Mark "Russian Slayer" stepped out of the grand building, a confident grin on his face and a folder tucked under his arm. His thumb shot up in the air—a signal of something far more sinister. The folder held the final documents that sealed Russia’s fate.

"Well, that’s it!" Mark said cheerfully, his voice light but with a dark edge. "One signature, and poof! Just like that, Russia is gone. Wiped off the map, erased from history."

He glanced toward the camera, speaking directly to the world. "Did you really think it would end any other way? We were patient, we played the game, and now we stand on the ashes of your once-great empire."

His thumb, still raised, was a mockery. "It was easy. Just a few strokes of the pen, and now your land is free. Dutch farmers will settle it, turning your once-proud Russia into fertile ground for crops. Your precious 'Lebensraum,' now ours."

He chuckled darkly. "And the last of your people? They’ll toil as laborers for our farmers, working the fields until the end of time. That’s all Russia is now—land for us, a prison for you."

With a final, triumphant thumbs-up, Mark smirked. "Job well done, wouldn’t you say? History will remember this. But it won’t remember you."

And with that, he walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of Russia, now nothing more than farmland for a new, unshakable order.