Growing up on the mean streets of Seattle was tough, but Spencer never let it get to him. To Spense letting the streets take over and get you running on the wrong side of the law was like digging your own grave with a backhoe. His father had always loved those seedy pulp detective novels of the early part of the twentieth century, and passed down his passion to his only son. Spencer read about the great detectives of yesterday each night before going to bed, and dreamt of one day becoming one himself. When he joined the star at the age of twenty his glorified view of law enforcement was shattered, and he realized the life wasn’t like some old book, there was no black and white, only a sea of grey. Working for the star for almost ten years teaches a man about himself, and Spencer learned much. He had been on patrol of a Bellevue neighborhood when he spotted two armed assailants robbing a home. Spencer in the four previous years he had worked as a cop had never drawn his weapon on duty, until that day. When the dust was settled and the toe tags were distributed Spense came out with two notches in him gun and a whole new understanding of the power that silently slept at his hip. When he had a gun in his hand a coldness fell over him and he lost all self control, he didn’t think but, instead reacted. After that day he constantly felt the seemingly new weight of his service pistol around his waist, telling him that the speeder he just pulled over was packing, or that the little old lady who was driving down fifth had a cardboard box full of BTLs and was headed to the barrens. He liked to think that firing his sidearm had awakened some deeper gut instinct that he previously hadn’t had access to, but when he pulled over a UCAS senator under suspicion of drug trafficking he was let go from the force. He had been right about the senator and tried to go public but a clever story about his struggle with the bottle surfaced and destroyed all of his credibility.

He took the loss of his position at the star hard, and like the story that had destroyed his reputation said, he took to the bottle like he had never known any different. For six months he was furniture at Donovan’s, his favorite bar, but one day, when he was where a councilor would consider rock bottom, he was approached by a sickly looking man seeking his lost daughter. Spense had still kept up with his old pals from the star, and finding a lost girl in the metropolis was no easy task. But after a week of searching for Lester Sandalwood’s lost daughter, he came across a promising lead and soon reunited the two. Lester paid him well for his services and Spencer had a wonderful idea, he would become a private investigator like those guys he used to read about when he was a kid.

Spencer set up an office out of a rundown abandoned warehouse in the Warf district of Bellevue, and soon began taking clients of all nature. At first it was just the standard suspicious wife checking out her cheating husband, but as his credibility slowly grew he began to take on more sensitive cases. As Spencer’s scrap book grew, so did his influence. He had dealt with some of the most powerful people in the city, and as a result certain people found that he was a trusty ally when you were missing something or someone. For the most part Spense tried to keep his business as legit as possible, but on occasion he has been know to stage an accident or plant drugs on an important person.

Spencer’s knack for finding things comprised the mainstay of his business, and has gained a reputation, over the last twenty years, for being the man in Seattle to go to when you’ve lost something.

You think you've had a tough childhood? Try being the human son borne from a father with a pair of tusks and a mother with two pointed ears. I bet the Almighty had himself a grand old time with that one. Too bad it wasn't nearly as amusing for me - I was immediately ostracized from all the social circles back in primary school when the kids dug that bone out of the closet. Truth be told, I spent an embarrassingly lengthy period of my life hating my parents for that; I was such a little shit back then. Considering that the school environment wasn't much of a welcoming or comforting place for me, it didn't really surprise anyone when I hooked up with a local street gang and branded myself a struggling anarchist fighting to overthrow the oppressors. My parents were horrified when they found out, and tried doing everything they can to turn me back to the light side, but their efforts were futile...I was simply enjoying myself far too much. That is, until that demanding old bat called "Consequences" eventually reared her ugly head and bit me right where it hurts.

We were only planning to set fire to the guy's Christmas tree, but who knew that the entire lawn would be roasted? Or the whole house, for that matter? Lucky for us, the family that it belonged to was out eating dinner at some fancy restaurant when we accidentally burned down their home, but they were mighty pissed off when they found out about it. Unfortunately, the daddy was a bigshot in some triple A corporation, and managed to scrounge up enough funds to hire the slick-talking lawyer who landed our entire gang in juvie hall. Coincidentally, my magical talent decided right after the trial that it was time to show up and say hello to everybody. Lone Star was in a bit of a dilemma when one of their scouts pegged me as an adept - do they leave me in juvie and let my rare and valuable ability go to waste, or do they try to turn a profit by securing it for themselves? They opted to take the road most traveled and cut me a deal - if I entered their training program and signed an eight year contract to work for them afterwards, I'll be set free. I, of course, agreed immediately, as I didn't find the prospect of being locked up until I hit eighteen a very attractive one.

I learned fast, I shot straight, and I graduated with honors six years later and entered the force as a patrol cop. A couple of years after that, I had climbed the ladder to detectivehood in Lone Star’s homicide division - if it weren't for the rebellious tendencies that my childhood had long ago cultivated in me, I would probably have gone higher still. I can honestly say that I was the best of the best during my stint in Homicide, although that's not saying much considering that the best mostly consisted of spineless weasels who kept their balls locked up in a Kevlar padded steel chest until their shift was over. Well, what can I say? I had fun as a keeper of the peace in Lone Star - yes, you heard me right, I said fun. I had a lot of interesting adventures on the gritty streets of Seattle that opened my eyes a bit and helped me grow up a little more, but those are stories for other days. Unfortunately, the last one brought my chosen career path to an end with a two ton battle axe.

Anyone who has watched flatvids will know what they're dealing with when they see a suburban family lying on the living room floor of their home, all deader than Mrs. Santa Claus’s sex drive with bite marks on their necks. And anyone with any brainmeat in their skull will walk away from the scene of the crime and leave the case to Martin De Vries. I mean, what the hell was I thinking, taking on a vampire? I probably would've followed the captain's advice and left the case alone had I not known that that advice came from the briefcase filled with a hundred thousand nuyen of certified cred left outside his doorstep the previous night. I've always had a special disdain in my heart for those who accept bribes, and ended up tackling the case by myself just to spite the bastard. Biggest mistake of my life. My instincts were too sharp for my own good, and when I successfully backtracked the trail of the crime, it led not to one vampire, but a whole coven of them. Turns out that the son of their patriarch got a little too overenthusiastic during his first feeding night by himself, and got carried away with the killing. Amazingly enough, I managed to walk out of their mansion with my red fluids still contained inside my veins and all my vital organs intact. Of course, the bloodsuckers didn't let me off that easily. Not a day later, another murder had been committed, and there were both eyewitness and electronic testimonies that I was the one who had done it. With illusions spells so prominent amongst the criminal element these days, that wasn't enough to convict me, but it was enough for the captain to throw me out of the police force.

Soon after that, Lone Star captured a bunch of "vampires," nailed them to the crime, and executed them. Funny, these weren't the same guys I found. I was seething with fury after that, but there was nothing I could do. I had been outmaneuvered, and good. With my job gone, I had to start looking for other sources of work - that was when it hit me. Why not become an investigator in all things creepy and crawly? The vampires had gotten me interested in the paranormal, and after a few months of study, I became confident enough to open up my own business. Officially, I'm a private investigator, but word soon got out on the street that I'm not afraid to handle some of the more unusual cases. The money hasn't exactly been pouring in, but it was enough for me to get by and even start saving up some. Maybe one day my path will cross with the cabal of bloodsuckers that murdered an entire family and got away with it cleaner than antibacterial hand soap. And when it does, they'll be cursing their parents for giving birth to their nasty black hearts. Count on it.

They say the moment of your awakening is an awe inspiring event, Ernie's was more like traumatic. When Rat began to whisper to him, Ernie thought he was loosing his mind. Sneaking synthahol from his parents stock only dulled the voices for a little time, and ended him up in trouble with his folks. The whispers grew louder and more often, school became impossible. Rat was relentless his whispers grew as loud as shouts some days. Then Ernie met a local pusher. Desperate to clear the voices out he tried the pushers wares. Stronger than alcohol, it worked. In a short amount of time Ernie was a regular visitor, and began stealing to keep a steady flow of his chosen mindbender. His parents at this time anxious to find out how to "get their boy back" took him to a psychiatic clinic. On a hunch a doctor ran the standard magical aptitude test on Ernie. It came back positive. The clinic and Ernies parents were out looking for him the night he tried to burglarize a house. The burglary didnt turn out well, the old man woke and a struggle ensued. Ernie knocked the old man down hard and believed he killed him. Ernie was hiding out among the rest of the dregs, chippies and druggies when the clinics "white coats" began searching for him. Rat screamed RUN!!!, and Ernie did. Taking the loot from the old man's house Ernie bought a one way ticket to Seattle which was as far away as he could get he figured.

That was 2 years ago, Rat is now an accepted fact of Ernies life, and his closest friend. The whispers are now sometimes conversations and Rat being Rat, doesnt seem to mind that their conversations are sometimes from Ernie being "High".