Accident Man

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[KEYPAD BEEPS]

MIKE:
He's late.

That's a bit disrespectful, if you ask me.

A man should never be late...

...for his own death.

[DOOR OPENS THEN CLOSES]

But better late than never, I suppose.

A Hoptroff No.9, nonetheless.

Eleven-millimeter climbing rope.

One thousand, one hundred pound

breaking strain.

No room for mistakes in my business.

Not unless you intend on doing a stretch.

That's why when I hit,

I make it look like something it's not.

An accident, or in this case...

- Wait, wait.

- ...suicide.

Don't do this.

Do you know who I am?

Yeah, I know who you are, mate.

You're 25 grand.

That's it. Let it out.

[GAGGING]

I don't see him as a person.

I see him as a brand-new bike.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

[CAMERA CLICKS]

After a hit, I'm really psyched up.

Getting rid of all that tension

can be a problem.

Some blokes have breakdowns.

- I break people.

- Mr. Fallon.

- Oh, God, I hope you're not here...

- Afraid so, Spence. Here's 50 sheets.

Why don't you and your mate take a break?

Good lad.

This is the Royal.

A detestable den of absolute filth.

This is where the dregs and lowlifes

come to drown their sorrows.

- Hey, you all right, love?

- Get off me.

Oh, look at these scumbags.

There's only one thing

these lot are good for.

And that's a good old-fashioned beating.

- Come on, don't be shy, love. Come on.

- MIKE:
Oi, fat boy.

That some sort of accent?

Or is your mouth just full of spunk?

[MEN LAUGHING]

You f***ing what? Knock him out, Bazzer.

Come on, then, you c*nt.

# All right ##

This gaggle of scum are nothing

but a pack of street fighters.

- No technique.

- Aah!

And I don't just fight people anymore.

- Aah!

- I f***ing destroy them.

[SCREAMS]

[GROANS]

Cheers, love.

Helped me through my PMT. Tsk.

- Here you go, mate.

- Mm-hm.

PMT:

Post-murder tension.

It can be a right b*tch.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Now, there are pubs for musicians,

lawyers, bankers, and builders.

This door,

although it doesn't look like much...

...is the entrance to my local:

[DOOR BUZZES]

the Oasis.

This is a pub for hit men,

a watering hole for predators.

How's it going, Colin? All right?

We're in the business of taking lives,

and business is booming.

And like all the locals...

...we have the regulars.

This is Carnage Cliff.

He's also a killer,

but opts for the more brutal...

...butchering-them-with-an-ax style.

Cliff's been driving Scotland Yard crazy

for years.

There's a fine line between a hired

psycho assassin and a serial killer.

Not much call for his style these days...

- ...except for the odd example killing.

- Aah!

But he's still one of the lads.

Evening, Cliff.

[CLIFF GRUNTS]

Meet Poison Pete.

He's a filthy, little runt who takes...

...keeping himself to himself

to new heights. Yeah, you guessed it.

[GRUNTING]

He poisons people.

Nobody really likes Pete because he's

got a vocabulary of about 12 words.

And, well, look at him.

Can't say I'm a fan of his style.

It's simple, effective, yeah,

but f***ing spineless.

Apparently, even his parents hated him,

so much so...

...that his only bath-time toy was a toaster.

But for our clients,

it's the effective part they're after.

All right, boys?

- Mick and Mac.

- Man, you tripping. What up, Mike?

Ex-Special Forces.

Mac is British SAS.

Mick is a frogman

from the other side of the pond.

These guys are the best of the best.

As highly trained

as any soldiers in the world.

They classed Iraq, Afghanistan and

Syria as being on their holibobs.

They are bona fide war heroes.

Turbocharged soldiers of fortune.

Well, when they're not bickering

over whose nation...

...has the greatest Special Forces, that is.

We've toppled down more dictators

than you've had hot dinners.

What? Nigga, we took out bin Laden, Saddam.

And don't get me started on Hitler.

Their tradecraft is second to none.

Mick and Mac's specialty is

making high-profile hits...

...look like regular street crimes.

The kind the police can't

really be bothered with.

The Special Forces bond is a unique one.

Something us normal folk

can't really appreciate.

And, yeah, their views may be

on other sides of the Atlantic...

...but they are opposite sides

of the same coin.

And as a team,

they are borderline unstoppable.

The Murdering Mercenaries.

Well, if my aunt had bollocks,

she'd be my uncle.

F*** does that mean?

Michael.

Meet Jane the Ripper.

Now, her tale is as old as time.

She was an American Army brat,

raised in Japan...

...hated her stepdad, loathed authority...

...and ran away from home at 16.

She spent the next decade

under the tutelage of a disgraced ronin.

But that's a story for another time.

[MUSIC PLAYING]

Jane lures in her marks

in the most old-fashioned of ways.

She gets them all hot under the collar...

...and when they least expect it...

...she unleashes the fury

like a woman scorned.

She's an expert swordswoman

and a right nasty b*tch.

The Honey Trap Killing Machine.

There's a rumor going round she keeps

her male victims' nether regions...

...in a trophy case at home.

If that's true...

...then that is a shitload of c*cks

in a cabinet.

All the lads would love to shag her...

...but we're all too scared

we'd never live to tell the tale.

Here we have Finicky Fred.

Nicknamed after his scrupulous

attention to detail...

...his fussy way of life,

his fear of social media...

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