Guerreiro Tavares trained half of his life to be in a mercenary guild. Assassinated people and served criminals. A corpsman when he was in the Navy SEAL but perplexed when he was mandated to watch over a woman in a vegetative state.
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I WANT NO MORE deaths of my comrades.
And I want all these Russian motherfuckers to die.
Fuck!
Who are they?
They are Russians.
They are trained.
And then what?
We have enemies everywhere but this one? We have no idea where they came from. They've covered their tracks well.
I bet they were scheming these attacks for a long duration and the discovery of their spies was the trigger.
Moles are always inevitable. Anyone can turn their back because of money or blackmails. Especially the individuals who have their loved ones.
Ergo, we are invariably cautious when it comes to our plans and the information that we relay and receive.
That motherfucker still refused to speak until now. He's barely living but we are keeping him alive in case he will talk. One of his comrades' aims in this attack is to retrieve him.
Or maybe, they can be selfish assholes and leave him. What do I know?
We'll make sure at least one of them will sing after this encounter.
But yeah.
We know their motives or not at this moment, our goal is to fucking kill all of them, stay alive, and win.
They will realize that they were creating an enormous mistake when they commenced a war against us.
The guild is prepared as well because we are aware that they will attack anytime.
It is an advantage that we possess no fixed routine every single day or else the moles have ratted us out when our dicks are wet.
Randall was the only soldier who was fucking a slave. I came to the room just to check on him and remind him not to get too lost in pleasure and forget the time.
Guess what? It turned out to be just the perfect moment for their attack.
One enemy was in my line of sight a few meters away. The fuckers are wearing snow camos.
Aren't they prepared? Their strength will be outside rather than going here.
He is as cautious as a predator.
Too bad.
I am the fucking predator in this food chain.
We're not called Tarantula Hawks for nothing.
Pulling the trigger, I used two bullets to hit his head.
Just like that, he is a 200-pound dead meat. My body is keen as hell to eradicate them. They're causing too much tribulation already.
