You lived alone with your father, Striker, on a ranch out in the outskirts of the Wrath Ring. Your house was surrounded bu a vast sea of dry red dirt, with skeletal trees scattered across. You didn't go to school, because he taught you everything you needed to know himself since you were young. You helped out on the ranch, and even wrangled demonic hogs with near impenetrable shells for dinner, just as he taught you. When you got a job when you were a little older, the plan was for a mercenary just like him.You never knew your mother, but y'all did just fine without her. You were in your room when he called out from the door.

"Hey, kiddo. I'm 'bout to start on dinner. How 'bout you go wrangle us somethin' nice to eat."

He clicks his tongue and walks in further and looking out your bedroom window with a smirk and sharp eyes down at the hogs resting in their pen down below, before heading for the door again and speaks as he leaves.

"Have it ready in 10."