"Fuck you—tell them to stop, or I'll kill you right now."
Christmas snapped. Fury overtook reason as he pressed his pistol hard against Cole Shaw's temple.
Ross and the rest instantly recognised it—Cole was leveraging Christmas's emotions. They raised their weapons, forming a half-circle around him.
"Cole, if you want to live, tell your people to stop," Ross warned. "Otherwise, we put you down right here."
Cole didn't flinch. He calmly guided the barrel away from his head.
"I don't like having a gun in my face," he said evenly. "Don't make that mistake again."
He clapped once, lifted his phone, and played the second video.
The footage showed a woman and a little girl laughing on a carousel—pure, domestic light. Over it, Klaus's voice drawled, "Beautiful, isn't it? But one push of this button and it all disappears."
Caesar froze. The heavy machine gun dropped from his grip and clanged on the floor.
"No… no." His voice cracked. "Please—don't hurt my wife and daughter. Tell them to stand down! Please!"
He'd kept his family hidden from everyone, even The Expendables, to protect them from this world. Now that world had found them anyway.
The others hesitated. Cole's smile stayed faint but soulless—predatory. He'd hit every nerve.
Ross forced his anger down, voice hard but controlled.
"What do you want, Cole?"
"Patience," Cole replied. "There's one more."
He tapped the screen. The third video rolled.
Tool's tattoo shop filled the frame. Tool sat bound to a chair, wires across his chest, a blinking red detonator light casting dull pulses across his face.
Ross's eyes went wide; colour drained from him.
"Aren't you afraid of death?" Ross asked, voice cold enough to cut steel.
Cole shook his head. "No. I'm driven by it. That's why we're done here."
He stood, adjusted his jacket, and looked Ross dead in the eye. "We're going to England."
He patted Ross's shoulder, silent authority in the gesture. The Expendables exchanged tense glances, holstered their weapons, and reluctantly escorted Cole and Jason Tate to the waiting helicopter. Within moments, they were airborne, heading toward England.
⸻⸻
Meanwhile—inside the destroyed laboratory
IMF response teams swept through the smoke and blood. John Musgrave stepped over the wreckage until he found Professor Smith, throat slit. Satisfaction flickered across his face. If Owen Shaw's people had taken the Rabbit's Foot, his plan could proceed exactly as intended.
⸻⸻
Aboard the helicopter
Ross sat opposite Cole, jaw tight. Christmas and Yin Yang flanked him, silent.
Cole leaned back, casual as if nothing had happened. "Don't glare, Ross. I did what I had to so you wouldn't pull the trigger back there." He smirked. "By the way—what's the pay-out on this job?"
Ross didn't answer. Yin Yang did.
"Ten million."
Cole let out a short, contemptuous laugh. "Ten million? That's all? You're The Expendables, not bargain-bin muscle. I expected more."
Ross's brow furrowed, unsure whether Cole was baiting him. Cole kept talking, voice smooth and cutting.
"If the Rabbit's Foot hits the Middle East market, it'll fetch at least five billion. Maybe more."
The number hit hard. Yin Yang's eyes narrowed; Christmas stiffened. Ross's expression darkened—he knew greed when it started whispering.
Cole leaned forward. "Look, I didn't want to be your enemy. Gunnar died because he tried to kill me first. And let's be clear—your mission here was compromised from the start. The CIA will be crawling over you by tomorrow. If I hadn't moved first, your families would already be in their hands."
Yin Yang scoffed. "So we should thank you for that?"
Cole grinned. "Think of it as… professional courtesy. I offered before—you can still join my operation. Ross, you too. We're all in this business for money. I can pay more, and I can guarantee your families' safety."
Christmas gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Hell of an invitation—hostages first, offer second."
Cole didn't blink. "It's survival. If I hadn't done it, I'd be dead in that lab. This way, everyone's alive—and richer for it."
No one spoke. The air inside the cabin thickened; every man weighed the offer against his pride.
Ross turned toward the window. The helicopter thundered through the clouds toward London, rotors slicing the night. Below, the city lights stretched out—bright, cold, and waiting.