Hurts SO bad.

Where are you my albino little killers? I can't find you. My strong, painfully scarred soldiers, born to take that misery off my mind, off my life, with no questions asked, no words spoken. I even paid for the kill so early. After which, you came with that liberating silent letter, saying how you'll do it. How you'll head for the kill. How you'll be torn into pieces in hot, steamy, boiling hell for me. There is no guilt on my behalf for your inevitable destiny, for you are the only ones that can help me. Perfect for the job. Because you see, for me, violence IS the answer.
So where are you, my light-weight, heavily slaughterrrring painkillers?