19

KIRILL The fucking fucker. I swear to everything that’s unholy, I’m going to murder the fuck out of him if he’s alive. It takes me more time than I have to spare to reach the slimy bastard. First, I had to eliminate the sniper who seemed to have a personal grudge against him—probably because he killed one of his friends or some fucking shit. The way he was aiming at Lipovsky was an act of pure vengeance. He wouldn’t have stopped until he deemed that he’d paid. Then I had to kill the three insurgents who came rushing for his life while he was slumbering under the tree like some sort of Sleeping Beauty. The truth remains, Lipovsky is injured due to either sheer stupidity or a grandiose sense of bravery. I can’t tell which, but I digress. Only slightly. I should leave the fucker to die, for all I care, but then again, he did expose himself because he knew that was the surest way to allow me to shoot the sniper right between his fucking eyes. Crouching, I remove his helmet and the balaclav