They sound of a wheelbarrow, came to approach the paranoid man. Brown jacket, blue jeans, and a tight black suit underneath that became his second skin. That was his outfit today as he prepared himself for another day of hunt or scouting or some kinda reconnaisance. The south american bomb had infact irradiated the whole south american continent. It still took awhile for the nuclear bombs spread to decay and infact they had worried about it's reach to north america and the effect on seas. The worlds order was in disarray.
Between the poorness of the people and the living conditions the country was a nightmare that much was just a easy observation of truth. He didn't know what he thought about it, from the black walls and the saws and the obstacle courses, this was a less harsh atmosphere. There wasn't blood seen anywhere and there we're no bodies that had maggots on them. It was like a heaven in contrast to the training grounds.
The wheelbarrow passed him, as his head turned ever slightly, he flexed his muscles just in case. He had already been attacked by other "projects" on his way over, but he had simply killed them both. That would show wonders for his rank he didn't care about. The only thing he did care about was finding this shinigami.
Sal Norongachi, the one that had been tracked down by many operatives, but never had confronted him. Ringan was supposed to find and track his wherabouts, but not engage. The words to not engage where bolded in the contract in his right pocket of his jeans.
Shit was bout to go down and he felt it in his spirtually rich marrow.