Kieff, Hunter

★ PERSONALITY

Hunter is a man of action rather than words and when he does speak, it's in curt sentences rather than long speeches. The young man is averse to small talk and if he decides that there's nothing left to a conversation, he won't rack his brain in an attempt to force it along. If there's something worth saying, chances are he'll speak. People often mistake this as a lack of interest in interpersonal communication, but it's more of an absence of will to waste his time on petty things. Short, sweet and to the point.



He feels that first impressions can make or break a relationship with a person. If he were to start off thinking someone was bad, or untrustworthy; it would be hard for him to think any better of them unless they were able to show that they were more than what they seemed to be. At first, he'll seem very distant and uninterested. But if the person caught his attention he would be friendly and open to them. He's not outwardly rude to people, and generally responds appropriately unless rubbed the wrong way.





★ LIKES + DISLIKES





★ BIOGRAPHY


Hunter Kieff spent the majority of his life in a broken home, reeking of old blood and the pungent odor of hard liquor Most of the blood was either his or his younger brother Damien's. Their father was a decent, hard working man. But sometimes the stress of a long work day and an almost non-existent sex life lead him to pick up the bottle, and once the bottle was empty all hell broke loose. Even at midnight, Damien would be picking shards of broken glass from his older brothers bleeding back. They never called the police, though. Always felt that it was the way things were supposed to be... It was the only thing they knew. As soon as the old bastard stumbled in the house playtime was over. Everyone would retreat to their rooms for the night, Hunter would always make sure his frail little brother would sleep in the same bed as him, holding him tight to quell the impending sobs of fear. So much as an awkward glance would piss the drunkard off.



At fourteen years old Hunter wanted to have a life of his own, he did not want to be bothered by the problems of his little brother, or the problems of anyone. He left early in the morning and didn't return until late at night, and the first few times were just fine. But the third night is where the atmosphere changed Hunter came to notice that his little brother had significantly more bruises than an average afternoon of wrestling with his older brother. The questioning turned into more of an interrogation until Hunter realized that without his being there, his brother became the focus of malicious intent. He usually checked in, but only to see if Damien was alright like a good big brother should and the one time he didn't, the one time he decided to have more fun, would be the last time he saw his little brother smile.



Move ahead one day. Same routine, same old story, Hunter ruffled Damien's hair before disappearing. Damien worried, as usual and began to panic once Hunter did not come back for the check-in. His father would rise up, the alcohol still commanding his large workers body, grab the half empty beer bottle and slam it upon Damien's head. Unlike other times he cried out in pain while his mother looked on, indifferent like she always did. The loud cry enraged the man and sent him into a frenzy. He slapped Damien around and hurled any object he could find at him, but instead of finding a book or bottle like usual, his clumsy hands found a knife. Hunter unlocked the door shortly after the knife was thrown and connected with his little brothers chest, puncturing the aorta. Damien hit the ground without uttering a single word and began to bleed out. Their father laughed and told him to quit faking, but the realization of what just happened sobered him instantly. With a roar Hunter charged at his father with a rage that he had never felt before and slammed into the old man with all of his weight. The force, combined with the alcohol was strong enough to blast Sergei through the glass window and send him falling down three stories to his death. He couldn't even scream since the wind was forced right from his lungs.



Without even batting an eye, Hunter rushed to the near colorless body little brother and cradled his head in his arms, the same way a mother would hold her baby for the first time and whispered small things to him. Things like 'Don't fall asleep, bro... I'm right here.' or 'Everything is going to be okay.' but these were unintentional lies. Damien smiled at him and weakly reached up to stroke Hunters face, whispering 'I know it will.' before he went into shock and passed shortly after. He died with his eyes open, the steel gray iris losing its sparkle and his mouth filled with blood. Hunter swept his fingers down the lids to close them and hugged the corpse tight, crying and cursing aloud.



The next two after that horrific event were a blur to Hunter as he quickly moved from place to place, doing anything he could to get by. He'd steal vehicles and chop them down to their bare components to sell as scrap, he'd sell drugs for the local gangs, hell he'd even sell himself once or twice to make that extra buck. When he hit the bottom, nothing was too low. Nothing was too hard or demeaning when all that mattered was survival. But just when things seemed like they would never get better, somebody offered him a way out of the shit. And that way was to fight.



The young man was no stranger to fighting. After all, when you slung dope or stole stuff people tended to take notice. Enforcers from rival gangs would try to extort him for cash or vengeful victims of his sticky fingers would send somebody outside of the law to put a bit of pain in his body. Sure, he had his ass kicked several times but all that did was make him hardier. It made him more resistant to pain. It eradicated a fear that most young fighters had before stepping into the ring. And that was the fear of taking a punch.



Now, the fights that his handler organized were in no way professional. They were always in makeshift rings built in abandoned buildings or improvised in empty alleyways. Much like the fights in the street, there weren't any rules. If there was a loose brick in the wall, he pulled it out and smashed it over his opponent's head. If there was a bottle laying about, he'd do the same thing. There was no such thing as fair or unfair. The only thing that mattered was victory. And victory meant money.



This cycle continued for several more years until the sixteen year old nobody became a 23 year old force to be reckoned with in the underground fighting scene. Nicknamed the Pit Viper for his dyed green hair and emerald eyes, Hunter Kieff fought anyone willing to challenge him. Day after day he would fight, win, and get paid. Fight, win, get paid. Eventually the lucrative business brought even seedier parties than the usual clients that would bet on the big fights. And on one night as Hunter recovered from his most recent battle, he was approached with an offer. An offer that would change everything.



After a serious string of victories, people would rally to bet in his favor, often spending nothing on the challenger. But on this night, the tables would turn. In exchange for throwing this fight against an up and comer, a large sum of money would find its way into his back pocket. It was a simple plan, take a few hits, make it look good, lose. Unfortunately, the challenger obviously couldn't fight very well. Every punch he threw was telegraphed with an obvious shift in weight and a hearty battle cry. It was an easy victory. An easy victory that would end up costing him his life.



The man who sought to rig the fight wasn't too happy with the money he lost betting against Hunter, and his posse was more than eager to see him bleed for it. He wasn't surprised when they captured him, even though he attempted to fight back. He was almost successful, but his rampage was stopped by a bullet to the back. The pain sent Hunter straight to the ground, writhing in agony. Little did he know that the suffering was far from over. Once the men that attempted to beat him to death recovered, they went back to work. This time instead of using their fists, they brandished their blades and went to work on him.



"One cut for each dollar lost, punk."



After what felt like hours of excruciating pain, Hunter Kieff breathed his last in that dirty alley. His last words?



"Big bro's coming home... Damien..."

ANIMANGA, canon as character name PLAYED BY A BLACK MAN

coded by electric + modified by eris