I am 12 years old. I am standing behind a Russian soldier, my SOCOM pistol pressed into his back. I whisper:

I am one military hardware enthusiast you don't want to mess with: gimme those tags

Poor man.

A minute or so later he is limping away, bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds and trying in vain to call for help over his broken radio. If I were feeling kind, I’d shoot him in the head with a tranquilizer dart and stuff him in a locker somewhere.

I am not feeling kind.

I pummel and kick him until he loses consciousness. Then I wake him up, and do it all over again.

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