BRRZZT.

“Hostile in the AU.”

A distinct, older Irish lilt buzzed in O’Donnell’s—codename Star Wolf’s—earpiece, female in element.

“Roger,” the grey canine mumbled in a flat octave; his words barely had time to linger in the air before being overtaken by his boots’ clasps against the floors.

”Happy hunting.”

BRRZZT.

A mute scoff.

Wolf was something a man could get the closest to between a mercenary and a soldier without having to worry about the legal complications. The government didn’t care so long as you were a good shot.

Even with only his right eye, he’d always find a way to slip that shot, right between their eyes.

His lone red eye scanned the entirety of his surroundings with a dull, sharp, focused glare; his shoulders relaxed, an L129A1 Sharpshooter in his palms’ adamantine-clad grasp.

On his person, a bandage was patched over his snout, an earpiece was connected to his ear, and he wore a plum-hued hoodie with a red undershirt and some multipurpose kevlar over it all, an extra magazine at the ready; his pistol and combat knife was on the side of his knee, not in the slightest hindering his methodical movements around the area.

[A few minutes later…]

“Ran out?” Wolf rhetorically asked an amateur that was desperately trying to reload a clip in front of him, before promptly raising his rifle and firing one time to get that all-assuring thud. Then, he looked down at the scene, and then the rest around him, putting a finger up to his ear with a light press.

“Neutralized,” he said.

Then, a pained grunt came from behind Wolf; one of them shuttered and desperately pleaded. Wolf paused.

“…Wait. Missed one,” he corrected, turning to face the barely breathing one as he did so, promptly double tapping.

BOW!!!

…

BRRZZT.

“Excellent work, Star Wolf.”