The camouflage on his face is mixed with dirt, sweat, and congealed blood, forming a paste, with only those eyes peeping through the filthy gaps, burning with a near-madness, chilling cold glow.
Every breath is heavy and hoarse, carrying tiny blood foam, spraying into the cold air.
He lifts his head, his bloodshot eyes precisely lock onto the sky, that circling, cold metal creation—MQ-9 "Reaper".
He knows, the high-definition camera underneath its belly is directed at him.
He knows, every subtle movement, every expression of his at this moment, is being clearly projected across satellite links, onto the screens at the Nevada Air Force Base, and onto the vast screens at the CIA command center in Langley.
He opens his mouth, revealing teeth stained with dirt and blood threads, smiling silently.
That smile is hideous, embedded with a mockery and provocation from deep within hell.
