Clothing - Normally dark, mostly black clothing. Often wears a floor length coat if weather permits. In heat, he strips down to a pair of dark jeans and a black cut off shirt.
Flaws - Jaded, doesn’t know how to work in teams, loner, doesn’t trust others, especially non-humans, near-addiction to energy drinks, one drink turns into thirteen much too easily
Fears - Losing someone close to him. being turned, losing his humanity or his mind
Personality - Comes off as a real jackass. In short, he’s a jerk who ostracizes others. He also comes across as cocky, but his foundation is glass. He handles stress poorly, often resulting in binge drinking and bar fights. He cries himself to sleep most nights. He is severely broken.
The story of Mikael Mikkonen begins with another. Henrikki Mikkonen was an odd child, and then an odd man. As a young boy, Henrikki loved fairy tales and clung to every word of every tale he could track down, although for the young boy, those tales really only consisted of the stories his mummo (grandmother) told him when he spent his days there. Henrikki’s mummo was a superstitious old woman and gladly passed on the Finnish fairy tales to her grandson, even against his parents wishes. Henrikki’s parents were both devout Christians and felt the stories would only pollute their son’s mind. They were right. As Henrikki grew older, instead of growing out of these outlandish tales, his interest and fascination only seemed to grow. He badgered his mummo for more details, for the truth. Everyone seemed to think he had gone mad, and maybe he had. That was until he met Palka. Suddenly Henrikki was a new man. He was responsible, straight-forward, right-minded, and hard-working. His parents couldn’t have been more proud. Within a year, Henrikki and Palka were wed in a large church that, up until the wedding, Henrikki refused to enter.
Shortly after the wedding, Henrikki began to act strangely. While he hadn’t visibly reverted to his obsession with the mythical, something was amiss. When Palka questioned him about it, he would brush the question off, as if nothing were wrong. He began to become more and more distressed. One day, Henrikki burst in the door, a feverish look upon his face. Palka, with the swelling belly of a soon-to-be mother, was quite frightened, repeatedly asking Henrikki to explain why he was home from work so early and what the problem was. Henrikki ignored her and rushed to the spare bedroom, the baby’s bedroom. He ripped a hidden panel off the wall, revealing a large stack of ancient looking tomes. He ripped out of the room, returning almost immediately, but with a trunk in tow. He filled the trunk with the old, but not dusty, tomes.
Henrikki looked up at his loving wife, fear folding her face in tight wrinkles. With an odd gleam in his eyes, he began to tell her to pack. She quieted a sob, expecting the worst. Her husband had to be a criminal, or worse. He didn’t seem intent on explaining himself, but the force in his voice encouraged her to listen to his words. Within the hour, most of the small family’s material possessions were packed in bags and trunks. Henrikki carried his trunk as though it were a feather, most likely due to the adrenaline pumping through his veins. They seemed to fly as their automobile sped towards the port. They rushed onto the nearest ferry, and as the boat undocked and started drifting out of the port, a pack of outrageously large wolves flew out of the trees at the edge of the small town. They were safe.
While they weren’t dead, there were many, many issues still unsolved. Henrikki still hadn’t explained what was going on to his wife, and seemed willing to do anything but. They also didn’t know what ferry they were on or where they were headed. That night, as soon as Henrikki’s chest started to sink and rise in the slow rhythm of sleep, Palka silently stood from the small bed and crept to the ancient trunk. She almost gasped as she opened the chest, catching herself at the last moment. The tomes that her husband had so frantically protected were books on the occult. Books about vampires, werewolves, zombies, and the like. She was taken aback, totally unprepared for what she was seeing. She had never known this side of her husband, but yet she was pregnant with his child. She needed to get some air.
Her scream was muffled by a hand. Instinctively, she attempted to wrench herself free of her assailant, although his grip was incredibly strong. Suddenly, she heard the comforting voice of her husband’s voice whispered in her ear. He told her not to move, not to scream, and that it was dangerous for her to go alone, at least until they landed at their mystery destination. The next time she asked him, he simply told her it would all come in good time.
One morning, as the young couple woke from a deep slumber, Henrikki realized the ship was slowing. He became frantic, wondering if they had found him. He rushed out of bed and flew out to the deck. The rising sun cast his shadow down upon the water as a smile crept across his face. The Statue of Liberty was growing taller by the minute. It wasn’t long until Palka joined her husband.
Henrikki thought he, as well as his family, was now safe. If only he were right.
Flash forward.
Mikael grew up feeling like two people. There was the person he was in public. That was the cheerful, friendly Mikael. That Mikael was popular, good at sports, well liked, smart, and well behaved. Teachers raved about how mature and well rounded he was while his parents silently boasted. Then there was the other Mikael. This Mikael was probably closer to the truth, but he wouldn’t have been well liked. He was strategic, cunning, cutthroat, and, most importantly, weird. He had been taking secret lessons with his dad, and while he only half believed the crazy stories Henrikki told him, he was obsessed. He spent time at the local library reading as many books as possible, trying to round out an idea of the occult. He had already read all of his father’s tomes at least once, if not twice. While Henrikki had told Mikael to live the split life, Mikael did reveal his inner side to another, once. That’s when disaster struck.
Mikael was walking home when he first realized something was off. He started running, sprinting really, as soon as he saw the door from down the block. Well, what was left of the door anyway. It had been kicked in, probably by a thief of some kind. He walked into his home to the smell of blood and burnt flesh. There was a trail that led to the family room, the room where Henrikki had always kept a sword. In fact, as he had always told Mikael, the sword was made of silver, to protect from werewolves. On the floor was Palka, covered in blood, a large chunk was missing from one of her legs, and she appeared to be unconscious from blood loss. Henrikki, on the other hand, was slumped against the fireplace. Bite marks covered his arms. The sword was sticking out of the wall as if someone had thrown it. Seeing Mikael, Henrikki rushed to call him over, and in a weak voice explained what happened. Werewolves had attacked, although Henrikki wasn’t sure why. He had fought them off the best he could, cutting a chunk out of one’s shoulder before the sword was knocked away and he was swarmed. Palka was bitten once, just enough to turn her, but Henrikki had been bitten as punishment. Henrikki told Mikael what he had to do. Neither Henrikki nor Palka wanted to live as a beast, filled with uncontrollable, dangerous urges. Mikael had to get the sword and decapitate both of his parents. Mikale immediately shut down. He couldn’t be expected to do something like that; he was only sixteen. Then his mother started to wake up. Without even thinking, Mikael pulled the sword from the wall and with one clean slash, his mother’s head rolled. Henrikki begged to be killed, as he couldn’t do it himself, but Mikael was in a terrible state. He had just killed his mother, granted it was out of mercy, but he was in no shape to do anything else. Finally, Henrikki began to make a noise. It was a whimper mixed with pleading grunts. Mikael swallowed, and with a tear, mercifully murdered his father. Mikael was about to go pack as he would be leaving that night, when he saw his mother’s disembodied head. The eyes were open. The last thing his confused and dazed mother saw was her son swinging a sword at her neck. He collapsed, waking up the next day in tears and vomit.
Mikael cleaned up, packed up all his belongings, and found his father’s old wooden chest. He went to the secret room, filled the chest with the books, loaded all his belongings into the family, his car, and left his life behind.
Mikael traveled, doing odd jobs for food and a shower, spending large amounts of time at different local libraries, attempting to learn as much as he could about the creatures that ruined his life. He still had nightmares. Every night. Even though he slept with the silver sword stashed under the back seat of the car. Every shadow was one of the fiends, every noise was a growl or a claw on the pavement. He didn’t sleep for days at a time, spending all of his time reading, avoiding the nightmares.
It didn’t take long and Mikael was running from his fears in other ways. He chased skirts, often hitting his mark. He drank. Never beer, mainly whiskey. He’d drink until he couldn’t think, and then he’d drink some more. He’d had to clean the floor of his car multiple times. One night, the bartender took his keys. Without a place to stay, Mikael started hitting on everything that moved. One girl finally took pity on him, played along, and told him to come home with her. Once they got there, she pushed him on the couch, went in her room, and locked the door. He realized what was going on, but before he could attempt anything, he passed out. The next morning, rather mid-afternoon, Mikael awoke to a bottle of water and an aspirin. The woman sat next to him and tried to shake his hand. He almost threw up on her, only stopping just in time. She introduced herself as Amy and asked him if he wanted to rent her spare bedroom. Her roommate had just moved out, leaving her with the full rent. He took it in a heartbeat. He hadn’t had a roof over his head in years. He moved in that day and started looking for a job. He finally found a job at a local factory. It wasn’t much, but it would pay the bills.
Little by little, Amy tamed Mikael. First, the drinking slowed. Then it stopped. Soon he was a supervisor at the factory. Shortly after that, the two of them started sleeping in one room. Within a year, they were Mr. and Mrs. Mikkonen. Mikael began living another double life. He had never shown Amy what was in the chest, and never planned to. At the age of twenty-four, Amy gave Mikael a daughter named Jennifer.
Six years later, The Mikkonen family was driving through a wooded area during the night. The plan was to take a vacation across the country. Suddenly, Mikael slammed on the brakes. Something about the size of a bear was laying on the highway. It stood, and only then did Mikael realize what was happening. Before he could get the car moving, one werewolf from each side hit the car. Jennifer screamed as a claw burst through the window closest to her. Mikael was in the back seat before the paw was fully in the window. He still didn’t go anywhere without his father’s sword. He grabbed it from under the seat and swung wildly. He slashed the arm of the beast, and it howled as its arm shot out of the car. Then he heard his wife’s cries for help. He poked the sword in the front seat and into the werewolf’s nose, just before Amy was bitten. In his recklessness, he accidentally sliced Amy’s cheek. Cursing his clumsiness, he sprang out of the car, protecting his family from himself and being ready to chase down the werewolves. He heard one run through the bushes behind him, and as it charged, Mikael pushed the sword forward, skewering the bloodthirsty werewolf. That’s when he heard the screams. His two angels, the only two women in his life that mattered, screamed in unison. Not a frightened scream, but a scream of pain. As he ran back to the car, the remaining werewolves scattered, sensing the silver in the air. He looked in to see both his wife and his daughter had bite marks on their arms. He screamed in anguish, and only seemed to wail harder when his daughter begged him to tell her what was wrong. He couldn’t do it. There was no way he could kill the only two people that made his life worth living. He wouldn’t do it. Then Amy called him over. She explained that she had found his books, read through them all, and knew what was going to happen. She begged for Mikael to kill her and their daughter. Mikael knew they were right and they’d be happier dead than as a long-living reminder that they were attacked by werewolves, that their life was taken away in the seconds it took for those long, sharp teeth to sink into the soft, tender flesh. Mikael walked around the car to where his daughter was sitting. He opened the door, and Jennifer whined because the silver so close to her body hurt. She moaned, and in a quick burst of courage, the sword went between the shoulders and the head, the head rolling out of the car, onto the pavement. Amy screamed in agony, busting out of the car and ready to kill Mikael. She was delirious from her daughter’s death and the cold reality of what was happening. Mikael took aim and with a single swing, she was relieved from her agony. He placed all remains in the car, and with the emergency gas, doused the interior. He used the last emergency match to light the fire.
He began to walk back towards town, hoping to gather his things and leave town before anyone could catch him. He knew what he did was right, but he also knew the police wouldn’t exactly understand. Suddenly, he heard a howl. Right then and there, Mikael vowed to kill every werewolf he saw. As he was walking, one jumped him from behind. Mikael rolled, keeping the sword in his right hand. He lunged, the werewolf easily dodged. He swung, the werewolf easily dodged. Soon, Mikael was tired. That’s when the werewolf struck. He lunged, claws stretching out, ready to puncture. Mikael feigned left, catching the werewolf right at the base of the neck, the werewolf’s momentum effectively killing itself.
After another mile or so, a man dressed in a suit walked out of the trees. Mikael held the sword between them, asking what the man wanted. The man in a suit explained the Regiment to Mikael. As soon as Mikael heard that it was all a test, he lashed out. The man almost died, but somehow escaped on the edge of his life. That night, a part of Mikael died. His old family was dead, his new family was dead, and all due to werewolves. In his head, the Regiment was at fault. They were testing him when his new family died, and they may have been testing his father when his old family died. Even if they hadn't, if they had done their job to protect the innocent, his family wouldn't be gone.
Mikael made it back, but rather than going from town to town doing odd jobs again, Mikael started training. He found a dojo, trained with his sword, learned the art of the knife, and went and bought a .44 Anaconda, just in case.
The unsolved mysteries linked to Mikael Mikkonen began to pile up. Within two years, he had been interrogated multiple times. Two days after Mikael turned thirty-two, a policeman came to his door. Mikael was placed under arrest for the murders of Henrikki and Palka Mikkonen as well as Amy and Jennifer Mikkonen. Mikael punched the officer. Mikael was then tasered and brought in.
The first man to visit Mikael was the man from the woods. He told Mikael he could make the charges stick, or he could make the charges go away. Mikael begrudgingly decided to join the Regiment. While he may have had issues with the operation of the Regiment, life in prison wouldn't solve anything. At the very least, he may get to kill a werewolf or two.
