My name is Dalbach Aindreas. I'm a paranormal mercenary from Southies in Boston, Massachusetts. I was assigned a contract from my employer, who would like to remain anonymous, to look into and get rid of a vampire/werewolf infection in a Podunk town called Forks, Washington. It was supposed to be a fairly standard job, you know, expose to sunlight, poison with silver, get out, get drunk, get paid. Well, not in that order, but you get the idea.
No problem, I thought. Just kill the head guy. I was dead wrong.
A large grey van covered in art featuring Gaelic crosses on the sides crosses the Washington state line. The driver was smoking a Cuban cigar and humming along to a James Dean record.
As he hits bumps in the road, the arsenal in the back clatters about. Smoke pours out his window and floats back, hitting the windshield of a car containing a certain teenage girl.
The two don't know, but they are heading the same way. As the destination nears, a crystal dangling from the rearview mirror glows red, and emits a fizzing sound.
"I know, little buddy, just wait a while." He pats his Peace-maker pistol and traces the pattern of the enchantment sigils on the ivory handle with his forefinger. "Just an hour or two and we can get down to business."
Upon arriving, he parks in a motel outside a hotel, and slides into the back to examine which weapon to use.
"Shotgun, need that… Hmm, M-16, not stealthy enough. Oh, I'm gonna need this." He pulls from a rack a large Barrett M82 sniper rifle. "Yes, .50 caliber of pure kick-assery. Wait, did I pack…" He fishes through his black trenchcoat and produces a Bowie knife with a large insignia reading Eiren Go Brach on the hilt.
"Oh yes is, it's gonna be a great day."
He finishes attaching his miscellaneous weaponry to his body, and dons his wide-brim Minotaur-leather hat.