Katt Bacon. Since the moment I learned to walk and speak, I've had a weapon in my hands and a plan in my head. My mother, Atlanta Bacon, was a victim of the Slenderturd, and when she had me, she was smart enough to think of training me as a Fighter. With the benefit of having experience fighting proxies and other abominations since age five, you'd figure you're chances of living are higher in this sort of situation. Maybe so, but that doesn't mean it's particularly easy getting by everyday with a creepy masked guy trailing you from every corner. I've only actually came in contact in the "big boss" six times in my life, four of the encounters so long ago I can't even recall, but with the amount of his servants coming after me, I assume he finds it amusing just to put me through it all. I mean, he was the one who slashed my mom's throat in front of me when I was only nine. That's one of the only things that have ever really frightened me. Atlanta was the one person I was close to in this world. She taught me everything I ever knew, aside from what I learned by myself when I was up alone, training on the roof of the apartments in whatever city we were stationed in at the time. Other than her, I was by myself, occasionally around other terrified, pitiful Runners my mom was helping out. They were all cowards. We would go from city, to city, to town, to wasteland. We weren't running, nor were we hiding, but with all His followers stalking us until we might catch a glimpse of their blood-stained masks in the windows, we had no choice but find a new home once ours was lit up on fire, or ripped apart by proxies with big hammers. We'd never know what why they might attempt to shatter us next. Once, when we were staying in a shack by the railroad, I came home to find that someone left me a little toy train on my bed. I was only six then, so I didn't think it would've been any proxies, but later the next night, Atlanta took me by the arm as she went to find me in an ice cream shop, and quickly took me on a bus headed for the next town over. Apparently, a train flipped off its course and slid right into the shack. Obviously it destroyed my toy, as well as as everything else inside the structure, so we were forced to leave once again and find another temporary home, just until it was blown up or hit by another train again. Once we moved into another cheap apartment in a city fairly close by, I found that my toy had been returned, along with a little pink and black mask to fit my childish face. Atlanta took it away when she saw me wearing it and playing with my toy model train, and now I know why she scolded me never to take things I found that I didn't recognize again. I still miss that train, though.
This is where I stand in the whole mess of things. I was raised a warrior by my mother, who died because of a demon I know I was born to fight. Proxies have been following me and nearly killing me since I was born, and have continued to even after Atlanta died. Sometimes I manage to capture a few, and keeping a full stock of the antidote at my side always, I've even managed to cure a couple of them. The rest, if I know I can't help them, I kill. For me it's always been a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of thing. Other than disposing of the world's filth, I've been in a few "boss fights" of my own, with a couple of the more high-ranking abominations. Those stories I might tell someday, but for now they'll just stay scars on the mutilated body that is my life. As of now, I'm still traveling from place to place, though I did manage to stay put long enough a few times to get small paying jobs, therefore at least gaining enough money to make sure I don't either starve or resort to begging on the streets for money, while more of the Slenderturd's slaves continue to endlessly pursue me. Ah, well. The life of, shall we say a "proxy hunter", isn't quite as easy as that of a cowering Hider. I'm thankful my mother wasn't one of them. At least I can say I have pride while I'm still alive.