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Joe Jenkins was tired of living in fear. Over the course of the last couple of years, ever since the freak in the blue and silver jump suit flew up into the sky and caught a space station in midair, preventing it from crashing into the earth, metahumans and other super powered beings have been crawling out of the woodwork. Since their arrival, the metahumans had done nothing but caused trouble for everyone else. They thought that they were above the law, always fighting amongst themselves, not caring about the damage they did, or the people they hurt…or the lives they destroyed. After his sister was killed in the explosion that destroyed the Downeast Mall, he vowed that he would do everything in his power to ensure that nothing like that would ever happen again. 

The Hounds found him shortly after mall massacre. With the pain of losing his younger sister still raw, Joe found himself spending his nights, and more often than not, his days at his favorite dive bar in Little Ulster, Croak’s. The inside of the bar left much to be desired, a couple of high top tables and two pool tables just off of the bar itself. The walls were covered in colorful graffiti, some of it slightly suggestive, and other entries touting the exploits of a certain “Man from Nantucket.” The floor was dirty. Not just in the sense that it probably hadn’t been mopped since about 1987, but in a way that when something was dropped or spilled on the floor, the regulars knew just to leave it, lest risk contracting Hepatitis. So when a recruiter for the Hounds of Humanity found him on that barstool, it took little more than a couple of shots and a promise of revenge to convince him to sign up. 

Since that night, he had been a loyal foot soldier for the Hounds of Humanity, hunting down metahumans and dispatching them in the most painful ways possible. Through his hatred, he found a sadistic sense of satisfaction in as he called it, “putting an end to the metahumans threat, one freak at a time.” In the months since he joined with the Hounds of Humanity, he’d gone on numerous missions, in fact, more than he could count. Some were smaller in scale, picking off a meta as she jogged down the street, pulling her into an alley and going to work on her with his blade, or putting one down from a half a block away with a high powered rifle and a scope. Recently he had been involved in several of the raids that had resulted in mass casualties. It was the only thing that brought his mind ease, knowing that he was doing some good in the world. 

On this night, he and a half dozen fellow soldiers were tracking a meta of unknown origin in Lost Haven’s French Quarter. They had tracked it to an alley behind Valentin’s, a popular Creole restaurant. The Hounds followed the meta into the alley, however, when they entered the alley itself, they found that they were alone. The surprise of losing their prey resulted in some finger pointing and arguing among some of the men. However, the sudden roar that emanated from behind a pair of dumpsters silenced the men, who immediately took up positions to confront whatever it was that they were up against. However, the alley was narrow and did not allow for optimal combat positioning. When their prey pounced from behind the dumpsters, it ripped into the first several Hounds with a ferocity that Joe had never seen before. The creature stood nearly seven feet tall when it was up on two legs, with long fur as black as pitch. The creature had distinctly canine feature- short pointy ears, long sharp fangs, and on his hands and feet, large razor sharp claws, which it used to tear into one Hound after another. Joe stood there, frozen in terror as he watched the creature dismember each man on his squad. When he finally found the courage to turn and run, it was too late. The beast sprung at him. He could feel the creature tearing into him with his claws and teeth. 

The last thing that Joe Jenkins heard was the loud, primal scream as the creature howled into the moonlight.