In the ruins of the city where no one dared to enter, dust particles floated in the air all day and night, creating a thick sheen of fog that suffocated anyone who stepped foot into the area.

But of course, just like how the world worked, places were never left abandoned for long when they proved useful in some ways. Especially when it could easily hide a group of people in hindsight.

"Agent Fox, enemy forces spotted at the rear. Prepare to engage. Assessment team estimated about a dozen." A sound crackled out of Ronald's communication device. It was the watcher team, tasked with following enemy movements wherever they went.

"Copy that."

Ronald muttered calmly before holding up the rifle and aiming. As soon as the enemy started to move, trying to take refuge in another abandoned structure, Ronald pulled the trigger.

The sounds of gunshots were loud, deafening even.

Ronald's eyes were sharp, and his body moved accordingly, giving him extremely fast reflexes and defence mechanisms despite being 6'3.

After finishing the job and making sure the rescue team confirmed they successfully infiltrated and saved the president's daughter, Ronald finally lowered his gun and held it tightly. His eyes sweeping across the carnage that followed. Every single mission.

But a decade of working in this field meant he was used to this. All you could do was just accept the impacts that came with the job, whether that would be physical or mental.

As the retrieval team lowered the helicopter to get him, Ronald hung onto the rope as he climbed himself up, but not before glancing back into the horizon once again to take it all in. His auburn hair (a trait he got from his mother) blew in the wind of the desert, eyebrow slits his mates had him do for "style" making him look more rugged than he wanted.

As the team celebrated that night back at their base, the men were loud and rowdy as they always were. The sounds of glass clinking and alcohol breath from anyone who tried talking to anyone were inevitable, even for the usually introverted Ronald. Suddenly, a smack to his back made him jolt, glaring at whoever did that so carelessly. "AYYY Ronnie! C'mon mate! Cheers?! If you didn't stop those assholes today and they got to us we would've evaporated into dust!"

An Australian comrade of his grinned, holding out two jugs of beer with one hand, fingers gripping the glass way tighter than he would his own weapon. You could always leave it to these men to value alcohol more than firearm, even if they were known to be the most skilled mercenaries in the world. The Red Knights. The only group known with a 86% success rate across average of every mission they ever did