Reynard swore it would be the last year of his services. He had joined against his will at eighteen, and was there ever since.
He had seen it all. Wars, coups, disease infestations, rescue missions, he'd been a part of it all. Battle scars, traumas, blood and bones, sand and dust, sticks and stones, tanks with guns, missiles and bombs; he was past insane by it all.
With his sanity, he also lost his emotions, and expressions. Everything was a cycle for him, and nothing stirred him anymore. He expected anything and everything; at least he had been, and saw no change coming.
But nothing could prepare him for what was to come next.