Machete Kills Page #5

And when kingdom comes,

as it surely will,

we'll be safe

amongst the stars.

Noah had his ark, I got mine.

You really believe that?

I believe what I see.

And luckily for you, sir,

I saw you up there with me.

I see glimpses

of what lies ahead.

It's a condition I was left

with after the incident.

Speaking of which, I'd take a

step or two back if I were you.

You ever had dja vu?

Lasts a couple of seconds, right?

With me, it's been two years.

You don't believe

me now, but you will.

Now if I couldn't

see into the future,

then how could I have

made all these?

Mr. Machete, I present to

you the arms of tomorrow.

Pick your fancy.

And you pick the only one

in the place that's faulty.

I'm sorry, but my molecule

blaster doesn't quite work yet.

It keeps turning

sh*t inside-out.

Perhaps this is more

your speed anyway.

Primitive, lightweight.

Retro, yet high-tech.

Demonstration?

Like it?

Yes.

It's yours.

And now, Mr. Machete, if I

could just cut to the rub.

I'd like to recruit you.

You already have enough men.

No, but not the best

by any means.

How can they be when you so

dominantly claim that title yourself?

Demonstration.

Good luck.

Encore.

Encore.

Or three?

Genetically engineered

super soldiers, you see.

Clones.

Have at 'em.

Just as I predicted.

No match for the likes of you.

I created my clones because where I'm

going, I'm going to need an army.

And that poor dead bastard

you met in Mexico, Zaror,

he was my prototype.

But since you f***ed him up like a

Special Ed science fair project,

I'm left to regret my choice.

You still haven't

told me why I'm here.

I need a stronger specimen from

which to draw a new batch of clones

and I was hoping that you

would do me that honor, sir.

There is only one Machete.

But what if there were more?

What if there was an army

of enhanced Machetes?

Machete, Machete.

Everywhere Machete!

You and I together, we'd be a

force to be reckoned with.

I'm sorry.

I may have overreacted,

but that numbnuts was about to spill

a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafite.

No more games.

Disarm it.

Join me.

Surely you know by now that I

know how all this turns out.

Then you know I'm taking this.

Oh, and where will you go?

You know I'm the only

one that can disarm it.

I'll find someone else.

Oh, good luck with that.

But I think there's one more

little thing you should know.

Mendez wasn't

my only boogeyman.

North Korea, Russia,

I have a Mendez everywhere.

And in a matter of hours,

they'll launch on one another,

throwing the world into gargantuan,

unrecoverable anarchy.

Too many syllables?

The world is f***ed.

Why?

This world must end in order for

a more perfect one to emerge.

And like it or not, Mr. Machete,

you're coming with me.

Goddamn, you're good!

Get that bastard!

Try not to get too many of yourselves

killed in the process!

My molecule blaster

doesn't quite work right yet.

It keeps turning

sh*t inside-out.

What took you so long?

You're luck I came at all.

Oh, we'll meet again,

Mr. Machete.

I've seen it.

Been tracking you since your

bounty hit the airwaves.

Quite a sh*t-storm you

stirred up down south.

I thought I'd tap in. Couldn't

let you have all the fun.

Hey. I'm sorry

about Sartana.

We all are.

She was one of the good ones.

As you can see, the

Network's gone full scale.

We're new and improved.

Over 500,000 extractions

and counting.

When they put up the wall, we had

to up our game, find funding.

Now, our reach extends all

the way to San Cristbal.

The rules are the same.

You get in, you gotta earn it.

We monitor our members to make

sure they're doing their part.

If they're not, I'll deport

their asses myself.

Missing?

All of them?

MIA. Every last

one of them.

One minute they're tearing

ass for the border,

the next, they're vanished.

Disappeared without a trace.

It's like aliens abducted

by goddamn aliens.

You gotta check this out.

This is the surveillance

footage we got.

We think the same douchebag

that took you took them.

Seems like he's building

some sort of secret weapon,

possibly needs the Mexican

labor to finish it.

It's in space.

He wants to get there before

the missiles take off.

What missiles? What the

f*** are you talking about?

Launch trigger is wired

to a biological clock.

We need to find someone

to disarm it.

You got anybody in the Network?

Yeah. But you

don't like him.

Osiris.

Come on, Machete, he's with us.

He's not with me.

He's our only bomb guy.

You wanna choke

him out, go ahead.

I hear it's always

the blue wire.

What's he doing here?

He came to me about

six months ago.

Said he'd changed his tune.

Cabrones ain't got no tune.

I know that you would prefer

to see me all sorts of dead,

but God has already cursed

me for what I did to Padre.

That's why I'm here.

To finish your brother's work.

My only redemption

is in righting that wrong.

So, please, give me mercy and I

swear I will make it up to you.

Or die trying.

I'd have it no other way.

This is your bomb guy?

You can try the Yellow Pages.

I gotta make a call.

You'd better be somewhere

with sh*t reception,

because I've been trying

to reach you all damn day.

Where's Mendez?

Dead.

But his heart still beats.

You're joking, right?

Machete don't joke.

Humor me.

Who's got the heart?

Voz. He's bad news. Been using

Mendez to do all his dirty work.

Machete, I'm gonna stop

you right there, okay?

Luthor Voz may have his hand in a

lot of pockets, but he's harmless.

He sponsors my damn

pageant, for Christ's sake.

You need to alert

the President.

Just calm down.

Tell me your location and we'll

talk about this in person.

Better meet somewhere else.

Have it your way.

I'm gonna text you a rendezvous point

after my swimsuit competition.

Who's the b*tch?

Handler.

You f*** her?

Yeah, you did.

What, you got a problem?

Yeah, I got a problem.

When you smell like p*ssy, it

means you're p*ssy-whipped.

And when you're p*ssy-whipped,

your judgment's cloudy.

Just jealous.

Is that her?

I thought Machete don't text.

Machete loves everybody.

Man, screw this.

Where you going?

With you.

It takes a b*tch to make a

b*tch and I smell fish taco.

Tito, Osiris.

Taco time.

What do you know?

I won.

Congratulations.

It's exciting, right?

You're looking at

the new Miss Texas.

Who are they?

Listen, cario, I would love

to stay and chit-chat with you,

but not while there's a live

missile inside state lines.

So would you please,

pretty please,

get into the car and debrief

me on your mission?

If that's even what you'd like to

call your blood-splattered fiasco.

How'd you know?

Know what?

The missile.

That it was here.

Look at you.

Smarter than

the average Mexican.

You work for Voz.

I promised to turn you over to Voz

and Voz promised me the crown.

See, I can't really

sing or twirl a baton,

but I can win.

Oh.

Papi, I'm sorry.

You and I really could

have had something,

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