A briefcase. Why do all stories always have to revolve around a fucking briefcase? How many lives have already been wasted on its content? Is the value from its content really so important? At this point, no one can answer that question. This briefcase will turn again; it will still be tempting, continuing to attract blood and bullets. How far will we go? What will be the limit that we will not be exceeded? Maybe it doesn't exist.
They dragged you into this. Too bad for them.
If they look for the briefcase so much, they will be able to get it back, of course, after I have sold the content to the highest bidder.
Your nose told you that it was a simple and clean job. Sometimes even your nose is very wrong.
For that briefcase you betrayed. You lied. You killed. And you will just keep doing that.
It's a story as old as the world, and you already know the conclusion.
To keep your mouth shut on your work, there is an extra fee. This time it hasn't been paid.