[center][h3][color=aba000][b]R[/b][/color]ussell "Rusty" McKenzie[/h3][/center]
[hider=Character]
[center][u][b][color=aba000]R[/color][/b]ace[/u]
Werewolf
[u][b][color=aba000]A[/color][/b]ge [/u]
22

[u][b][color=aba000]A[/color][/b]ppearance[/u][/center][indent]Rugged, unshaven, but the hair is kept greased back sometimes. He is never entirely clean and is invariably clad in jeans, leather and motor oil.

[hider=Pic][img]http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pZiEO1h7mwI/TFx5qesVoQI/AAAAAAAAAGw/xFnkLqCq1vE/s1600/pete66sm.jpg[/img][/hider][/indent]
  
[center][u][color=aba000][b]P[/b][/color]ersonality[/u][/center][indent]Rusty essentially came back from Korea with a chip on his shoulder. He didn't have a taste for the attitudes of the Hunters, and believes in the freedom to do whatever it is the hell he pleases. There are, of course, basic rules like the law of the jungle, but he does not see the point of laws or other fictions of society that are intended to put things in their place and, generally, keep them there. He had enough of that regimentation shit in Korea, and he's not about to take it back in Santa Somabra. He's got a quick temper, as do most of his kind, but he also does not forget grudges. Right now, the Wild Hunt is a single pack of like-minded individuals, but he has plans...[/indent]
[center][u][color=aba000][b]B[/b][/color]io[/u][/center][indent]Rusty was born in Santa Somabra, but his parents came together because of the pressures of the Great Depression. His mother, Ulrike, fell in love with Roy McKenzie, an Okie who was adrift during the depression and wound up biting him. Ulrike's family, a Hunter bloodline, did not approve, but did not precisely act against her violently for this. After all, Roy McKenzie was still white, even if they preferred to keep the biting down to a minimum to avoid having the 'wrong' sorts receive the gift. 

Their son, Rusty, grew up on the wrong side of the tracks as a result. He had a spotty schooling but learned, from his father, how to repair engines and farm equipment as they scratched out a living on the outskirts. During the War, Roy took a job as a factory mechanic and managed to maintain it despite being a werewolf, though hard times and cutbacks came after the war once more. Rusty, as a teenager, spent the World War II years gathering up junk and scrounging for the war effort to bring in a little extra money for his family in the material donation drives. He was too young to fight it, which was a relief to his generally peaceable parents.

Then Korea came and Rusty was of age to be drafted into Korea. The training was short, and he managed to find ways to disappear onto sick call during the full moon, which also ensured that he was often on company discipline (these were the days before the UCMJ) for some sort of infraction. He served as an infantryman in Charlie Company, 27th Infantry Regiment (Wolfhounds) in the harsh winter of 1951 and found himself, for the first time, with friends in a squad just as the Chinese entered the war. The whole picture changed and the US army was pushed back from the top of the Korean peninsula down past the 38th parallel. The situation was, as briefing officers would say in subsequent wars (starting with Vietnam) 'fluid.' Fluid was ugly.

Food became an issue. Supplies were spotty and the Chinese were everywhere in huge waves of humanity. Korean refugees grimly marched south by days and by nights froze solid while wailing to be let into cities that would not give them entry. US troops were cut off and surrounded and some made it back and some didn't. 

Rusty's squad, or what was left of it, took a unique way out.

The rest of the winter, they fought and hunted as werewolves, filling their bellies and warming themselves with fur, surviving that terrible, frigid winter as best they could. They killed and they killed, including those who came too close to their squad's secrets. In that terrible place, they formed a bond that came back home. They went their different ways but stayed in contact. Rusty tried to settle back in, but he found that his attitude was more volatile. He hung out some with human bikers, soaking up that culture and decided that he liked the style and that there was freedom on the open road. Rusty couldn't necessarily relate to his fellow werewolves in Santa Somabra, so he called in his buddies; Hart, Blasetti, Rodriguez, Holmes and some of the others. In a couple other cases, he made werewolves out of bikers he already knew and formed a charter for them. It wasn't necessarily for merely werewolves, but if fellow club members were brothers, didn't it make sense to make them packmates as well. Hunter dogma about the gift be damned, Rusty made his decision. Hell, he made it in Korea in the Winter of 51. They'd fight, die and kill for each other, that made them blood enough. Better than his mother's kin ever did for him.

Thus the Wild Hunt Motorcycle Club was born.[/indent]
[center][u][b][color=aba000]O[/color][/b]ther[/u][/center][indent]Wild Hunt MC's operations are, at this time, undefined to allow for linkups to other characters. Fundamentally, they are not interested in any overarching causes besides their own, but that generally means that they are hostile to 'the Man.' It's primarily about hedonism, occasionally fights 'the Man' but isn't rushing out to go look for him. They're primarily devoted to smoking, drinking, working on their bikes and avenging insult where they find it, brooking no disrespect to the club. Occasionally, they find common cause, especially when someone's paying for them to do what they enjoy doing, like breaking something.

The Wild Hunt's members are primarily veterans that were bitten in Korea, or Rusty recruited a couple more people that were bitten, but we're looking at about ten members tops right now. On the other hand, they are particularly vicious and experienced werewolves, and indiscriminately chosen from the Hunters' perspective, which is bound to be friction. Rusty doesn't give a hoot for race, and that's gotta piss off the old guard. They definitely are into beat culture, hash, booze and bikes and come from the lower-income strata of society, the wrong side of the tracks in every case. They might pass for greasers, but the odds are that they aren't taking care of their hair that much.

They are operating out of some sort of headquarters outside of Santa Somabra, and I am envisioning some sort of dustball barn or something with hammocks and motorbikes near the road. Their operations, naturally, probably involve smuggling of various items and acting as couriers or as protection and muscle so long as no one expects them to actually sit there and be alert security. You don't post the Wild Hunt like a rentacop at a mall, you send them when you want to fuck something up bad because they tend to get into it once the violence starts and they aren't particularly capable of stopping after that. Since the majority of them served in Korea (and there's at least one WWII vet in there as well) and bike clubs tend to be veteran-heavy, they have a pretty extensive knowledge of how to use explosives and modern weaponry, though one shouldn't expect them, again, to stand guard for more than a couple of hours before they get bored. They like easy money, but they aren't anyone's boys.

The Wild Hunt doesn't hide in plain sight; they have patches on their coats and slap that proudly on their bikes -- woe betide the motherfucker that touches one of those either. Their initiation is standard outlaw stuff, with the addition of a bite. Rusty might be bite members of the club, but earning that membership is hard and only the really tough and dedicated manage to make the transition from prospect to full patch. That of course makes for a very tough, vicious and dedicated werewolf. The Hunters dislike how casually, in their minds, Rusty makes new werewolves and it's possible they underestimate the Wild Hunt through the lens of their bigotry and bloodline obsession.[/indent][/hider]