to yous—yous got to be polite back. It's called being fucking cultured."
"Hey, leave her alone—she doesn't deserve that," Kip says.
"Fuck yous. Can't yous see I'm just trying to have me a civilized conversation with me new girlfriend here—isn't that right, me little darling?"
Silence.
Levi grabs hold of Rita's hair and stands up. "Now, why don't yous look me in the eye, and"—he lifts her head up and holds it out in front of him, her face facing his—"show me some respect and tell me where yous hidden that case of yours?"
Rita's dead eyes stare at him and give nothing away.
"If there's one thing that pisses me off it's being ignored. It's a simple question: where's the fucking case?" Levi cocks his pistol and presses it further into Rita's temple.
Silence.
"Yous got 'till three because I'm not fucking around any longer—ONE—TWO—THRE—"
BOOM—Kip shoots the mad Australian in the head. His body slumps to the floor of the container. He still holds Rita's head.
"Respect that you fucking animal," Kip snarls.
Terrified, the Australians step away from Kip.
Kip turns and smiles at them. "Liberation befits the circumstance. Anyone else here feel the need to be liberated?"
The wide-eyed Australians shake their heads.
Kip returns his pistol to his holster and wipes away Levi's blood from his face.
He nods at his team. "Ripper!"
