WRIGHT, hunter garrett

when hunter was born, his birth was not announced. it had been a home birth, something that no one was aware of as his mother only had her closest friends surrounding her while she squeezed out the spawn of the devil. he was jokingly called that as a child for his father was not a good man, he had no humanity in his body and his mother sought to protect him from meeting the man. she avoided certain parts of city when hunter was in her company. but his father knew. he was aware of everything that happened in the city and the sheer birth of his first and only known son (as he spread his seed throughout the city and had a boy a few years older than hunter in the city) was celebrated. hunter was allowed to stay with his mother, grow attached and dependent on her and rely on her love and care to thrive. his mother was a gentle soul, he can still recall her touch. fingers sliding through the small amount of hair on his head, his mother’s bright smile still haunts his dreams just before things turned sour. hunter’s birth was not in the paper, his conception was not anything exciting but years after, people that knew him and himself splashed across the pages of the LA times every other week.

”WOMAN, 32, FOUND DEAD IN HER APARTMENT
a woman, 32, was found in her apartment after co-workers went to her apartment after she did not show up for a diner shift. she was scheduled to work the morning shift but made no attempt to contact the diner explaining why she did not show up. worried co workers travelled to her apartment where they found the door busted open. the place was trashed and her body was found in the kitchen. “she has a son, we are looking for her son, hunter.”, pleads one of her co-workers who says she has worked with the woman for ten years.

it was not a big news story as not much detail could be figured out. hunter can tell you what happened but he can’t tell between the reality of it and the illusion of it. he might be making details up, he might have even been gone before anything happens. the word ‘run’ was the last thing that his mother ever said to him right before she pressed a kiss to his forehead when he was six years old. she pushed him to the fire escape as the door was being banged upon. hell, this is what really happened:

a young boy, six years old, is seated at the kitchen. his legs are surely too short to reach over the chair but he still wiggles his feet while the smell of bacon and eggs fill the room. his mother, a tiredsome looking woman, is hunched over a stove with a spatula in her hand. she is flipping eggs and the meat, turning it over and preparing a hearty breakfast for herself and her only son. “hunter, stop banging the spoon on the table please.”, the boy does one more just because he can, “hunter!”, his mother’s stern voice cuts through the air and he nods, dropping the spoon the table. another thud is heard and this time his mother turns around to face him, “if i have to say-“ but she hears the thud and witnesses the spoon still sitting on the table. her eyes widen, almost like this was not unexpected. she had been waiting for this day, but she had hoped that it would come at a less crucial time. “hunter, come here” she urges and the little boy has to take his time to get down from the chair. his mother helps him out, leading him over the window that he is not allowed to touch. he backs away from it but his mother pushes him again, “go hunter, run, please..” she pleads to him and he does not understand. he is six years old, he is not allowed to leave the apartment without his mother or helen, her best friend who visits him often. she is like a second mother to him. “hunter please baby, go, i love you but G-“ she doesn’t get the last word out as the weak door has finally surrendered and is now nearly in splinters as it crashes open, “RUN” she yells and hunter finally gets his feet moving. he crawls out the small window and onto the fire escape, he has no idea where to go from there, but he decides to head down. using his small legs and smaller arms, the boy descends down until his feet touch the alleyway floor. he is breathless but he starts running, down the alleyway, screaming for help. a hand shoots out from the shadows, spinning him around, tears streaming down the small boy’s face, “get off me!” he cries but the man puts a hand over the young boy’s mouth. “you don’t want them to hear you. shh hunter.”, the boy’s eyes widen as this man knew his name but he had never seen him in his entire life. he is a stranger and his mother was particular about hunter not talking to strangers.

MULTIDUDE OF THEFT POINTS TO GANG ACTIVITY IN LA
the target for these thiefs are the young in which they lure them into an alleyway and mug them after beating them. some of the victims have cuts on their neck in a strange formation that police cannot make sense of. “it’s organized activity, we can see that….”, the police chief has stated in an interview to explain the latest break in. “they are escalating. it’s no longer teenagers being targeted, we advise that our citizens travel in groups of more than two and not to be out after 9pm unless you have to.”, a set curfew is being talked about, just until the crime rate goes down.

hunter is not one of these boys, yet. he is not old enough to put a fist into someone’s face, yet. he is being trained at this point but he is not ready for it. his father, the man that his mother had never spoken of, found him in the alleyway. the men that broke in were told to be a rival gang but that’s not the truth. hunter will not the truth until his father is convicted for a crime quite similar to the death of his mother. none of that happens yet though. he is still a young boy, around the age of ten, when these stories start to appear. his father, a founding member of the black knights, have started to stake their claim on the city. hunter is never told about the vendetta, just that the city was unfair and this is the revenge. hunter is never taken on the missions, he is forced into a dark room each and every night, doors locked so that he cannot escape but it’s not like he had anywhere else to go. these people, thieves, fighters, violent and sadistic people—gang members, are his family now. he lost his mother four years ago, he cannot even remember what she looked like. he remembers her voice and her touch but her facial features has since faded away from his mind. he is too focused on other things anyway. he is still attending school, his father enrolled him. his father was suspected of kidnapping but hunter was proven to be his blood son and the charges were dropped. no evidence was found for a struggle or a fight from hunter, not that he could fight, he was too young. his fists were starting to fly at this age though into hanging meat, into concrete walls but it was not until he was twelve years old that he actually hit someone. there were four boys his age, connor, lucas, nicholas and dylan. they became his best friends. they did not do the normal friend thing though. they went to the park to pick pockets, they travelled to the streets to mug, they went into alleyways to fight. none of it was a normal childhood, none of it was a normal friendship. they beat each other up, they were forced to beat one another down. there was no love to be handed to them, only respect. and by the age of fifteen, hunter was one of the most respected members in the gang and not just because of his father.

MAN, 43, CONVICTED AND JAILED FOR LIFE.
a man, arrested in the slums bar, was charged with eight counts of assault, three counts of rape, two accounts of second degree murder, one account of first degree murder, and a myrid of other charges. he admitted to have been a founding member of the black knights and called it his “legacy” but pleaded the fifth when asked of the gang’s hide out or the activities. he was given a civil trial that escalated to county courthouse were he was pronounced guilty after six weeks of evidence appearing.” he is -

this is just part of the article, hunter ripped it out of the paper, not wanting to read it to be true. the rumor was his father was missing, that the other gangs finally got their revenge but jail, that just seemed worse. hunter never went to the trials, he never got to see his dad until their first and only visit. he was not sure why he went to visit the man who treated him more like a puppet than a son but in reality, he was the only family that hunter had left. he was seventeen at this time, he had his run in with the police. he had lasting battle scars on his face that he wore like a badge of courage. he put himself into street fights and fought nearly everyone until there was no one left. connor, lucas, nick and dylan were by his side through it all. he never rose to the leader position, too young and too inexperienced. instead, connor got it. the man was just as ruthless as the rest of them but he had something else, a sadistic streak, a need to see people in pain that the other members thought were perfect. hunter was finally initiated into the gang in the three worst tasks of his life, things that he kept secret from everyone but at the same time, it was known. the papers announced it but hunter burned those. the girl spoke out against her captors, the one that put her through hell and back—hunter was not one of them. he opted out and received the beating of a lifetime for it. the poor boy who got left for dead survived, that was right up hunter’s alley. he was responsible for breaking four of the boy’s ribs and the internal bleeding—and the soldier still survived. the third task was a break and enter, hunter managed to do it all in record time. he had been pushed harder in terms of training than the rest of the boys. his father was a leader after all. but that much power would go to his head, he had to control himself and resist the indulgence and so, hunter gave it to the second in command’s son; connor. the power was his and he twisted it dry until he used it up and was hated. connor made everyone nearly bow down to him, hunter getting several beatings for the smallest of slip ups. the biggest was not his own, but it landed hunter into a world of trouble when he was nineteen.

BOY, 19, ACCUSED OF MURDER OF BELOVED CITY BUTCHER.
tim rollan, 52, was murdered in an attempted robbery that left three other people injured. the man, we all knew and loved, was a dedicated member to society. he was always smiling, handing out free meat to sample and was active in the community. he will be missed. police made the arrest and have charged hunter wright, 19, with the death as the only prints to be found in the evidence were those of the nineteen year old boy who is being accused of being a part of the black knights, as his own father was…-“

hunter was not even there that night. he was going to be, he was going to break into the butcher shop, take the money out of the register and bolt with his four friends but instead, he was tired. it was the excuse that he gave and three bruised ribs and a black eye later, hunter was resting at home, in his bed, peaceful. they gave him the parole for it. they allowed him that small moment of a break but hunter was not given much room to breathe. he was told it went well, he was told nothing went wrong and given that hunter had some power in the gang, he was excited to hear it. but the news reports told him otherwise. two days later, he had been watching the news when the report came on.:

”you mother fucking piece of a shit liar connor! you told me everything went fine!’, which was received with a chuckle and a shrug from the man standing before him as hunter had high tailed it out of his apartment. he was already suspected of being a member of the black knights, he did not need the police questioning him because surely, his smart mouth would land him behind bars. “it did.” was the only answer that hunter got, his fist curling at his side, “going to hit me, wright? is that how this is going to happen?”, asked the boy and hunter did not give him an answer. it was exactly how this was going to happen. the man threw his fist first and thought second. connor was just as skilled of a fighter as he was, he had the power too, he could eliminate hunter if he wanted. loyalty only went so far here. power, control, the ones in charge, had all the cards in their hands and hunter did not have enough power to gain him enough allies. ”fuck you!”, he spat, anyway, he always had a lack of control on his words. his fists was throbbing, having hit without much thought to the technique, his thumb being overlapping the curled fingers instead of protected underneath. “go home hunter, before you make a mistake again and pay the piper.” scoffed the boy while wiping at the blood from his lip where hunter’s nail had gotten him. he felt proud to see the blood dropping from hunter’s lip but he nodded to his leader, bowed out and as soon as he left the house, the male was quick to dial a neutral party. nixon had been his best friend, listened to him gripe about the woes of a gang member, even fought beside him in some of the battles. hunter, stupidly, returned home and three minutes later, cops swarmed his place and he was led out in cuffs, after having made the decision to run from this and drag his best friend with him.

hunter was put in jail for twenty one days. he was never messed with because even there, he had a reputation. he was not bothered by the jail cell or the people but the way that they talked instilled a little fear. he turned that fear into strength, as he always tried to. he made the attempt to be the bigger person. the day of his trial, the first of three, evidence presented suggested that connor and his ‘friends’ had framed him. the gun that was used on the male had his prints from initiation night. his hair was found at the scene, his finger prints were on the gun, but hunter was released on the second trial. the family could not identify his voice or his face as the boys that not worn the best of protective masks. hunter was acquitted for his crime but he was never forgotten. the boy was feared even more now. they always thought that he was a little off, something dark and sinister behind his eyes but now, it was more than confirmed about who he was. he was an accused murderer, he was a gang member, he was the reason for all the terror in his part of the city—or part of the reason at least. he had issues, he had problems, twenty two years old, hunter’s name had not been associated with any crime. he kept his nose clean, kept his eyes on the fights that he participated in and the work that he found as a mechanic.

funny enough, the male found his way back to his childhood best friend. they did not leave city together, instead, they become coworkers. nixon was not friendly either, they were two grumps that were shoved into their corners to do what they could do best. hunter was always going to be a fighter though. he picked fights just as easily as nixon but usually, they had a purpose. he was still apart of the black knights but things were getting too unmoral, even for hunter. he was not a murderer, or he did not ever want to be one. he just wanted to prove the town wrong but every chance that he was given, he failed. he was never going to get his reputation back, and so, hunter formed his own. he became the black sheep. people actually slid to the side to get out of his way. he worked, fought and went home for a beer. he had a routine, a lifestyle. he was content with it in his early twenties. he never really fucked around with girls, he did not have too much interest in being a boyfriend and that was all that they wanted. he wanted to be loved though. he knew he had his best friend, huxon, a morph of their names that some guys in the shop called them. they were soul mates but hunter, he just wanted someone to come home too but no one could handle his gruff nature. nixon had his own troubles too. they both seemed to correlate with one another, always having the same issues around the same time. so when nixon was dealing with averly, hunter met juniper.

this girl had a smile that could make his own tough exterior break. she was annoying but she was persistent which made her double the annoyance. but he could not stay away. after he met her, things changed for hunter. he had picked her up due to her car breaking down on his day off. he was far grumpier than usual, but she recognized the song that was playing—an old rock ballad, she smiled and tried to joke with him and he just grunted. she finally got out of the car and hunter knew that he never wanted to see that sight again, he never wanted her to walk away. the girl opened his eyes and even started to open this part of the city. this was his chance to prove who he had become. the fights lessened but so did his activity in the gang. he learned how to cuddle, he remembered how to laugh and smile and was starting to enjoy life. she made him come out to a city function and stood up to anyone that whispered a bad word about him—though he would have rather ignored them, or punched them. she was an angel in disguise with her own dark secret. he helped her overcome her fear of karma. she thought that she killed someone with a rock during a rebellious stage, a concert in Sweden. she did, he was sure she did. she kept the rock and hunter helped her finally get rid of that burden. she healed him as much as he healed her. they were inseparable and eventually, he opened his doors to her around the same time that he opened his heart.

but he was ignoring his initial responsibilities, what he was bred to do, what he was born to what—what he had been created to do. the gang took notice, they took notice of his lack of an absence and they took it upon themselves to show hunter who he really was. they tricked him into meeting them, but all that was on the ground was his lost phone, he had thought he had left it at nixon’s or maybe the shop. no, they had taken it from him and had impersonated him to get juniper into their hands. hunter drove as fast as he could to his own house to get a weapon, to get something that would cause immense pain. all that he got was a battered and bruised girl on his lawn. she was a disaster. she was half unclothed, she was bleeding, crying, but she still wanted him. she still held onto him with the little amount of strength that she had. hunter cried that night, at her side, while he tried his best to play nurse and patch up the wounds. he knew how to stitch but he had never done it on someone other than himself. he broke down and took her to the hospital. hunter was blamed for it at first but his distraught, unstable state, turned those opinions around as he paced—waiting for news and plotting revenge.

”THREE BOYS FOUND DEAD IN THE WOODS, POSSIBLY GANG RELATED
a biker at 9 in the morning, on his usual trail, came across a distressing sight. he immediately called the authorities who arrived at the scene of a murder. police have blocked off the path for investigation, five men were involved but three of them are dead, two of them are in critical condition but will be questioned when woken up. the two men have been identified as hunter wright, 23 and nixon costello, 23. hunter has already been arrested and charged once, among other charges that were dropped upon trial. nixon costello, a local mechanic, has a small amount of offenses that all involve aggressive behavior. the two of them are said to be in “bad shape” and “put up quite a fight until the end” but that leaves more questions than answers. police are continuing to investigate but until those two boys wake up, there is not much to be said.”

he became what he never wanted to be. he killed. he killed for love and for honor. he never wanted anyone to touch juniper again but he never wanted to be one of them either. he wanted out and fighting to the death was the only way that seemed fit. hunter had seriously thought that he would be among the dead when the final knife slid into him but he had mustered up enough strength to slit the throat of the tyrannical leader with nixon as his witness. but it was in vain because when hunter woke up, juniper had left. she had gotten scared and broke down to her father who sent her off to her grandparents. she wrote him a fucking letter claiming that she did love him and always would. that hurt worse than any of the other injuries that he suffered from. worse of all, hunter had recruited nixon in the fight. nixon always had a death wish and maybe hunter wanted to grant it to him, but nixon might have been a better fighter that night since hunter was fighting with emotion, not skill or technique. he wanted to inflict pain but for the first time, never planned out how that was going to happen. nixon was in bad shape, as bad as him, maybe worse. hunter had killed two boys that night, and it would not be the last. he went to the funeral though. he had gotten off on charges due to the self defense plea and never mentioned nixon’s involvement, though he was found at the scene too. hunter watched as his ex-leader and childhood friend was buried, and he noticed a blonde that day too, holding back tears as she tossed a pile of dirt onto her brother’s grave and then, hunter turned and walked away.

love never seemed to be in the cards but lust was. hunter went through a few girls, just a couple to keep him distracted. he became far worse than before. he had blood on his hands, known blood and that terrified the people in his neighbourhood. no one cared that it was in defense. hunter started to be recruited due to his skill. he fought more, he became more aggressive. but he needed to leave. he had killed, he was wanted and he could not stay here and endanger anyone else. speaking to nixon, he agreed to go with hunter and they set off the next day to start a new life. they travelled here and there but in the end - this was home. they have only been back for a couple of weeks after being gone for months and hunter hopes to keep himself on a lower profile this time around.