Ryder "Ragnarok" Midgard was orphaned at a young age, after his family brought him into riches, but alas, hostile takeovers upon stock market breaking down, the fact they wanted him to have a better child hood than they'd ever have. And boy, did they. He was born as a Troll looking human 2.0. The Next Gen, The Latest. And for what? A small mutagen that made him appear out of a folktale. But alas, his father suicided, and his mother drunk herself away afterwards slowly, as he grew up, taking care of her. He grew up to be a mountain of a man, taller than most and a strong, maybe a bit slow at some logical stuff than most. But growing up, and noticing all the bad stuff in his house, he grew a keen eye. ( His notice level) But at the age of 13th, his mother drank her last bottle and smoked her last cig as that home turned into a smoke house when he was out and hanging with friends.
 
Then, he had nowhere to go. He lived around the house for some time, until he was sent to a care home, which brought upon the standard drama family, no love, no trust. He grew up as a hardened boy, having to become a man before he even became 15. The local gangs wanted this big, tough, angry looking Troll on their side, and so, they gave him at first cash, and then some better fitting clothes cause he'd have to share with all his other adoptive siblings, as the care home was of the poorer state. The ridicously super poor state that just got by on abusing their kids for cash. He hardly ever went to school as they wanted him to work. And work he did. At start, small time hunting in the forest, cause they lived in the middle of bum fucking nowhere, as he used a home made bow to kill a rabbit, and then gutted it, which he kept on doing. But after a few days, the local gangbangers saw the home made bow, and offered him a silenced gun and a few mags instead. If he did something for them, like murder a fucking drug hobo that had hit one of their dealers. He had to either go home with a rabbit and a bow, or go home with some cash, a gun and a rabbit. He took the more logical, cold choice. Fuck the world, he thought, the world fucked him over so. Let's make Mom and Dad proud, he thought, so that the cash they spent on him wouldn't be wasted. Again, his hunting skills became better as he hunted a few hobos now.
 
At the age of 17, his new life would begin. A time untold by dawn, of young men being drawn into combat and war, for he was now a hard gangbanger. Having bailed on that foster home or care-home, he didn't fucking care. The older, more abused, viscous kids had been hard on him, and one day, he fucking snapped. He charged and drove one of his horns straight into that fucking neck, breaking it as his greater mass brought that fucker down. Snapped his neck, he did, clean off, and that kid died instantly. The others screamed bloody murder. And he fucking lost it. He shot the others, without a care in the world. He ran afterwards thou, clad in gang-banger clothing of the local gangs. The foster-parents never saw him, or who actually did it, fully, so they reported it as a gang crime, which made it all the worse. He now was alone, without a friend. Without anyone to rely on. So he made due. Hunting in the woods, stealing. Eventually he joined the army, as his record was "clean" and he made a good soldier for having done a few "uncountable business trips" with some "friends", which really translates to him murdering hobos for cash and guns.
 
He had drifted from place to place before he joined the army, getting low experience jobs to get by, but never staying too long. He had done a lot of shady business "deals" before, being a bodyguard here, a nasty looking collector there. Even gutting a man like a pig because he owed a mob boss some money. He continued this up until he joined the army under the pretence of a "friend", He just wanted to know how to do better with guns and make shit blow up. And blew up shit he did. 3rd Demolition Corps was his god gifted place on this earth, where he proceeded to kill, maim, bomb and generally ruin people's day as he fought in multiple skirmishes here and there, for 5 whole years he did nothing but eat, sleep, kill, repeat. Until that day he blew up the wrong target, and got discharged "honourably"
 
That was the time he figured he should hunt bounties, cause he saw all those cool as hell leather clad gunmen of the west, and the awesome as fuck soldiers of the "proposed" 21st millennia. All that just made it seem something fit for him, as he could A) Find people. B) Kill people and C) Make money. It was all in all a good plan. So he began to hunt down people, either dragging them back to their collectors, or dragging them apart cause of no cash to pay with. A few, sadly, hits to the head thou, made him a bit less sharp in the head than he ought to be in this cold world, generally making him a bit clueless to what was going around him if he didn't pay much attention, zoning out. But fuck it, he thought, he knew what he wanted to do, and he knew why. He'd get out of this shit ridden hell hole of poverty and become rich one day, hunting enough bastards until his wallet was so full he could smash a head with it from just dropping it.