"You're losing a lot of blood," I said to him. I wasn't glad he was dying. I wasn't sad either. I didn't feel anything for him. Blood was coming out of his mouth. He wanted to say something but the words just couldn't come out. I thought I would feel pity for him at this moment, but that feeling never came. There would be no last words for him, nothing he could say that could change the outcome. Napoleon approached him and stood before him for a few seconds. Death's emissary towering over him, here to collect his soul. ...
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"You're losing a lot of blood," I said to him. I wasn't glad he was dying. I wasn't sad either. I didn't feel anything for him. Blood was coming out of his mouth. He wanted to say something but the words just couldn't come out. I thought I would feel pity for him at this moment, but that feeling never came. There would be no last words for him, nothing he could say that could change the outcome. Napoleon approached him and stood before him for a few seconds. Death's emissary towering over him, here to collect his soul. Rodrigo and Napoleon are Sicarios for the Cartels of South America; but not long ago they were ordinary young men, full of untapped and wasted potential. They have gone far since. And they will not stop until they feel the heat of the fire that burns the village to the ground.
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