Six days. Six whole days of idling out here in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere, high in the sky above the burning desert, trying to track down the band of assholes who were raiding these stupid fucking Storm King merch shipments. You and your boys should be busy in the barracks, training for the big invasion coming up. You should be lifting weights and suplexing bitches, preparing to crush your enemies, drive them before you, and hear the lamentations of the mares.