Mark "Russian Slayer" sat behind his desk, hands clasped as if he held the world in his grip. The room around him felt suffocating, the air thick with the looming threat of what was to come. His eyes gleamed with cold, calculated determination that sent shivers down the spine. It was the look of a man who held all the strings of power—and knew it.

"They think they’re safe, hiding in their bunkers," Mark said slowly, his fingers curling menacingly as if crushing something invisible. "But what they don’t understand is that their time is up. Russia is nothing but an empty shell, waiting to be crushed."

His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of fury and resolve was palpable. Every word felt like a dark omen of what was about to happen.

"They have no idea what’s coming for them," he continued, his hands now tightening as if he held their entire nation in his grasp. "Every step they take, every breath they dare to draw, is counted. And when the time is right... they will realize there is no escape."

He leaned forward, closer to the microphone, as if speaking directly to the Russian leaders. "You thought you were untouchable. But you will fall, and no one will remember you. Only the echo of your failure will resound through history."

With that, Mark slowly lowered his hands, as if sealing the fate of an entire nation. His gaze betrayed nothing but cold, calculated destruction. The Russians had no idea what was coming for them, but one thing was certain: their days were numbered.