Norman Badeaux's Questionnaire

I call New York City my home. The Big Apple, the city that never sleeps—it's the perfect place for a guy like me. The hustle and bustle, the endless energy, and the diversity of people all make it the ideal spot for Luna Building Maintenance and my other, more... personal activities.

Why New York? Simple. It's the kind of place where you can blend in and stand out all at the same time. Here, I can be the charming, hardworking blue-collar guy during the day, fixing leaks and repairing broken windows. But when night falls, I can become something more—someone who protects those who can't protect themselves. Plus, the city's got its fair share of dark alleys and hidden corners, perfect for when I need to let the wolf out.

My home is a small apartment in Queens. It's nothing fancy, but it's mine. It's a cozy one-bedroom with a decent view of the skyline. I've kept it simple but functional—just the way I like it. The living room has a worn but comfortable couch, a coffee table that's seen better days, and a TV mounted on the wall. The walls are decorated with a mix of old family photos and some of my favorite job sites, a little bit of my history and a testament to my work.

The kitchen is small but well-equipped. I don't cook much, but when I do, I like to make hearty meals that remind me of home back in New Orleans. The bedroom is my sanctuary. The bed is large and comfortable, perfect for those nights when I need to recharge after a long day. There's a small desk in the corner where I do my paperwork and planning, and a closet that's always more organized than you'd expect for a guy like me.

The best part about my apartment, though, is the sense of security it gives me. I've reinforced the doors and windows, and I've got a few hidden surprises for anyone who thinks they can break in. It's my fortress in the middle of the chaos that is New York City. It's not much, but it's home, and it's where I can be myself, whether that's Norman the handyman or Norman the protector.

So, why do I live here? Because New York City is the perfect blend of opportunity and anonymity. It's a place where I can do what I do best—both in my business and in my mission to help the mistreated. And my little apartment, modest as it is, gives me the base I need to keep doing just that.

My ambition is simple yet fierce: to create a world where fairness prevails, where the weak are protected, and where bullies get what they deserve. Growing up in the rough streets of New Orleans, I saw too much injustice. My childhood was meager—scraping by with hardworking parents who struggled to make ends meet. Good people, like my parents, always seemed to get the short end of the stick while the powerful and the abusive thrived.

I've seen too many abusive husbands and tyrannical bosses taking their misery out on those weaker than them, trying to mask their own powerlessness by exerting control over others. It sickens me. Bullies are the bane of my existence, and I’ve dedicated my life to standing up to them, making sure they can't harm anyone else.

I believe strength exists for one reason: to protect the weak from the hardships of life. That’s what drives me every day, both in my business and in my personal mission. Whether it’s through Luna Building Maintenance or my more covert activities, I strive to make a difference, to level the playing field, and to give the underdogs a fighting chance.

How far would I go to achieve this? As far as it takes. I’ve already risked my life countless times, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. If killing is necessary to protect the innocent and punish the wicked, then yes, I would kill for it. I've taken lives before, and I know I will again if it means creating a safer world for those who can’t defend themselves.

And how close to death would I come? I’ve danced on the edge more times than I can count. Every fight, every confrontation with those who abuse their power, brings me face to face with death. But that’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain if it means a world with less suffering, less fear, and more fairness.

In the end, my ambition is driven by a deep-seated hatred of bullies and a burning desire to see justice served. I won’t stop until every last one of them knows what it’s like to be powerless and afraid, and until every person who needs protection knows they have someone they can rely on—someone who will fight for them no matter the cost.

The most defining event of my life happened on a humid summer night in New Orleans, long before I started looking to become a contractor. I was 21 and working odd jobs, trying to scrape together a living. One night, I got a call from a friend, Maria. She was in tears, terrified. Her husband, Frank, had come home drunk and violent, as he often did. But this time, it was worse. He was threatening her with a knife, and she didn’t know where to turn.

I rushed over, heart pounding, knowing I had to do something. When I arrived, I could hear the shouting from outside the small, rundown house. I kicked the door open and saw Frank standing over Maria, who was curled up on the floor, bruised and bleeding. He turned to face me, knife in hand, and I felt a surge of rage and protectiveness like never before.

Frank lunged at me, but I was ready. I tackled him, and we crashed to the floor. The next few moments were a blur of fists and fury. My werewolf instincts kicked in, giving me strength and speed beyond any normal man. I pinned Frank down, and in the heat of the moment, I grabbed the knife from his hand.

As I held the knife, something in me snapped. I saw all the pain and fear he had caused Maria, and I knew I couldn’t let him do it again. I plunged the knife into his chest, once, twice, three times, until he stopped moving. The room was eerily silent, save for Maria's sobs and my own heavy breathing.

In that moment, I realized something profound: the world is full of Franks, and someone has to stand up to them. I felt a strange mix of horror and relief. Horror at what I had done, but relief that Maria was finally safe. That night changed me forever. I understood the power and responsibility that came with my strength. I couldn’t just stand by and watch as good people suffered.

From that day on, I knew my purpose. I became a protector, a guardian for those who couldn’t defend themselves. It set me on the path that eventually led to Luna Building Maintenance and my role as a husband-for-hire. I embraced my werewolf nature, using it to help those in need and punish those who deserved it.

That night taught me that sometimes, you have to become a monster to fight monsters. It was the first time I killed, but it wasn’t the last. Each time, I remember Maria and how she looked at me with gratitude and relief. It keeps me going, knowing that what I do makes a difference, that it saves lives and brings a little more justice into this unfair world.

1. Carlos Ramirez Carlos is one of my closest friends and a true testament to the resilience of the human spirit. He’s a Latino guy, tough and loyal. I met him when he was just a teenager, living under the tyrannical rule of his abusive father. It was one of the first times I intervened in such a situation, and it was Carlos's father that I killed to save him. After that night, I took Carlos under my wing and hired him at Luna Building Maintenance. Over the years, he’s grown from a scared, beaten-down kid into a strong, dependable man. He’s got a natural knack for repairs and a work ethic that’s second to none. Carlos and I have a bond forged in blood and sweat, and I trust him with my life. He’s more than just an employee; he’s family.

2. Nadia Petrova Nadia is one of the most compassionate people I know. She’s a Russian-American social worker who dedicates her life to helping those in need. We met during one of my husband-for-hire gigs when she reached out to me to help a woman in a dire situation. Nadia and I connected instantly—her fierce dedication to justice mirrored my own. She’s become one of my girlfriends, and our relationship is built on mutual respect and shared values. Nadia’s strength lies in her ability to navigate the bureaucratic mess of social services while never losing sight of the human beings she’s helping. She often assists me in finding those who need protection and support, and her insights have been invaluable.

3. Rachel Goldberg Rachel is a breath of fresh air in my life. She’s a Jewish barista who works at a cozy coffee shop I frequent. Rachel and I met when I was doing some repair work for the café. Her quick wit and genuine warmth drew me in, and she’s been one of my girlfriends ever since. Rachel has an incredible ability to make people feel seen and heard, and she brings a sense of normalcy and comfort into my chaotic life. Despite her own struggles and the prejudices she faces, she remains kind and optimistic. Rachel is also great at networking and has introduced me to several clients and allies through her connections. She’s a reminder of the simple joys in life and keeps me grounded.

These three people are my "darlings," each playing a crucial role in my life. They represent different aspects of my mission and my heart. With Carlos, I share a bond of brotherhood and survival. Nadia fuels my sense of justice and purpose. Rachel, with her warmth and connections, brings balance and a touch of normalcy. Together, they form the backbone of my support system and drive me to keep fighting for a better world.

My childhood was tough but filled with valuable lessons. Growing up in New Orleans wasn’t easy, but it shaped me into the man I am today. My parents, Jean-Claude and Maria Badeaux, were hardworking folks who did their best to provide for me and my two younger sisters. My father was a dockworker, spending long hours loading and unloading ships. He had the strength of an ox and the patience of a saint, always coming home tired but never too tired to spend time with us. My mother was a housekeeper at a hotel, a job she balanced with taking care of us kids and managing the household.

They were good people, but life wasn’t kind to them. We lived in a small, rundown house in a rough neighborhood. My parents were often taken advantage of by their employers, paid just enough to keep us from starving but never enough to get ahead. Despite their struggles, they instilled in me a sense of right and wrong, a strong work ethic, and the importance of standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.

I did attend school, but fitting in was another story. I was always the kid with patched-up clothes and hand-me-downs. The other kids made fun of me, and I quickly learned to defend myself. I got into more than a few fights, often protecting other kids who were being bullied. My grades were average; I wasn’t the smartest kid in the room, but I worked hard and did my best. I had a few friends, mostly other kids from the neighborhood who understood what it was like to go without.

School was more a place of survival than learning for me. The teachers did their best, but the system was overwhelmed, and resources were scarce. I found solace in shop class, where I discovered my knack for working with my hands. It was one of the few places where I felt competent and in control, and it set the stage for my future career in building maintenance.

Looking back, my childhood was a mix of hardship and resilience. My parents taught me the value of hard work and integrity, even when the world seemed unfair. School was a battleground, but it also gave me the skills and determination to carve out a better life. Despite the challenges, or maybe because of them, I learned to stand up for myself and others, a lesson that continues to drive me every day.

Yes, I've been in love. Her name was Elena Garcia. We met when I was twenty-three, shortly after I moved to New York City. Elena was a nurse, working long hours at a local hospital. She was kind, intelligent, and had a smile that could light up the darkest room. We met at a community center where I was doing some volunteer repair work, and she was helping with a health clinic.

For a while, things were perfect. We made plans to build a life together, dreaming of a future where we could combine our passions for helping people. But life had other plans. Elena's job was demanding, and she often worked double shifts, leaving her exhausted. I was consumed with my own work, both the legitimate side and the more dangerous, clandestine activities. The stress and strain of our separate lives began to take their toll.

Eventually, Elena gave me an ultimatum: choose between her and my mission. It was the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I loved her deeply, but my drive to protect the weak and stand up against injustice was a part of who I am. I couldn't walk away from that, even for her. We parted ways, and it broke my heart.

Since Elena, I've had other relationships with incredible women who understand and support me in ways that fit into my life now. My relationships with Nadia and Rachel are just as meaningful, though different. They respect my mission and have found ways to integrate their lives with mine. Nadia and I share a deep connection through our mutual dedication to helping others and Rachel brings a sense of normalcy and warmth to my life, with her quick wit and genuine care creating a balance I desperately need. Both women understand the complexities of my life and stand by me, making their relationships with me unique and deeply cherished.

In the end, my love for Elena taught me the cost of my commitment to my mission. While it was a painful lesson, it reinforced my resolve to protect those who need it. My relationships with Nadia and Rachel have shown me that love can take many forms and that with the right people, it can thrive even amidst the chaos.

My worst fear is losing control and letting the beast inside me hurt the people I care about. I walk a fine line every day, balancing my aggression, my bestial nature, and the need to protect. But the truth is, no matter how much control I think I have, there’s always that chance—just one slip—and everything could come crashing down. The last thing I want is to be the monster in my loved ones’ nightmares.

I’m also scared of becoming the very thing I hate: abusive or overbearing. The people I help, especially the women, are often coming out of toxic situations—abusive husbands, manipulative partners. They’ve been through hell, and the last thing they need is for me to be another controlling figure in their lives. I’m aware of that, so I do my best to be kind, responsible, and respectful. But the fear lingers. What if I push too hard? What if I cross a line I don’t see until it’s too late?

It’s a constant battle, keeping the beast in check and making sure I’m not causing more harm than good. I’m proud of the work I do, of the lives I’ve helped turn around, but the fear of becoming what I despise is always there, lurking in the back of my mind. That’s what keeps me grounded, keeps me careful. I don’t ever want to be the reason someone else suffers.

When it comes to prized possessions, I don’t really have much in the way of fancy things. My life’s been more about people than objects. But if I had to choose, there are a couple of things that mean the world to me.

First off, my dog. That abused pup I found during the contract in Brazil—he’s been through hell and back, just like me. He’s a reminder that even in the darkest places, you can still find something worth saving. He’s more than just a pet; he’s my companion, my little slice of normalcy in a world that’s anything but normal. When things get rough, knowing he’s around helps keep me grounded.

Then there’s my tool belt. Sounds simple, but it’s got history. That belt has been with me since the early days, back when I was just trying to make ends meet with Luna Building Maintenance. It’s seen countless jobs, fixed more broken things than I can count, and helped me build a reputation as someone who gets things done right. It’s more than just a belt—it’s a symbol of everything I’ve worked for, the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve put into helping people in any way I can.

Lastly, there’s my old revolver. It’s not the fanciest weapon, but it’s reliable, and it’s gotten me through some tough spots. It was my father’s before me, passed down when I first came of age. It reminds me of the man he was—strong, dependable, and always looking out for his family. Carrying it reminds me that no matter what, I’ve got to stay strong for the people who rely on me.

These things aren’t just possessions—they’re pieces of my story, reminders of where I’ve been and what I’m fighting for. They’re special because they keep me grounded, remind me of what really matters, and give me the strength to keep pushing forward.

Right now, the biggest problem in my life is keeping the beast in check. Every day, it feels like the line between man and monster gets thinner, and the beast—well, it’s not as easy to control as it used to be. The more I tap into that power, the more it seems to push back, like it wants to take over for good. I’ve built my life around protecting people, but if I lose control, I could become the very thing they need protecting from. That terrifies me.

It’s not just about control, though. There’s this constant tug of war between using the power I’ve got and not letting it consume me. I’m always walking a tightrope. I need the beast to do what I do, but every time I let it out, I can feel it digging its claws in a little deeper. How long before it’s too deep to pull back?

And then there’s the other side of it—what happens when I can’t use the beast? There are contracts where brute force and savagery won’t cut it, where I need to be strategic, careful, and in control. I’m always worrying if the next job will push me past that point of no return. The fear of hurting someone I care about or going too far in a fight is always there, and it weighs on me.

To make matters worse, spending time with the darlings has gotten harder lately. Between the crew, the job, and the constant stream of contracts, it feels like there’s less and less time to just be... normal. I miss the days when I could just hang out, grab a coffee with Rachel, help Nadia with one of her cases, or just relax with Carlos and the guys. The work never really stops, and that’s starting to take a toll. I worry that if I don’t make time for the people who matter, I’ll end up losing them too.

So yeah, keeping the beast in check, balancing that power with who I am, and finding time for the darlings in the middle of all this madness—that’s the biggest problem I’ve got right now. And it’s not one that’s going away anytime soon.

Mornings are my quiet time, the calm before the storm. I try to keep them as routine as possible, no matter how crazy life gets. It’s the one part of my day where I’m just Norman—the guy who fixes things, not the guy who tears them apart.

I usually wake up early, before the sun’s even fully up. The first thing I do is check on the dog. He’s always right there, ready to start the day with me. We go for a quick walk around the block, nothing fancy, just enough to stretch our legs and get some fresh air. It’s a grounding moment, a reminder that there’s still normalcy in my life, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

After that, it’s straight to the shower. Hot water helps clear my head, lets me shake off any lingering nightmares from the night before. It’s my reset button, washing away whatever darkness might’ve crept in while I was sleeping. I think a lot in the shower, planning out the day, preparing myself for whatever’s coming.

Once I’m out, it’s time for breakfast. Nothing too complicated—eggs, toast, maybe some coffee if I’m feeling like I need the extra kick. I eat quickly, efficiently. Mornings aren’t for lingering—they’re for getting ready, mentally and physically, to face the world.

Then it’s time to gear up. I grab my tool belt and make sure everything’s in place. It’s not just about the tools—it’s about the mindset. That belt represents the work I do, the lives I’ve built and repaired. Wearing it reminds me that no matter what happens, I’m here to fix things, to make them better.

Before I head out the door, I take a moment to breathe. Just one deep breath to center myself. Sometimes, I’ll look in the mirror, remind myself of who I am, what I stand for. It’s not always easy, but I’ve got people depending on me, and I can’t afford to let them down.

By the time I step outside, I’m ready. The world can throw whatever it wants at me—contracts, fights, chaos—but I’ve got my routine, my purpose, and my people. And that’s enough to keep me moving forward, no matter how dark things get.

Now, that’s a funny question. I’m bold when it comes to just about anything—fights, contracts, taking down the scumbags of the world—but when it comes to getting dressed up for something fancy? Yeah, that’s a different story. I’ll admit, I get abnormally shy about those kinds of things. It’s not really my scene, and I always feel a bit out of place.

But if I had to prepare for something special, where I needed to look my best, I’d take my time. First off, I’d start with the basics—a long shower, making sure I’m as clean and fresh as possible. I’d probably spend more time than usual making sure everything’s just right. Then I’d trim up the beard, making sure it’s neat, and maybe even throw on some aftershave, just to feel a bit more polished.

Now, clothes—that’s where it gets tricky. I’m used to my work clothes, so dressing up is a challenge. I’d probably go for a tailored suit, something simple but sharp. A dark color, maybe charcoal or navy, because black feels a bit too serious for me. A crisp white shirt, no tie—I’m not a tie guy. I’d make sure the shoes are polished, even if it feels weird wearing anything other than boots or sneakers.

I’d probably second-guess myself the whole time, wondering if I’m overdoing it or underdoing it, but eventually, I’d settle into the look. Once I’m dressed, I’d take a moment to get used to it, maybe do a quick once-over in the mirror to make sure everything’s in place.

How long would it take me? Longer than it should, probably. I’d be overthinking everything, trying to strike the right balance between looking good and not feeling like a total imposter in fancy clothes. But once I’m ready, I’d push past the shyness, step out the door, and remind myself that no matter what, I’ve faced scarier things than a fancy night out.

When all’s said and done, it’s not about the clothes—it’s about showing up for the people who matter, making sure they know I’m there, even if I feel a bit out of place. That’s what gets me through the fancy stuff—knowing it’s just another way to show I care, even if it makes me sweat a little more than a good old-fashioned brawl ever could.

Honestly, I’m a simple guy. I don’t need much for my birthday. If everything goes to plan, I’ll keep it low-key. First off, I’ll probably have a little get-together at the company. Nothing big, just a casual thing with the crew—maybe order some good food, share a few drinks, and just enjoy the company of the people who’ve got my back. My team’s like family, and spending time with them, especially on a day like that, means a lot. Plus, it’s always fun to kick back and relax with the folks who usually see me knee-deep in chaos.

Then, if I’m lucky, I’ll head home for a smaller, more intimate celebration with the ladies—Rachel, Nadia, and whoever else is around. I’d keep it simple, maybe cook something nice or grab takeout. A quiet night, just us enjoying each other’s company, no pressure, no contracts hanging over our heads. That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel grounded.

At the end of the day, it’s not about the party or making a big deal out of it. It’s about the people I’m with, the ones who’ve stuck by me through thick and thin. That’s what matters most to me—spending time with the people who make this life worth living. So yeah, that’s the plan. A little time with the crew, a little time at home, and just appreciating the good things in life.

My greatest regret? Giving too many second chances and the benefit of the doubt. It’s funny, considering the fact that I’ve got more blood on my hands than most, but I’ve always tried to make sure people are guilty before condemning them. You’d think being a serial killer would mean less hesitation, but no—I keep trying to see the best in people, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they’ve got some good left in them.

At this point, it’s becoming a real pain in the ass. How many times have I given someone a second chance, only for them to screw it up and make things worse? Too many. And each time, it’s like a punch to the gut. I let people go, give them the space to change, and what do they do? They dig their own graves even deeper. And here I am, left to clean up the mess.

I try to be fair, to make sure they’re really guilty before I take that final step. But it’s a complicated process, one that causes more headaches than it’s worth. I get caught up in the details, trying to justify every action, every decision, when deep down, I already know the truth.

Maybe if I wasn’t so focused on giving people chances they don’t deserve, I could just end things cleanly and move on. But that’s not who I am. I’ve got this annoying habit of trying to make the world better, even if it means holding out hope for the hopeless. And that’s my greatest regret—believing people can change when, most of the time, they don’t.

Truth is, I don’t really know for sure where my Gifts come from. I’ve thought about it plenty, but there’s no clear answer. What I do believe, though, is that those Gift coins don’t just grant random powers—they seem to take something from deep inside me, something primal, and push me down an evolutionary path based on my feelings and desires.

It’s not like I ask for these powers outright. They just... show up. I’ll usually learn about them after the fact, like a natural extension of who I already am. All of my powers seem connected to the Eldritch Beast, that monstrous part of me that I can’t fully control. Some of these abilities only surface when I’m transformed, when the beast is in charge. Then there’s the tattoos. The arcane markings on my arms and torso, they’re part of the puzzle too. They’re not just for show. I don’t remember getting them, but they seem to grow and shift as I gain more powers, almost like they’re part of the process. They tie into the beast, the Gifts, everything.

So, no, I don’t think harbingers are just out here granting wishes. My Gifts feel more like a reflection of who I am at the core—rage, protection, power—and they evolve alongside me, in ways I can’t fully control or predict. Whether that’s a blessing or a curse, I haven’t figured out yet. But I know one thing: whatever these Gifts are, they’re shaping me into something... else. Something more.

I wouldn’t call myself religious. Never been the kind of guy who follows any specific dogma or spends time in a church. But I do believe there’s more to life than just what we see. Call it spirituality, call it karma—whatever it is, I’ve learned over the years that the way you live, the things you believe in, and the way you treat people? It comes back around.

Growing up in Louisiana, I was mostly raised by my grandmother. She was an old Catholic woman, real traditional. Rosary beads, saints on every shelf, and mass every Sunday like clockwork. She’d talk about God and redemption, and while I respected her faith, I never fully connected with it. But what did stick with me was the idea that your actions shape your life, long term. Maybe it’s not heaven and hell, but there’s a balance to things. You can’t just go through life screwing people over and expect things to go smoothly forever. At some point, it catches up to you.

I guess in that way, I’m spiritual. I believe the energy you put out—the way you treat others, the choices you make—it shapes the path you walk. The beast inside me is proof enough that things aren’t just black and white. You can’t escape the consequences of your actions, no matter how hard you try. You carry your choices with you, and they mess with your availability, your energy, your outlook on life.

I don’t follow a book or pray to anything specific, but I live by a code. I try to do right by the people who need it and protect the ones who can’t protect themselves. I know I’ve got my demons—literal and figurative—and I know that if I don’t keep them in check, they’ll drag me down. That’s as close as I get to religion.

So no, I’m not religious, but I do believe in something bigger, something that keeps the balance. You treat people right, fight for what’s good, and it’ll keep you grounded. Cross that line too many times, though, and you’ll feel the weight of it, whether you believe in God or not.

The Contracts? They’re where I learn who I really am. Each one pushes me to my limits, not just physically but mentally. They’re the place where I develop myself, sure, but they’re also a testing ground for my beliefs and the strength of my convictions. I’ve always believed in standing up for the little guy, putting bullies in the ground where they belong, and these Contracts? They throw some of the worst offenders my way.

Here’s the thing, though—what I thought was true? It gets turned on its head constantly. I’ve seen things in these Contracts that make me question everything I thought I knew about the world, about people, about what’s right and wrong. But here’s the deal: I don’t get shaken by that. I expect it now. The world isn’t black and white, and neither am I.

Some people might call me inconsistent. Hell, I know I’m a hypocrite half the time. I’ll preach about protecting people while tearing someone apart with my bare hands. And I’m fine with that. I don’t need to be consistent or clean or morally pure. What matters to me is that, at the end of the day, I’ve kept regular people safe. If that means I’ve got to break a few of my own rules or make choices that would’ve shocked the younger version of me, so be it.

These Contracts are messy, and they’re brutal. I’ve had to face down my own worst instincts and still come out swinging. But that’s the job. It’s not about holding onto some perfect worldview—it’s about adapting, about figuring out who I am when everything I thought was true falls apart.

In the end, as long as I’m still standing, as long as I’m keeping people safe, the rest doesn’t matter.

Most of the contractors I used to run with? Well, they’re not around anymore. Dead, gone, whatever. It’s a brutal line of work. But lately, I’ve been meeting some new faces, and they’ve stuck with me more than most.

First, there’s Liv. Beautiful lady, talented and gentle. She’s got this calmness about her, a strength that doesn’t need to shout to be noticed. Liv’s a straight shooter, which I respect a lot—no games, no drama, just honesty. In a world full of liars and manipulators, that’s something I can admire. We’ve worked well together, and she’s someone I’d trust to have my back in a tight spot.

Then there’s Wren. Funny thing is, she looks a lot like Liv, but personality-wise? Complete opposite. Duplicitous, backstabbing—she’s got all the tricks of someone who’s been playing the long con for a while. And yet, somehow, she likes me. We’ve got this strange chemistry, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like we vibe, despite knowing she’s not someone you’d ever want to turn your back on. There’s something there, and as much as I don’t trust her, I can’t say I dislike her either.

Finally, there’s Kanni. She’s solid—great gal, no nonsense. We’ve worked together on buildings and renovations, and she’s been a real help in expanding Luna Maintenance and Construction out to Seattle and the West Coast. I owe her for that opportunity, and it’s been good working alongside someone who knows the value of hard work and loyalty. We’ve got a strong professional connection, and I respect her a hell of a lot.

These three? They’re a mixed bag, but they’re the ones I see the most now, and in this line of work, you learn to appreciate the ones who stick around.

If I had to design the perfect room, it’d be all about simplicity and comfort—nothing fancy, just the essentials for a working man. First off, you’d walk in and see a pool table dead center. I love a good game to unwind, and there’s nothing better for breaking the ice with friends or contractors after a long day.

On one side, I’d have a large fridge, fully stocked with cold cuts and beer—ready for anyone who drops by. There’s an oven in the corner, with a fresh batch of hot wings always in the works. Something about the smell of wings makes any room feel like home.

Then I’d want a small table with a stack of books, right next to a comfy reading chair. I don’t get much downtime, but when I do, I like to read—something gritty and real, nothing too highbrow. There’s gotta be a bar, too. Not a big, flashy setup—just a few base spirits and the right modifiers to mix some solid pre-prohibition cocktails. Keep it simple, but good.

And, of course, space. I need a large area where I can work on cars, projects, whatever I’m messing with at the time. It’s where I get my hands dirty, where I feel grounded. Throw in a good stereo system to keep the tunes rolling, and you’ve got the perfect vibe.

That’s it. No frills, just a room where I can unwind, work, and spend time with the people that matter. Simple, just the way I like it.

I’m a builder and a destroyer, and I’m damn good at both. But here’s the thing—it’s not just about swinging a hammer or breaking something down. It’s about why you’re doing it. A good man doesn’t just build for the sake of building, and he doesn’t tear things down for no reason either. There’s got to be a set of principles behind it, something solid that guides your actions.

When I build, whether it’s a project, a relationship, or a team, it’s because I believe in creating something that’ll last, something that’ll give people a sense of purpose and security. When I destroy, it’s because that thing—whatever it is—needs to go. Maybe it’s corrupt, maybe it’s standing in the way of something better. Either way, the decision to topple something comes from the same place as the drive to build: a sense of what’s right.

At the end of the day, if what I do can help others feel like they can make a difference in their lives or someone else’s, then I’m doing something right. Building and destroying, they’re two sides of the same coin, and you’ve got to know when to use each. That’s how I see it.

My limits—they say a lot about who I am and what I stand for. Anguish, betrayal, and injustice are the lines I don’t cross. Anguish, for one, is something I’ve seen too much of in the world. I know what it feels like, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone unless they really earned it. Then there’s injustice. That’s the whole reason I do what I do—stand up against the bullies, the abusers, the ones who think they can do whatever they want without consequence. I can’t stand for that.

But betrayal? That one cuts deep. It’s not just about breaking trust—it’s about breaking something sacred between people. Betrayal is personal, it’s gutting, and if I ever broke that limit, I’d have a hard time living with myself.

What would it take to make me break them? Honestly, it’d have to be something extreme. Life-or-death situations mess with your head, and if I thought breaking those limits would save someone I cared about or stop something worse from happening, maybe I’d make that call. But it would haunt me. I’d feel it every day after. Especially betrayal—that one’s a tough pill to swallow. I’d lose a piece of myself if I ever crossed that line.

At the end of the day, those limits are my moral guidelines. They keep me grounded, remind me who I am and what I stand for. And while I can’t say I’ll never be pushed to the edge, I can say that if I break them, it’ll be with the full weight of regret on my shoulders.

• "Folsom Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash
  Ah, I just love Johnny Cash and the old school of American country music - they remind me of my grandparents, even if the Louisiana bayous don't exactly scream "cowboy". This one’s about struggle, consequences, and the weight of your choices. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but I keep moving forward, just like Cash’s character. Plus, that gritty, old-school country sound? That’s me.

• "The Mercy Seat" by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
  Nick Cave’s darkness resonates with me. This song is raw and intense, much like my life. It’s about guilt, redemption, and facing the end, themes I grapple with every day.

• "Ne Me Quitte Pas" by Jacques Brel
  There’s something in this French chanson that captures deep, emotional vulnerability. I’ve been in places where I’ve felt abandoned or like I couldn’t protect the ones I love, the second though about being abandoned and of losing the plot. This song is that fear.

• "Always On My Mind" by Willie Nelson
  This romantic country ballad hits home for me. I’ve been through a lot, and I don’t always show the people I care about how much they mean to me. It’s a reminder of the relationships that keep me grounded.

• "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin
  It’s a rock ballad classic, and there’s something timeless about it. It reflects my journey—trying to do the right thing, knowing there’s something bigger out there, and seeking redemption or peace.

• "Jolene" by Dolly Parton
  This might seem like an odd choice, but the idea of fighting for love, for the people who matter most, is what this song represents to me. Sometimes life throws curveballs, and you’ve got to fight to keep what’s important.

• "Hotel California" by Eagles
  It’s the perfect song to represent the contracts—the feeling of being trapped in something you can’t quite escape, but still finding a way to survive. It’s eerie, haunting, and familiar, just like the work I do.

I’m not the first Eldritch Beast, and I won’t be the last. From what I’ve learned, most of the Elders eventually wake their beasts at some point in their lives. Some tried to harness that power for their own ends, others got swallowed whole by it, consumed by the hunger. Eventually, they all end up in the same place—the dream plane, a twilight space that becomes the final resting spot for those of us who walk this path.

But for me? I’ll keep living my own truth. I know I’m not going to fix the world—hell, I’ll probably fail more times than I succeed. The world’s just too big, too full of injustice. But if I can make a difference, even just a tiny one, and sleep a little better at night because of it, then that’s enough. I don’t need to save everything; I just need to hold onto my piece of it.

As for retirement? That’s not happening. I love what I do, even if it’s a twisted version of serial killer vigilantism. Civil construction’s where my heart is, sure, but this other work? It’s part of me. I’ll probably keep doing my thing until the end. Maybe, if I live long enough, I’ll build something bigger—an organization, a place for the darlings to come together, work as a team, leave a legacy behind. But realistically? I’ll likely meet a gruesome end somewhere along the way, and that’ll be that.

So no, I won’t retire. I’ll keep going until there’s no going left.

What makes me angry? There’s a lot, but it always comes back to the same things. Injustice—that’s at the top of the list. I’ve spent my life fighting against people who use their power to push others down, and every time I see it, it sparks something primal in me. Bullies, abusers, the kind of people who think they can hurt or take advantage of others because they’re stronger or smarter—they’re the worst. When I see someone hurting the weak, I can’t just walk away. That kind of thing cuts deep, and it makes my blood boil. It goes against everything I stand for, and I can’t let it slide.

Then there’s betrayal. Trust is everything to me. I don’t give it out easily, but when I do, I expect it to be respected. When someone breaks that trust, it’s like a slap to the face. It doesn’t just make me angry—it feels personal. Loyalty is one of the few things you can count on in this world, and when someone betrays that, I can’t help but lose my cool. Betrayal is a deep wound, and it takes a lot for me to forgive it, if ever.

Anguish, too—that gets to me. Seeing people in pain, especially unnecessary pain, eats at me. There’s enough suffering in the world without people making it worse for each other. I can’t stand to see others suffer, and if I can do something to stop it, I will.

And one more thing? Ingrates. People who don’t appreciate what they’ve been given or what others have done for them. I’ve dealt with people who act like the world owes them something, and they can never say thank you. That lack of gratitude just grinds on me.

But the thing is, I’ve got this anger in me. It’s not just your average temper. It’s powerful and hard to control. When I get angry, it’s like flipping a switch, and if I don’t keep it in check, I’ll lash out. Sometimes, it’s like I can feel the anger building, and once it’s there, it’s almost impossible to pull back. That’s why I’ve got to stay in control. Because with my kind of strength, when I lose it, people get hurt. And that’s something I never want to happen.

That’s easy—the fact that I’m a serial killer, plain and simple. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s a reality of my life. People like to think I’m some vigilante, doing the world a favor by taking out the trash. But at the end of the day, I kill. And when I’m in my eldritch beast form, it’s not always something I can control. The beast craves bloodshed, and sometimes, so do I.

The other thing? My emotional vulnerability. People see me as strong, capable, always in control. But deep down, there’s a part of me that’s terrified—terrified of losing the people I care about, of failing them. I’ve spent my life trying to protect the weak, but sometimes I feel like I’m barely holding it together myself. It’s something I can’t let anyone see because if they did, they’d know that I’m just as broken as anyone else.

I keep these things hidden because if people knew, they wouldn’t see me the same way. The strength, the control, the confidence—it’s all tied to keeping those secrets locked away. Because without them, I’m not sure what’s left of me.

If I ever made it to Harbinger, I’d go by The Jägermeister—the master of the hunt. Not just a title, but a role that fits. I’ve spent my life hunting down monsters, whether they wear human skin or something else entirely. So, my contracts would be all about hunting the worst of the worst. I wouldn’t waste time on the petty stuff—my targets would be real monsters: corrupt organizations, abusers, bullies, and yeah, the occasional cryptid that needs putting down.

I’m passionate about making a difference. Every contract would have purpose, not just for the thrill of the hunt, but to rid the world of the real nightmares. Take a corrupt CEO running a human trafficking ring? I’d send contractors to take him down, make sure the job’s done clean. Or a dirty politician manipulating the system for personal gain while ruining lives? Contractors would get a contract to expose, dismantle, and destroy everything he built.

And then there are the cryptids—creatures that have been causing havoc and terrorizing communities. Not all of them deserve to die, but the ones that do? I’d make sure contractors have what they need to hunt and stop them.

The difference with my contracts? They wouldn’t be about power grabs or senseless violence. It’d be about justice, about protecting the people who can’t protect themselves. Because that’s what I’ve always done, and if I ever make it to Harbinger, I’ll make sure I leave the world better than I found it.

When a contractor doesn’t make it through a contract, there’s a line you gotta walk. Basic decency says you don’t leave ‘em behind if you can help it. If their body can be retrieved, and they weren’t a total dick, yeah, you set up something—a memorial or whatever feels right.

I did that for Valerie once. We lost her in the 200m Dash in Ashleydale, and that one still stings. She was tough, quick, but the contract was brutal. I kept her gun after she didn’t make it, and I tell myself I’ll pass it on to someone worthy when the time comes. Haven’t met anyone who fits the bill yet, though. It’s not just a gun—it’s a symbol of what she was. And handing it over to just anyone would cheapen that.

I guess for me, it’s about respect. You don’t just loot a body and move on, not if they meant something. You give them their due. But if there’s no body to retrieve or the person was just trouble, sometimes the best you can do is keep moving forward.

Losing contractors isn’t new. It happens. But you don’t forget. You honor them in your own way, and for me, that’s carrying a piece of them with me.

I’ve always had a respect for law enforcement. Cops have their place, and they’re good at handling things that fit neatly into the scope of humanity—normal criminals, people who can be locked up and dealt with. But there are things out there that the police just aren’t equipped to handle, things that go beyond the usual suspects. That’s where I come in. When people or creatures cross that line, when they’re too far gone for the system to deal with, someone like me steps in.

Now, I know what I do isn’t exactly legal. It’s a crime, sure, but it’s also a solution. There are some monsters the police can’t chase, and for those, contractors like me are the only ones who can bring them down. It’s not about breaking the law for the sake of it—it’s about keeping the balance.

As for covering my tracks? I don’t usually need to. I’m not out here trying to start a war with law enforcement. But I’m careful. Real careful. I make sure to pick my targets wisely, people or creatures who need to be dealt with and won’t leave too much of a mess. I’m meticulous when it comes to choosing the hunting grounds, making sure it’s the right place and the right time.

The police have their role, and I have mine. I don’t get in their way, and I make sure they don’t have to worry about cleaning up after me. It’s a balance—one that works, as long as I play it smart.

Look, things get out of hand in contracts. I’ve seen it happen more times than I care to count. Sometimes, it’s a crime, and yeah, it’s gruesome, but if it can be justified, I’ll live and let live. I’ve done some wild stuff myself, and people have looked the other way. Sometimes you just have to fake a little dementia and let it pass. It’s part of the job—things get messy, people snap, and not everything needs to be dragged into the light.

But there are limits. Some things are too much to ignore, too far gone. When that happens, there’s only one answer: the eldritch beast. I don’t want to be in bad terms with my fellow contractors, and I sure as hell don’t enjoy going after them, but sometimes there’s no other choice. It’s not something I do lightly, though. I’ll always try to find a way to avoid it, to smooth things over before it escalates to that point.

I don’t report people to the authorities—that’s not how this world works. We handle our own. But when someone crosses a line that can’t be uncrossed, well, I handle it. No drama, no fuss, just a necessary evil.

Repugnant is one of those things that's in the eye of the beholder, you know? I eat people, and I sleep just fine. But if I know something bad’s going down and I just sit on my hands, calling the cops and hoping for the best, and then find out later it all went south? Yeah, I’d never forgive myself. Feelings, man. It’s all about what sits right in your gut after the dust settles.

I’ve let contracts go, no problem. Like the time in the infinite parking lot. I was asked to starve out a whole bunch of people so The Traveller could be happy. That didn’t sit right with me, so I bailed. And I don’t regret it for a second. That’s just who I am. A moral loss? Sometimes that’s a win in my book.

Thing is, most people aren’t innocents in need of protection. There’s a balance. You can’t go soft on everyone just because they don’t fit the “bad guy” mold, but I’ll always draw the line when it comes to hurting folks who don’t deserve it. So yeah, I’ll do some nasty things if I think it’s right, but I’m not gonna cross that line.

No specific Harbinger really sticks out to me as a favorite or most hated. That said, The Mother—the one who wanted us to stop the silent god—she made me feel something. I don’t usually empathize with Harbingers, but with her, it was different. She was bound in this twisted, ritualistic way, but there was a wildness in her I recognized. It reminded me of my own fight to keep the beast under control. Felt like there was something real behind her pain, something I understood.

On the other hand, I’m weary of The Traveller. There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way. I let a contract go because of him once, and that still lingers. I don’t trust him. Something about the way he operates—always wanting something, but never clear about the cost or about the way to go about it, sounds intentionally misleading: maybe there is a lesson to learn, but I dislike being experimented on or thought lessons with others as collateral. I stay away from that one when I can.