One of them, a dark-skinned man with a buzzcut, and a skull tattoo under his right eye, motioned toward the blinking light.
"You," he barked at one of the slavers, "go check it out."
The grunt, nervous but obedient, approached the tree where I'd hidden the overcharged clip.
Those people are a waste of space, truly the bottom of the barrel, seen enough of these kinds of people in Gaza, they have the same look in their eyes, the same look the Hamas members I fought in the streets and in the tunnels had, they feel powerful as long as they are in the position of perceived power, the moment you take it from them, it's the moment the masks fell off and those cowardly bastards will start to sing the Tikvah if need be to stay alive and be spared.
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