I expect Kyle to sneak up or to stay here until the danger passes, but he retrieves a suppressor, hooks it to the tip of his gun, and goes out. Just like that, he’s out. His eyes remain the same, bored and motionless as he clicks a few times. Curses and a commotion erupt in Russian from where he’s aiming, but the sound of his muffled gunshots are louder. Then all sounds disappear as he motions at me to follow him. In front of the door lie three men with three clean shots to their foreheads.
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