As I awoke, my mind settled into a calm state, now refreshed and unencumbered by the persistent urge for bloodshed. I sat on the edge of my bed, retracing the events and sharpening my thoughts.

My usually resolute mind had been thrown into disarray by conflicting emotions evoked by the Russian minister's actions, his brutal slaying of Alexa and the abrupt, nonchalant demise of his entire unit. As the head of the military forces overseeing the purge protocol, these disruptions proved challenging.

Delving into my thoughts, I immersed myself in the primary objectives. Entering a near trance-like state, I meticulously reviewed every aspect of the recent occurrences, attempting to reframe them with a clear mindset free from the taint of anger. In this trance, a singular thought reverberated endlessly:

“The purge protocol was activated on 01/01/2024 at 00:02 UTC-3, sanctioned by a summit organized by the world's wealthiest 0.1%. Now, the unfolding of the plan is all that remains.”

For an hour or so, I remained in this intense mental state until I was confident in my regained focus. I readied myself, undergoing a refreshing shower and a change of attire, before heading to the dining hall for a quick meal. Each action was part of my preparation for an impeccably executed mission.

After finishing my meal, I made my way straight to the headquarters and discovered Pazel in fits of laughter alongside the other corporals. Curious, I inquired about the cause of their amusement. Pazel, still chuckling and clutching his belly, swiftly responded.

"Carlos was belting out some Brazilian music, oblivious that his mic was on. We had the pleasure of listening to him sing for nearly 20 minutes. Noah and Archie couldn't help but poke fun at him. They're quite the comedians!"

Despite the light-hearted moment, I reminded them that it wasn't the time for such distractions. Our focus needed to be on preparing for an urban confrontation. Pazel had already spoken to them. They understood their resilience but also the vulnerability—no one is impervious to every caliber. Grenades and anti-material rifles would tear through them with just a couple of direct impacts.

Otis expressed discontent at my interruption of their fun, but the conversation swiftly resumed. As the first to reach the nuclear silo, he planned to enter with the HEMTT, exercising utmost caution. It was certain they wouldn't be the only ones vying to secure such a powerful weapon.

He readied his Barret MK22 MRAD for the worst. The morning sun meant he wouldn't need night vision goggles or any similar equipment. Pazel issued the order, and they waited outside the silo. Two drones were dispatched to scout for enemies, traps, and other potential threats. Thankfully, the operation went smoothly. The only opposition encountered was an armed civilian tasked with guarding the area.

Upon receiving this information, Otis was furious that these "pests" dared to impede their access to the payload. Nonchalantly, he took advantage of the high ground, positioning himself on top of the vehicle and skillfully aimed a series of shots at their heads, aiming, as he put it, to "calculate and shoot in the exact area of their nostrils."

As he simmered down and lamented the inconvenience of not being able to drink with the helmet on, the HEMTT headed inside, where the nuclear warheads were stored. Otis and the drones provided an escort, while the others secured the warheads. After a considerable amount of time, just under 10 tons of nuclear bombs and warheads were loaded onto our truck, leaving enough space for a few men to accompany the payload and for Otis to sit with the pilot inside.

He returned to the ship, preparing to provide support if needed later with additional personnel. Little occurred with the rest of the team; a few rebels attempted minor assaults on the trucks, but they proved short-sighted, swiftly neutralized by the drones.

Pazel departed from the headquarters to catch some sleep, so we essentially "swapped shifts." Observing the multiple screens displaying our men and the drones, I felt a peculiar sense of omnipotence, akin to how God might perceive things. While monitoring, nothing significant occurred except for a few false alarms, leading me to ruminate on the concept of omniscience.

After a few hours, the two drones guarding Oliver's vehicle suddenly faced an issue. I promptly informed him about the situation and urged the drones to hasten their pace. While avoiding unnecessary confrontations was preferable, fleeing or showing signs of retreat might embolden the enemy for a counter-attack.

Moments after issuing these commands, gunshots rang out, targeting the truck. The thick forest cover provided the assailants a perfect hiding place, making it impossible to ascertain their precise location.

With the vehicle stopped amidst the thick forest, the assailants remained concealed. The driver skillfully maneuvered, securing an exit for Oliver. Armed and vigilant, Oliver readied his SIG XM250, his every sense heightened as he scanned the surroundings.

His breaths slowed, his heartbeat a quiet drum as he waited, silent and patient. As the adversaries, oblivious to their imminent demise, dashed recklessly toward the vehicle, Oliver's training took over. Each second was an eternity, the suspense electric.

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In an explosive symphony, Oliver's precision transformed into action. His finger danced on the trigger, a symphony of controlled chaos echoing in the woods. Bullets ripped through the air, tearing apart the foliage that shielded the rebels. An unyielding storm of firepower erupted, drowning the attackers' position in a relentless cascade of destruction.

Through the haze of conflict, Oliver remained composed, reloading with practiced efficiency, the mechanical motion a seamless part of his calculated dance. Not a single opponent remained standing; their threat extinguished by the relentless downpour of gunfire.

In the aftermath, a chilling realization unfolded: the attackers had brought with them an RPG-7 primed for catastrophic damage. This discovery, alongside a stash of AKs and grenades, affirmed the necessity and wisdom of Oliver's decisive action.

"Yeah mate, I think I was lucky today. If they had fired a rocket in the first shots, it wouldn't have been this easy," Oliver said, looking perplexed as if he had seen a ghost.

He searched for something they could use to communicate but didn’t find anything. He picked up the empty magazine he had thrown away and walked to the vehicle. Upon entering, he sat in silence and, minutes later, took a nap.

This routine wasn't unusual for him. He ate, trained, and slept, rarely speaking more than a few sentences—just going about his hard, repetitive modus operandi.

As the day passed, such attacks became less frequent. Perhaps they had a way of communication, or that specific part of the route was deserted. Until sunset, all I did was monitor the cameras and listen to their conversations.

Pazel showed up after no more than half a day, looking better than earlier.

"Hey sir, you can leave and rest now. I will take care from now on," he said.

I just nodded to Pazel, stood up, and left. Outside the headquarters, I went straight to the dining hall to replenish my energy. After a satisfying lunch, I walked outside, gazing at the horizon—a boundless sea on one side and a desolate, ruined city on the other.

While strolling around the ship to alleviate my boredom, I remembered that I hadn’t finished what I had started with the minister. Excited, I headed to where we had confined him, in a cage typically meant for animals.

The cage was small, allowing him only to stand or sit; lying down was impossible due to his size. He looked at me with intense hatred in his eyes, nearly overwhelmed with joy.

"You shouldn’t give me those orders; I really don’t like when bastards try to boss me," I said to him, smiling mockingly. His anger intensified, veins bulging on his bald forehead, ready to burst.

"Scum! I'll make you pay when my homeland bails me out! Is this how you treat prisoners of war? You'll be brought before a martial court for such heinous acts!" he spoke, spitting blood and coughing in anger. I smiled even more, a sadistic grin now replacing it.

"Who said you were going to live to be bailed out? No one will know about this. You ran after killing Alexa, the UN official with the nuclear weaponry. Now, you are my hero, sacrificing yourself so I could easily secure these powerful weapons for your country. A disgusting traitor who ran to hide after such insane actions," I said. He looked at me with disbelief, which soon turned to fear.

He started to cry, or at least attempted, but I wouldn't allow it. I gave him a kick in his groin to dismiss this childish act. With a muffled scream, he dropped to his knees inside the cage.

Satisfied with the scene, I called for my men and ordered them to bring me certain items: a funnel, a leak-proof box, and plenty of honey and milk. After a short while, they brought what I requested, and we began our preparation. We trapped him inside the box, with his limbs sticking out and his body confined, then forced the honey and milk mixture down his throat through the funnel. We later placed him in a rescue boat and pushed him into the sea.

With the expected diarrhea resulting from the feed, his box would be filled with waste and attract pests. Given enough time, he would either be eaten alive or succumb to skin infections caused by prolonged exposure to putrid substances.

After we threw him, we listened to his screams until he was out of sight. After that, I went to sleep, reassured that one more problem was dealt with.

I had dreams, a striking departure from the usual. The world was a vibrant green, akin to scenes from movies. Major cities had transformed into ruined remnants resembling parts of a city, now abundant with trees and wildlife, a veritable Garden of Eden.

No human remains were left, except for a few individuals who were stripped and carefree, dancing in front of a massive ruined sculpture. I tried to locate where my 'employers' and I were, but I woke up before I could find our bunkers.

Such a beautiful dream elevated my already good mood to pure happiness. I strolled while humming a little song on my way to eat. After grabbing my meal, I headed straight to the headquarters, knowing that today, even if things got noisy as they often did, it wouldn't dampen my joyful mood, which in other times, would easily be shattered.