Inanis 

He could feel the crisp morning air pass every receptor in his nose. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he welcomed the familiar friend he longingly missed. This was not the first time Jarrick had felt this rush. At this point, he couldn’t remember a time without it. Steadying his breathing, Jarrick leaned into the stock of the riffle as he pulled the trigger back from twelve to six o’clock in one smooth motion.  It had been a few years since he stepped off the boat after the war ended. In the beginning the itch was gone but it did not take long before the spiders started to crawl up his spine as he daydreamed. He needed this moment.

Bang...

Jarrick was always a sweet kid. Sure, he probably could have used a little more guidance but for the most part he never had a want or need that went unfulfilled. His father towed the company line as a financial advisor for a large bank and his mother passed away a few weeks before his 13^th birthday. Now most kids would have been devastated by the ordeal but not Jarrick. Family and friends always questioned his father if the boy was ‘right in the head’, but he mostly just shrugged it off. Emotions were hard for Jarrick. He often felt as if his reactions were just those that he had seen others do. The feeling of acting through life was one he wasn’t sure how to cope with, but it fooled others and that is all that mattered.

September 1, 1939 changed Jarrick’s life forever. His native fatherland invaded Poland in a spear headed assault. His father and his political ties allowed their family to thrive during this time. But as for most young men, the front beckoned to him masked under the guise of ‘patriotic duty’. The war ragged on for years, and as time went on Jarrick found himself closer and closer to the ensuing carnage.

By 1944, the outlook was grim for Jarrick’s fatherland. With the allied front creeping ever closer to the heart of the fatherland from the west and the Red Army knocking on the door from the east, everyone knew life as they knew it was coming to and end. By this point, Jarrick’s prowess for his disregard of human life found him handpicked for a special unit known only as the ‘Werwolf’. Jarrick cared not for his country or their ideals. Hell, it was hard for him to even remember what they were fighting for at times. The only thing Jarrick truly remembered was the art of death.

After the fall of the Fatherland, Jarrick cared not of his based commitments. Why stay and fight for a cause that matters not to you? His father had passed away at the tail end of the war and his sisters were no where to be found. The United States beaconed him. There was something about the idea of freedom, that however skewed in his broken mind it may be, was what he thought he wanted.

Getting into the country was easy. All his years of training in espionage paid off. Falsifying documents, creating new identities, and staying off the grid were his specialty. He found himself in Chicago working a few odd-and-end jobs, but he couldn’t help but feel as if something was missing… Jarrick missed the hunt, but how would a man born in blood fit in?

Jarrick eventually found a way to sedate the hunger. Having a knack for locating people and a void of empathy, Jarrick made the perfect enforcer for patrons of Chicago’s underworld. It didn’t matter what the job was or whom rather. Jarrick would finish the job. It started with the occasional beat down or blackmail. But soon, he found his calling when allied turf turned into a warzone in the neighboring Detroit. The rules were gone, it was hunting season.

The bang left a familiar ringing in his ears. The glass, now shattered, some five feet in front of the table he laid prone on broke with enough force to send small granular shards in his direction. He wiped the bead of sweat dripping from his forehead as he slid to his feet. Reaching for the military surplus M1C rifle a contact procured for him, Jarrick new it was time to move. The new boss of Bricktown was a formidable opponent. Surrounded by countless goons who each were seldom seen without an entourage, made it clear that this would not be over soon. But to Jarrick, all that mattered was knowing now he could feed the abyss that plagued him.