Note pinned to Lucy's chest:

Dear scumbags. I came home after having the silver star pinned on my chest for shooting the last ISIS terrorist. It was my last mission. I was going to retire.

I found your chumps in my kitchen having a little party. Payback for that business down in South America I assume. But I thought we had an understanding. This is all just business. You had to make it personal, didn't you?

They tore Winston's little arms off. They sharpied a penis where he doesn't have one, ripped that out, and shoved it in Coco's mouth. Poko, who never hurt anyone, had her left eye removed, and from what I can tell, they fornicated with her eye socket. They made Sam, Lucy and Chesty watch. You could ask your men but as you can see they're all dead on my kitchen floor.

So retirement is off the table. The others need years of therapy, and as you know, US healthcare isn't really good with that. It's gonna cost a lot of money. And even then, they don't make a full recover--

The point is. I'm a trained killer. I know the exact torsional force required to snap a human neck. You wanted a war? Well, motherfuckers, you just got a war.