Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

In May 2011, the Libyan war raged on.

With NATO and U.S. coalition support, rebel forces were closing in on the government's stronghold in Tripoli. The coalition avoided ground troops, instead launching relentless airstrikes that decimated key government infrastructure—airfields, tank convoys, power plants.

The rebels, eager to declare victory, claimed they'd end the fighting within a week.

But their optimism was premature. Despite Gaddafi's absence from public view, the situation in Libya was far from resolved. Major cities, including Tripoli, remained under government control, and without NATO or U.S. ground forces, the rebels lacked the strength to swiftly end the war.

…

In Guinea, Africa, despite Libya's turmoil, development continued unabated. Well, not entirely unaffected.

Under Martin's persistent urging, his "good brother" Mutassim (Gaddafi's son) secretly sent a group of Libya's top experts in various fields to Guinea under the pretext of "protection."

In reality, Martin was poaching talent. Libya's chemical weapons specialists, in particular, were a prize he'd long coveted. Rather than let them fall to rebels, he absorbed them into his talent pool.

When these experts arrived in Guinea, Martin's promised "aid" reached Libya.

…

Mutassim was stunned when he saw the reinforcement: a mere fifty mercenaries.

"What the fuck!" he exploded. "Martin, that bastard, said he was sending an army, and this is it? Fifty guys?"

The team leader, Satan, grinned menacingly. "We're elite. No offense, but with enough weapons and ammo, we could wipe out your entire government army."

He wasn't bragging. His team had studied both Libya's government and rebel forces and concluded they were pathetically weak. The real fighting was done by mercenaries, with local armies playing support.

Mutassim's face twitched. Leading his troops on Tripoli's frontlines, he knew exactly how feeble his forces were. With a resigned wave, he said, "Fine, whatever. As long as that bastard Martin protects the talent I sent, I'm grateful."

Satan thought to himself, The boss already sees those guys as his own. Out loud, he vowed, "The boss always keeps his word. He'll protect them."

"They're Libya's spark—make sure they're safe," Mutassim stressed again.

"Swear to God," Satan replied, his face steady, eyes firm.

"Good." Mutassim's expression softened.

Satan shrugged, unbothered by his oath to "God." Who's God to someone named Satan?

"Mr. Mutassim, per our deal, you're supplying the weapons," Satan said.

"Don't worry. We've got Russian and ChingChong aid. Supply's guaranteed."

Despite publicly opposing NATO and U.S. actions, Russia and ChingChong were quietly funneling support to Libya.

…

In the armory, a government official in traditional Libyan garb opened the warehouse door, flicked on the light, and gestured inside. "Weapons are in there. Pick what you want."

Satan's team stepped in. Rows of M4s, MP5s, M60s, and more lined the racks, neatly arranged.

"Why's it all American gear?" Big Dog asked, puzzled. "Didn't you say most of your weapons are Russian or Chinese aid?"

"They are," the official replied. "This batch is Chinese aid."

"But these are—" Big Dog started.

Ram cut him off. "Idiot, who said aid has to be domestically made? It's called 'hiding your tracks'."

Satan scoffed. "What kinda books you reading, kid?"

Satan shook his head.

Big Dog still didn't get the "hiding" bit but didn't let it stop him. He grabbed an M60 from the rack. "This baby's solid. Good for main machine gun duty, and it's not too heavy."

"Only meatheads use machine guns," Ram muttered, heading to the far end of the racks. "Real men use big guns."

He picked up a TAC-50, eyeing it like a lover. Produced by McMillan Brothers in 1980, this anti-materiel sniper rifle remained a staple for U.S. military and law enforcement. Weighing 11.8 kilograms, with a 2,000-meter range and 850 m/s muzzle velocity, it held a detachable 5-round magazine—a favorite among mercenary snipers.

Ram raised it, then noticed a bonus: the scope had night vision.

He lowered his arms. Great gun, but heavy. Still, for a defensive position, weight wasn't an issue—it'd be propped on the ground. For precision snipers, though, large-caliber rifles weren't ideal.

His gaze shifted to a row of desert-camouflaged rifles, complete with scopes and bipods.

"Whoa, there's my girl," Ram said, grinning.

Satan glanced over. M110 rifles—AR-series semi-automatic sniper rifles made with fiber and plastic, using NATO 7.62mm rounds. Lightweight and highly accurate, they were a staple in U.S. infantry squads, earning the nickname "favorite girl" for their stellar performance in Afghanistan.

"Stop drooling and pick," Satan barked. "We need these shipped to our camp. We've got to scout our position soon."

"I am picking," Ram grumbled.