Act III — Chapter 25
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Pyotr Passinsky watched calmly as one of the Russian bodyguards blasted another’s skull open with a Dragunov rifle.
“Boom! Headshot!” the sniper cheered.
“Son of a b***h!” yelled the victim, slamming his PlayStation controller on the glass coffee table.
“Easy, brother!” the assassin said, laughing. “It’s not the table’s fault you suck ass.”
“Shut it, d**k-muncher,” he replied. “I’ve seen you with a real Dragunov. You can’t shoot your way out of a wet paper bag.”
Another mercenary broke away from a heavy petting session with a waifish w***e in one corner of the wide leather couch. He slid over and grabbed the controller. “My turn!”
Passinsky, for his part, merely gazed at the graphics, marveling over the game system’s capabilites.
They sat in a red-carpeted
