With the trial over and the verdict given, three hours have passed. Now on a path to Bar Harbor, Maine, a Jeep Wrangler speeds down a forested trail.
Inside the car, Leon is sitting in the passenger seat with chains locked around his arms and legs. He gazes out the window, watching the thick trees stretch endlessly along the path.
"That stupid judge wouldn't even tell me what this Squad Bastard is! He has something against Germans, I know it!" Leon rants.
He glances at the driver—a tall, light-skinned man in an American army uniform. His muscles stretch the sleeves, and he has flat-top gray hair. A permanent scowl twists his face, one so menacing it could scare a child silent.
"Umm, excuse me, sir, could you tell me what this Squad Bastards is?"
The second Leon speaks, the man grits his teeth.
"Damn, all you rejects are the same! Show some damn respect and ask for my name before you start asking me shit!" He snaps.
"Damn, my bad. I didn't know your ass swallowed the stick," Leon mumbles.
"What!"
"Oh—sorry! Sorry! I talk out loud sometimes!" Leon stammers, fidgeting.
The man pulls out a cigarette from his pocket, pops it in his mouth, and lights it without breaking eye contact.
"Name's Larry Osgood. I'm the broker for Squad Bastards. I receive the missions and hand them off to the leader."
"Missions?" Leon tilts his head, confused.
"Uhh, fine. I'll explain—but only once, so keep up."
Leon nods with exaggerated sincerity.
"Squad Bastards is a secret squadron made up of the world's garbage. Societal rejects, to put it politely. Back in 1996, America had a spike in weirdos and psychopaths flooding the prisons. That's when a group of politicians—President included—decided that these freaks could be useful," Larry speaks with a tone like he's given this speech a thousand times.
"Oh, so the squad was made so the government could put them to use?" Leon offers.
"Once again with the damn disrespect! Don't interrupt me!" Larry barks, smoke puffing from his lips.
Do all these dirty Americans have anger issues? Leon mutters to himself.
"Yes, you're right—that was the original idea. They tried putting them in the army, Marines, and the air force. But they quickly realized their inhumane quirks were too much of a hindrance. That's when the Squad Bastards' idea got traction."
As Larry speaks, Larry hands his phone to Leon, already open to a list of news events.
"Wait, these are all different events that have happened since 1998," Leon mutters, scanning.
"There's a lower, middle, and high class in America. Lower and middle don't matter, but the high class? They have everything to do with Squad Bastards."
"How so?"
"I was getting to that. The high class loves one thing: control. Squad Bastards gives them that. Wealthy elites, politicians, even officials in office—they all want dirty work done, but they can't risk exposure. That's where the Squad comes in."
Leon's eyes widen.
"Wait—so all of these events are..."
"Yep. The attempted assassination of Trump in 2024. The reason the Diddy parties went quiet for years. Even the COVID-19 pandemic. All Squad Bastards jobs." Larry's voice grows more animated. "It's simple math, reject. The powerful want to do fucked-up shit, but they don't want to face the consequences. So they give those jobs to psychos who'll do it without hesitation."
"Wait—so Squad Bastards are just fall guys for the rich?" Leon asks, stunned.
"Now your reject brain is getting it! Assassinations, dick-sucking, and even suicide. Whatever the mission, Squad Bastards does it. And they get to carry the target on their back forever. The same goes for you. This squad already has enemies worldwide."
"Wait! Wait! I don't want enemies! I'm literally a family man!" Leon shouts, panicked.
"That's what happens when you take on someone else's consequences, but don't worry—only 576 members have died from retaliation. Most missions are secret, so pray to whatever god you Germans worship that no one sees your face," Larry grins cruelly.
"Okay, please stop talking. I already pissed my pants. Can you at least tell me what we get in return for these missions?" Leon says, clutching his head.
Larry bursts out laughing.
"Okay, reject—remember this forever. You and everyone else in Squad Bastards are the world's bitch. And the only thing you will ever get in return is the right to live like one."
Larry's words loop in Leon's mind like a curse. His body trembles.
These conditions he's describing... What crazy hurensöhne would willingly live a life like that? Nothing but demons must be part of that squad!
Leon imagines thousands of demonic, shadowy figures swimming around him in a void of darkness.
He slams his forehead against the car window, tears spilling from his eyes.
"Please! Let me go, please! I'm not built for this squad! I swear! The war crime was an accident! I'm as soft as a media analyst! I even still suck on my mother's nipples from time to time! Ahhh!"
In the driver's seat, Larry sighs from secondhand embarrassment.
"Oh, and not to be weird, but I'm going to need you to strip when we get to the base."
For the rest of the ride to Squad Bastards, Leon cried, complained, and wet his pants six more times.
Bar Harbor, Maine—a rocky coastline with cliffs crashing waves, and a broken-down, two-story shack slumped against the mountainside, like it's trying to hide.
Larry parks in front and unlocks Leon's chains before stripping him down to just underwear.
"Can't have you walking around in a German uniform—especially during wartime. I'll go burn these."
Larry lights the clothes on fire and drops them on the ground.
"You asshole! You can't just send me into a den of demons with no clothes!" Leon screams.
"I hope this degenerate squad teaches you some respect! You're lucky I let you keep your underwear. And if you are as innocent as you say… I suggest you kill yourself now," Larry says before hopping back into his jeep.
"Wait, don't leave! Leave me here at least!" Leon pleads.
Larry drives off fast, not looking back.
"Uhh… I guess I have no choice. Please let me survive this first encounter," Leon prays.
He approaches the giant, rusted doors. As he reaches to open them—
BOOM!
An explosion rips the door off the hinges, blasting Leon back onto the rocky ground. His head slams the dirt.
"Ouch...what the fuuuuck…" Leon mutters; he passes out.
At the same time, driving away, Larry glances in the rearview mirror after hearing the blast.
"Glad I got out of that hell on earth so quickly. He'll probably be dead before the first mission."
Larry hears five more explosions from the squad's base. He then blows out smoke from his nose and smirks.
"Leon Abelof, welcome to Squad Bastards, the reject graveyard."