"My name? Well, my name isn't important. For the past eight years, I’ve been a Neo-Hunter for the Los Angeles Police Department, and if there’s one thing I can say about myself, is that I’m damn good at my job. But let me tell you, the life of a Seeker grinds you down like a rusty gear. The dark, gritty streets of Los Angeles—they seep into your bones, gnawing at your sanity. And those damn Neo-gens? They’re relentless. Every other Monday, they’re waiting for me, like clockwork, ready to kick my ass. My body aches for weeks afterward, but it’s all part of the gig.

Not to mention, this so called unwilling departure bullshit? Ha! That’s a joke. We’re nothing more than sanctioned killers, hired guns for a government that turns a blind eye. The pay is decent, sure, but the cost of living? Through the roof. So I keep my mouth shut, do the dirty work, and try not to think too hard about the morality of it all.

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Stepping out of my Santa Monica beachfront apartment, I gulp down the over-polluted air. It’s a stark contrast to the salty breeze off the ocean. Why do I keep doing this? What drives me? Maybe it’s the memories—the ones that haunt my dreams, which is on a regular basis. I’m adrift on a makeshift 4x4 raft, clutching a faded photograph—the most important person in my life. She left this world in a hurry, never looking back. I don’t blame her. This city chews you up and spits you out. Survival is all that matters.

So, I forgive her. I wish her a safe passage to whatever lies beyond. And I keep rowing, because in this city with sprawling lights of neon that cascade from the brightly lit sky., forgiveness is something that's in short supply, but for her I give it freely."

Memoirs of a Neo-Hunter