"I was not ready for this at all, Defence Minister Sofiya."
"You… you are just a child. Malen'kiy rebenok."
Sofiya repeated it under her breath, still unable to reconcile what she was seeing. The one who had done all those things to her family was just… a child. No. It wasn't that she couldn't believe it—it was that she refused to.
Her only son had been cut into pieces. Her grandchild taken from his home, then beheaded right in front of him. And the one who did it… was a child?
"How… old are you?" she whispered.
"Twelve, Miss Defence Minister," Riley answered without hesitation. "But please, do not let that cloud your judgment—kill me. That is the least that I deserve. You may also torture me. I will not resist or try to fight, for I deserve that fate as well."
"Twelve…" Sofiya's vision trembled, the gun in her hand splitting into two as her eyes shook uncontrollably. "H-how? What? American? How… did the Americans create you?"
