I was born an' raised in Lou'siana if y'couldn't tell. Patoonge t'be exact, outside'a New Orleans. Lemme tell you...New Orleans is disgustin' plain an' simple. Sure it's got 'de reputation of bein' a mysterious, sultry lil' city where voodoo an' jazz lace 'de atmosphere...but...psh. I t'ink de bayous be cleaner 'den Patoonge an' New Orleans' streets. 'Den again, I t'ink m'hatred towards Lou'siana roots from m'childhood...which consisted of being locked up in rooms wit' strangas...an'...


Look, homme, I ain't gonna tell y'what happened t'me as a kid. It's non'a'ya damn business a'ight? Don' ask about it.


Anyways, I was born sometime in spring-- at least dat what m'brother tells me. 'E never really nailed de date down righ', but every May 'e'd bring me sometin' nice and say 'appy birthday. By de way, 'e ain' really m'brother. Half bro-- my mom was married before, and Dulce (dat's his name) was de result of dat. My mom was…alittle weird t'say de least (Dulce said it was 'cause of his dad but never botherd elaboratin'), an' my dad was always off doin' somethin' else, so Dulce took care of me 90% of de time.


Sometin' about m'old man really didn' settle well wit' my brother…an' 'e didn't really like Dulce either, 'cept I never saw 'im openly yell at 'im or anytin' like dat. If anything' 'e seemed scared of him…which I tought was jus' strange at de time. Mom-- bein' de screwball dat she was, eventually wen' crackers (Once again, dunno what caused it…) and 'ad to be carted off to de local nut barn. I didn' really notice. I was seven, an' as far as I was concerned de only one dat bothered wit' me was m'brother so aslong as 'e stayed I didn' care.


cept 'e didn't. He an' my dad 'ad dis really rotten fight one night, an' he left home de next day.


EY don't get me wrong homme, I didn' blame him. Well, maybe jus' a little, but still. 'E came back to visit me after he left, so dat counts…


After 'e left…well..


Le's just say...dat m'general 'atred towards mankind developed 'den. M'dad...kinda sold me...in a vile, disgustin' way....LOOK I DON' LIKE TALKIN' 'BOUT IT..NON'A YA BUSINESS...


T'make a long story short, I eventually went to live with m'brother, till he started working for dis rich weird guy. De guy didn't like me too much…mainly 'cause dere was things missin' whenever I was around, and he'd hassle m'bro 'bout it. Couldn' help dat I 'ad sticky fingers; t'was his fault fo' wearin' all dat shiny stuff all de time!


I ended up splitten' off from m' bro when I was 'bout…eighteen. I figured by den I could take care a' myself and stop freeloadin' off him (lotta people liked his singin' voice…and pretty soon he had a lotta money). SO..I wandered 'round for a bit. Eventually I settled on goin' to someplace called 'Edenburgh'. People were sayin' stuff 'bout how de streets were 'paved with gold' an all dat, so I decided to go, figurin' that if dat many rich people lived dere, then I'd have fun stealin' from 'em. My first day dere I tried to grab de wallet off some small-ish weasely looking' guy…


An 'e nearly wrung m'neck out. DON' GET M'WRONG…I can fight too, it's jus dat…I dunno. Next thing I knew, I got dragged into some fancy smancy lil' apartment, and de twit is callin' for some guy to come an' help him take care a sometin'…


At dat point I started looking' for a window t'jump outta. But before I could make it out a window, dis snazzy looking' homme came through de door…dere was alotta babbling….


And before I knew it, I had a gun an' a license to kill-- so long as de twit told me to kill.


An' dats where I am now. Capo regime t' G.O.D...or in otha words, a high-ranked hit-man.