Your rapist mercenaries will be summarily executed like blind moles, heads torn off, some with their extremities in their mouth being the last taste of life they get. They'll sing songs about your body being dragged through the streets one day, even the Chechen guerrillas will attend, no one will marvel at your overweight, bald corpse, your saggy, elderly bull balls, your piercing flesh wounds, a rock or two will fly toward you, you look like a giant infant, you'll be dead and that is what you should be, Yevgeny Prigozhin, you are a sad, old man and you'll die like one too, in your own shit, dragged on the asphalt until your bones are turned to chalk.