Vagabond killed for his own reasons. Did those reasons have to be good ones? Not necessarily. He had been a mercenary majority of his life. He would kill those as long as he got paid and after he was doing that long enough, it became a regular ordeal for him. He was fairly certain that if he tried to go back to regular society that it wouldn't work. He would be too jumpy and he wouldn't know who to trust, as he had quite the reputation when it came to the line of work that he worked in. Even before he had joined the gang that he would eventually consider to be his family, he had been a residential cop in the area. Vagabond went through all the procedures and the camp that they had to go through to make sure that they were good enough for the job. It was hard work, but he managed to show the true skills that he had and eventually he had his own patrol car waiting for him. He worked with the police department as soon as he graduated high school, realizing that he wanted to help the community that he cared about so much. He was a good kid growing up. He wasn't the type that would torture animals for fun, and he wasn't the bully that ran through the hallways picking on the weak. He wasn't like that. Instead, he wanted to help preserve everyone's well being in the city that he was from, but that only got him so far. He was a great cop, although the first time that he had killed someone wasn't the easiest he thought it would be. It was hard on his mind to watch as the man's body dropped to the ground and lay there motionless with his gun at his side. He was awarded for his heroic action, as the man was holding a captive and could have possibly injured several other cops. He knew that he had done the right thing, but that didn't get rid of the feeling that he had in his stomach that there could have been something else he could do. The more times he had to shoot the guns that were given to him, the easier that it would end up being. He didn't kill that many people when it came to be under the police department, but his reputation got the better of him as a secret government organization was interested in recruiting him into their program.

He agreed, overjoyed that there was another opportunity for him to work, and they gave him an idea of what he was going to be doing. He was going to be killing the bad guys that the government wouldn't dare try to get their hands on. Vagabond had agreed at the time, and thinking back, it should have been a red flag that the group was considered to be a secret government organization. His identity wasn't wiped off the map luckily, and he lived in an apartment for some time. He would spend his free time in the apartment, as there were times where he would be gone for months on a mission. He hated long missions, but he was just there to follow orders. He remembered a time where he would question the higher up for their decisions and after getting punished over and over again he learned his lesson to keep quiet. He was a soldier. Soldier's were supposed to do what they were told, and that's what they shaped him up to be. Eventually, he figured out that the group wasn't what they considered themselves to be, and Vagabond knew that he was going to have to take them out somehow. That's exactly what he did, refusing to tell his partner what he was doing because he didn't need anyone else knowing this. After blowing up the headquarters of the damned organization, he fled to a gang he had been leaked information to telling him that the organization wasn't who they said they were. He joined the gang and morphed into the jobs that they would take on. They weren't as bad as he considered them to be, they weren't merciless killers. Majority of the time they didn't rob from poor people and would target other gangs or high-end personnel in some random area. Vagabond could get behind that, and after a couple of years, when he wore his skull mask and walked into a building, he would always notice the fear that overcame the henchmen's eyes. His name was almost like a curse, adopting a name that wasn't his originally. No one knew his real name and he planned on keeping it that way. Well, one person did, but the guy didn't know his true identity, and hopefully, he never would.

There were some instances that killing was a great stress reliever for how many years that he had been doing it. Sometimes he enjoyed it. But, most of the time he did it for business. Humans that knew his name considered him to be a ruthless psycho because that's what he wanted them to think. He could be so much worse if he really wanted to be. The Hellhound definitely wasn't the best shape in the world. He was tired and hadn't been sleeping for who knows how many days. Each day there seemed to be someone that he was fighting or trying to fight with. He needed to constantly keep his mind busy to make sure that he wasn't going to go insane thinking that this entire world was fake and wasn't real. It was hard to think past all of it, because of how absurd all of it was, but he had to try. He was calm and collected part of the group, and needed to hold strong compared to the rest of the crew. Vagabond had been to the Pitt before, not like he knew the places name. He had killed someone there, again not knowing their name or caring. He had advertised the other's death and had no idea that it had been a guy that the hellhound cared deeply about. Again, it wasn't his problem. Vagabond was walking through the desert, his head hanging low slightly, his vivid blue eyes out of focus as he was lost in his own thoughts. He lifted his head though when he saw figures in the distance, and he seemed to stop for a moment in the sand. Wait. What was he doing out here?

Vagabond seemed to look over his shoulder, confusion hidden behind the mask that he wore. The fuck? Well, he was out here anyway and needed to see what happened in this place and if anyone was looking to hire a mercenary just like the old days. He noticed that there were two figures there, and he waited before approaching so that the dizziness that was happening would go away. He loomed over both of them, several scrapes and marks across his body that had gone untreated for the past weak. Vagabond believed that just cleaning the wound would be enough in this world. Which, it obviously wasn't. Vagabond stopped a couple feet in front of the pair, looking down at them. He didn't have the ability to smell anything thanks to the human skull that he wore on his face, the human skull stretched and distorted to fit his long muzzle. He noticed that the other canine had a skull on his head. Well, wasn't that ironic. A huff escaped Vagabond's jaws as the Hellhound seemed to grow cocky out of nowhere. "Pretty sure I pull the look off so much better." Vagabond mocked the other without really thinking. Sleep deprivation was certainly hell to go through. Mood swings were becoming more common with the male, but no one really knew that. The Roseblood didn't say anything else, as he didn't know how joining worked. He kinda just walked into this place himself and did whatever the hell he wanted. He didn't care what anyone did in this place as long as they didn't hamper his developing business.