I'm a hunter. I wear leather jackets. I fight the world's most dangerous creatures every day. In my car, on the seat next to me, lays a journal full of exorcisms. In the trunk I keep weapons: knives, guns, salt, borax, holy water and a fallen angel's blood. Normal people would ask, why are the last four a weapon? Well, yeah. I like dirty jokes, alcohol, listening to classic rock, cruelty, killing the evil. Sometimes I think that Hell's creatures are so much nicer than the angels.

 I was born in Vancouver, Canada. My parents abandoned me, a foreign family grew me up. By foreign family, I mean an elder lady. Everything began how it had to begin: whispers, strange sounds, things fell off from shelves, shadows everywhere. I was around the age 11, one day I found Susan dead in the living room. I didn't tell anyone, I packed up and ran away. Far away. Shadows and strange sounds were always following me. I thought that I was cursed. I think that I am cursed.

 I grew up on the street. I hadn't had a home since. Sometimes I earned money from walking dogs and carrying groceries. I was always going somewhere, I settled down nowhere. But this has changed: in an old and stinky house along a forest near Seattle I "found a home". As time went by, I was facing more and more creatures. The newspaper was always full of inexplicable deaths. I solved each and every one of them, I saved lives. That is a monotone thing for today. Well, yeah, that's the life of a hunter.