Awhile back I had the idea to make a parody action spy thriller staring myself and my buddies from the poli regs lounge. A lot of people trusted me with their names and likenesses for the sake of good fun. Now, not everyone who's in is going to be in every chapter as that would be pandering and just clutter the story. This serves the purpose of most first chapters in establishing plot, characters and, I hope, interest in the rest of the project. Enjoy

The Regulars Chapter one

The argument of nature or nurture is one of the main tip toes around the great question of existence. Are we who we are from that of which we're made or does the world we live in craft us to what we must be? Whichever lead to the other it was cold that day in Moscow and the trademark stoicism of it's people was etched on the faces of every man on the gallows. These soldiers had been trained and beaten to be the hardest of souls in this hard land. As such it was with weight on their hearts but not their shoulders they led out to die this man who had been great among them.
A light wind carries a cache of the dust like snow to brush against the prisoners garb of Andre Petorvich. The mans tired eyes gaze for a brief view of the city he has loved. But there was naught to but the prison yard, which are and mean the same world over. He draws a final breathe to feel the icy air before the hood is placed over his head. A list of his charges is read for the abominable fancy of the select spectators. The tale is of crimes against state, peoples and, depending on your disposition, against God. So enraptured are they that no one takes note of the two western youths among them.
The shorter and wider of the men watches with unshielded eyes for the fear of missing the slightest detail. He is protected from the cold with a black leather coat, the lining of which only adds to the dimensions of his thick chest. Beside him stands a taller man of comparable years but wildly differing demeanor. His head cocks back with boredom and his eyes wonder behind colored glasses. His hands are stuffed determinedly into the pockets of his ostentatious yellow winter coat and his mind belongs to somewhere else all together. All he thinks of is the baking warm of the Caribbean beach he by all rights should be on. When the call came in his bags were already loaded with the shades, shirts and swimwear for a well deserved vacation. He got to wear the sunglasses at least. This notation gave him only a moments amusement before eyes and ears are called to the springing hatch and the man now suspended in air. The rope and fall had failed to break his neck and as such he flails about waiting taken from strangulation. It's as painful as it sounds. Droplets of spittle hit the inside of his hood and outside it muffled Russian curses are all there is to hear. Finally he lets go and his body falls limp.
As the prison doctor makes the summary examination and pronouncement the crowd is already dispersing. There's not one among them who doesn't know death when they see it, who hasn't seen it far too much. The show is over and lives go on. Only once they've left the facility and the serious one is complete in his own aviators do they address each other.
"You always take me to the nicest places, Staff." The tall one says with his traditional tone of sugar coated acid.
"You know the rules, Pro." Paraphrasing of the well worn rulebook had become one of Staff's main hobbies, because he couldn't be bothered to know which rule was what. "Disposals of this level demand eye witnessing by two agents of established standing."
"You could have brought one of the others, man." Pro goes on with a certain pleading in his voice. "I was going on vacation. Three months of sun, sand and island girls who only pretend to dig tourists but by the time that matters the purpose of their interaction is fulfilled."
A moments silence as one watches the red rise and fall in the others face. "Ya done?"
After a huff" Yes." Pro lets out even as he unlocks and enters the drivers side of the rented vehicle.
"You know" Staff ruminates "I could arrange for you to go to a Caribbean execution next time. Though you might have to break out the formal Speedo." This brought out a tired but genuine smile in his colleague.
After some vulgarity laden encouragement the car sputters to life. The conversation continues to turn as our young heroes travel from the historic to more residential area of their host city. Tourists don't come here. Tourists don't come to see the real people. They come to see whatever locals are hanging around the tourist spots for local reasons. This place where the honest people lived had weathered war and politics, revolution and revelation and pop and punk all with dignity only families bring. There is almost a romance to it. That is until someone's dense enough to interrupt.
"We should have been here officially. Then we'd have had accommodations, local resources and maybe, just maybe, a car that doesn't smell like a motel bed."
"Can't officially be here for someone who didn't officially exist. Besides, you know how many questions they ask around here." Staff stares out the window, mind divided between topics again. "We got a nice hotel at least."
"A nice hotel in Russia in winter. Anyway I still think we should have called in security."
As Pro is one to repeat himself for good reason Staff unzips his coat revealing the hardwood handle of one of his trusted revolvers. Looking back could brings things to a head immediately. "How far back?
"Second behind us. Green SUV. Tinted windows. Tailing us for 5 blocks."
"Serious?"
"It's a nice car." That meant they were financed privately and well. This was going to get interesting. Seeing as this is the moment the car between them decides to make a turn.
That's when the powerful engine of the assailing vehicle roared and sped it into the opposite lane and then ahead of them. Being no fool Pro stops the car immediately with a slight skid. The men hurry out the far side of the car even as masked man with assault rifles filed out of the SUV and opened fire.
Metal bends and glass breaks above the crouching men. The moment seems to be not at all ruined for pointing out the obvious.
"Told you so." Pro while drawing out his loaded Glock.
Staff rolls back, drawing his heavy guns as feet return to ground. Taking a moment to be a slave to style he spins them. "Shut up and call the Calvary." He rises as .44 rounds bark out from his Rugers in a not yet aimed one two, one two pattern.
Around that time a well built young professional steps from the hotel lobby into the empty elevator. He pushes the button for the lobby and instinctually smoothes out his jet black hair. Elevators are one of those devices one must realize take as long as they take. Patience is something this men doesn't lack. Things take time on either end of the law. He feels the weight of his case in his hand. The music is as if someone made "welcome to the jungle" into a Christmas carol. The door opens. His quarry is already there chatting up the young woman at reception.
"Wizard, we're moving"
"Alright, jus.."
"Now."
Okay, okay." Wizard was already rushing out the door and doesn't miss a step relaying vital information. "You know what room I'm in." As the door closes his eyes turn to his partner. "It's her job to."
The pair hurried to their car, a garish red sports model. R.G tossed the palm g.p.s to Wizard. The youth absorbs the information with all the efficiency that had earned him this first job. He could drive anything to anyplace once he knew where to go. He slides into the car where R.G has his heavy case resting on his lap. He goes about waiting for the car to peel out and start moving before opening it. As local traffic laws lay shattered in their wake he Goes about his business . As he assembles his sub-machine gun from sheer muscle memory he fills in his companion on the situation, loudly, as to be heard over the car. "Pinned down By AK fire. Estimated 6 to 8 before a second set rolled in. Sheer numbers will chop them down if this toy doesn't get us where we need to be." This wasn't his first comment on the car.
"We'll get there." Wizard comments while at the same time and negotiating the handling on the icy road. "It's a good car if you know how to work her. Plus she gets chicks."
R.G slaps the extended magazine into place and rests the readied weapon in his calm hands. The metal on his left hand tapped against that of the gun. "I'm married." But there isn't the time to think about that. There's no time to think about Ashley or the twins or that proud look on Jaime's face when he lifted himself up to stand by the couch. Now there's only people to save and people to kill. They're here. "Maneuver four"
If there's one thing the people of Moscow know it's how to stay indoors during a firefight. No interruptions come as from opposite ends of the dead car Staffs heavy .44 mag makes a sizable whole in an unlucky villains chest and Pro's laser sight, brought into speckled viability by the blustery snow dust, provided the insight to sink a high velocity 10mm far enough into his targets head to take him out of the game. Their bodies join the small pile. The two man army is forced down as their surviving assailants get the one idea they shouldn't have and start to advance, making short sprays of fire to keep heads down as they march in a perfect line. Fortunately, he who lives by the line dies by the line. Faster than either side can tell a furious sports car rips across the corner. Without thought R.G leapt from the vehicle, falling as to let the armor on his back take the brunt of the impact. Still there's no way to save the his suit from the friction and elements. And it was such a nice suit. He's still sliding on the icy surface as his mp7 sings it's song. In gruesome synchronicity the bodies remember to fall. In the same flash Wizard has swerved into a drift parallel to the gunman who'd stayed behind and rains fire from his 357 pistol, instinctually holding his arm out far enough so the shells don't fall in the car. It's a very nice car.
R.G comes to a stop finally just short of perforated carcass of the first teams car. He's modest enough to accept a hand in getting up before pointing to his series of kills and proclaiming "See? THAT'S how you do that!" This arrogance was short lived as the second car burst into life and charged them. The men dive at the last possible second, Staff and R.G to the right and Pro to the left. The former two level there weapons at the fleeing beast out of instinct but know the fruitlessness of firing. Pro stands up proud as a peacock and calmly produces a remote trigger from his pocket. "To quote an absolute pedestrian 'click click boom." With the last word he presses the button and in the distance the escaping SUV explodes first from one side then the other. As wreckage takes its sweet time to fall Staff takes this as the cue to twirl and holster his guns. Wizard walks over and joins the team with his gun at the end of his limp arm.
Staff surveys the carnage. Steam is starting to rise as heat escapes bodies with no further use for it. The security deposit on the rental car is clearly lost. "This is just starting."
R.G pipes up first, ever the tactician "Who sent them? Who even knows we're here?"
With an eerie plateau to his voice Staff answers "My best guess would be Andre."
Pro now, feeling his thunder stolen "Andre's dead. We were there. Remember the rope and the Russian swearing?
"That's just it." Staff replies as he looks up to his rightfully confounded friends. "Andre wasn't Russian."