Name: Lucco Bright
Nicknames: “Benny the Brawler”; aka “Crazy-Eights Jackson”; aka “Minnie the Moocher”; aka “Swing King”; aka “Pinch Hitter”; aka “Smooth Clyde; aka “Mikey Two-Eyes”; aka “Joey Ten-Fingers”; aka “That Sonova Bitch Who Still Owes Me Ten Bucks”; aka "Oh God My Kneecaps!"; ad nauseum
Age: 112 (Born in 1898)
Station: Professional Assassin/Hitman
Mr. Bright has a rather unhealthy obsession with objects that are pointy, objects that are blunt, and just about everything in between that could be utilized as a weapon in combat. Crowbars, spiked knuckles, switchblades, claw hammers, pliers, nail clippers, toothpicks, staplers, rubber bands (don’t ask), frying pans; it would be easier to list the things that Lucco doesn’t carry around on him. However, he does wield one signature weapon: a massive silver baseball bat bound up with barbed wire that he is murderously possessive of.
A holdover from his Prohibition-era days, Lucco still has a preference for the good old Thompson Submachinegun, using the semi-automatic 22. Caliber 1927A3 variant. Given his tenacity of his typical targets, he keeps a plentiful stock of both silver bullets and holy water-filled rounds on his person at all times, in addition to the standard rounds.
Ever since his turning Lucco has developed a habit of jumping around like a hyperactive flea, apparently finding the thrill of bodily flinging himself through the air to be, in his words, a “potent aphrodisiac”. Unpleasant implications aside, he’s gotten to be quite acrobat, utilizing sporadic and often suicidal movements in his own unique brand of combat.
A gift from his lover and Master, Lucco also possess some rudimentary skill in the illusionary arts. He puts this ability to particularly sadistic use against mortals, but against fellow vampires and werewolves he will often display a surprising amount of subtlety. Rather than attempt to force convincing illusions on those liable to resist them, he will instead toy with an opponent’s depth perception and other senses at opportune moments to gain the advantage.
Were it not for his other, numerous character flaws, Lucco would immediately come across as the “ideal” male specimen; a well maintained physique, wide-shouldered and possessing all the muscle of a prize fighter, unusually dark skin for someone who quite obviously spends no time out in sunlight, a head of mussed up blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the sort of charmingly tough face that’d turn most any woman’s head.
Always dressed to impress, he most commonly wears a crisp black silk suit with a crimson necktie, pearl gray spats, and a diamond studded platinum watch chain. The man refuses to wear a hat, taking considerable pride in his hair and preferring to leave it uncovered.
Unfortunately for any woman whose heads do turn his way, Lucco Bright is completely and utterly psychotic. On a scale of one to ten on the “Total Fucking Whackjob” scale, he comes in at an even twelve. His sole saving grace is that he possesses the modicum of self restraint that strait-jacket wearing, frothing-at-the-mouth madmen lack. His handsome features are almost always turned up into an unwholesome crocodile grin that was only made more terrifying by the addition of vampiric fangs upon his Turning, and he has a discomforting habit of forgetting to blink when talking.
Which he does. A lot. It’s generally assumed that Bright is infatuated with the sound of his own voice, a voice that could be considered attractive if it wasn’t generally reaching totally manic pitches. He also enjoys laughing, which wouldn’t be all that bad if he didn’t prefer to do so while killing people. His favourite targets, barring the ones that he’s paid to knock off, are those who believe themselves to be completely and utterly untouchable. The political powerhouses, the crimelords, the arrogant; the ones who would never in a million years believe that anyone could possibly be so completely insane as to simply ignore all of their power and shoot them right between the eyes like a common street thug. Unfortunately for this sort of person, Lucco is completely insane.
Lucco has a very odd way of showing affection. Namely, he enjoys attempting to kill the people that he likes the most, and the people he likes the most tend to be anyone who attacks him and turns out to be an equal (or superior) in combat. Of course, he generally seems quite happy to kill just about everyone, whether they’re actually capable of fighting back or not. When it comes to murder, he does not discriminate by race, sex, age, or creed. As a general rule, any corpse left behind by Mr. Lucco Bright will not be experiencing an open casket funeral.
Born the son of a butcher father and an ineffectual alcoholic of a mother, it would be putting it lightly to say that Lucco experienced a rough childhood. His parents were mutually abusive towards one another, both tough and stubborn enough to beat on the other until blood started flowing. When they weren’t focused on screaming or beating the ever loving shit out of each other, they typically took it out on their son in various ways. His father seemed to find particular enjoyment in hitting Lucco in the gut just to see him keel over, and on particularly irksome days would take a knife or a whip to his back. As for his mother, she would slap him into furniture unless he managed to scrounge up enough money to pay for her addiction, which he usually ended up getting by pounding on fellow children. It was only through complete luck that the boy managed to make it to adulthood with his jaw in one piece and his nose not permanently crooked, but he certainly had his share of scars to show for it.
For any other boy this would have been a torturous existence, but even as young as he was it seemed as though a few rather important wires had been crossed inside his skull. Lucco came to enjoy the beatings, wearing the bruises and cuts with pride and inflicting the same wounds on his peers for kicks. At the age of fifteen he cracked his mother over the head with her own bottle and told her to get her ass up and scrounge for money herself, to which she (eventually) complied. At the age of seventeen he took a baseball bat and broke both of his father’s kneecaps, giving him a limp that would remain for the rest of his life.
It should surprise no one to learn that Lucco Bright Sr. was filled with pride at this development, finally considering the boy to be a true man worthy of his respect. It was then that Lucco’s father revealed the darker nature of his profession; a butcher by day, and a Cleaner for the mafia at night. Hating to see his son’s brutality go to waste on street punks, his father pulled the right strings to get him a job as a low level enforcer.
The rest, as they say, is history. For the next ten years Lucco focused all of his unbridled lunacy on the enemies of his new Boss, much to the horror of those he was set loose upon. It was an Age of Cruelty, when Prohibition was at its peak and criminals held about as much power as politicians, when the politicians weren’t criminals themselves. Lucco often remarked that he had been born at the perfect time in American history, when a man of his particular inclination could easily get a job doing what he did best.
The man was too clever for his own good, often surprising those who wrote him off as nothing more than a mad dog. Unfortunately, “surprising them” usually involving strangulation or a broken skull. Taking up boxing on the side at the age of nineteen, by his late twenties he had become a formidable hand-to-hand combatant. He fought as viciously as a wild animal, and showed just as much restraint as one too. Both friends and foes feared or hated him, his name becoming more than enough incentive for rival gangs to stay well away from the Mafia’s territory.
It wasn’t until he was twenty-eight that Lucco Bright finally found a real challenge. Strolling about the alleys of Chicago at night with a baseball bat, looking to brutally maim the first person that was unlucky enough to cross his path, he came across a regal looking woman wearing a blood-stained dress. The two stared at one another for a long moment, Lucco with his slasher’s grin and her with a placid look that bordered on mechanical, before the latter brought up a knife and leapt at him with a killer’s intent. The ensuing battle lasted three hours and spanned seven different neighborhoods, through buildings, busy city intersections, across rooftops, and finally ending in a run-down factory in the industrial district.
The woman possessed unnatural speed, strength, and stamina, and wove masterful illusions like a seamstress weaves silk. Yet for all of her advantages, Lucco Bright soldiered on, laughing all the way. The illusions failed one by one, the man’s mind so grounded in the reality of the moment that it could not be persuaded to see anything else but her. By the time they finally paused he had received shallow knife wounds over sixty-seven percent of his body, and every inch of him was covered with his own blood. The woman had received a good few cracks across the skull, and her arms were bruised from the force of his blows and slightly bloody where his bat had finally splintered into pieces against her powerful bones.
And in this instant of breathlessness following the carnage, the sound of sirens wailing in the background and the glow of faraway fires reflecting in the windows, the two fell in love. Lucco held the woman by the shoulders, who introduced herself as Victoria Altare, and made to her the most heartfelt promise that the man had ever made in the entirety of his life. With a passion that would have brought a poet to tears, Lucco Bright made the solemn vow that he would one day kill the fair Victoria in the most unspeakably violent manner possible. She accepted happily, tears rolling down her cheeks.
The two were practically inseparable from that point onwards, though onlookers often professed that they weren’t quite sure if the two were lovers or if he was keeping some poor woman hostage. She certainly seemed to grow weak at the knees when in his arms, her earlier dominance entirely vanishing beneath his maddened blue eyes. Lucco was also the only one that never questioned the fact that Victoria never went out until after the sun had set; he accepted her exactly as she was, blindly ignoring all of her numerous oddities. That is, until the day that he died.
Caught in the middle of a sudden ambush by the police, Lucco Bright was riddled with more holes than a sponge. Not one to simply lie down and die because of a silly thing like losing a few dozen pints of blood and having several vital organs completely pulped, he promptly grabbed his gun and proceeded to shoot down every damn person left standing in the room, walk three blocks and up ten flights of stairs back to his apartment, and collapse in a pool of his own gore.
One can only imagine just how surprised he was to wake up again. Victoria had made her choice the moment he burst through the front door, saving her lover’s life at the expense of his mortality. Revealing her true nature and origins, Lucco Bright was suddenly forced to confront the fact that an entire civilization of mythological creatures had been living right under his nose without his knowledge. He promptly began laughing, and continued to do so for the next three days as he proceeded to find every last one that had engineered the set up and beat them into a bloody stain on the pavement, including several of his own men, the current Chief of Police, and his own Boss.
The proceeding decades have been a whirlwind of senseless violence, moving from one criminal organization to the next simply for the thrill of the slaughter. Men of power and men of weakness died alike, the alcohol and blood flowed in equal measure, and good times were had by all. “All” referring primarily to Lucco Bright. Immortality suited the man a little too well, and he used it to live life to the absolute fullest. The Jazz movement had a particular effect on him, forever cementing his love of the saxophone as the second greatest instrument ever to be invented by mankind, right after the gun. Nowadays he has a peculiar habit of keeping “background music” playing from a handheld radio at all times, containing various “themes” for different occasions.
Unfortunately, the good times would not last forever. Lucco Bright’s murderous rampage across the United States and eventually Western Europe earned him a great deal of enemies, a number which now included the likes of feral werewolves, rival vampires, and vampire hunters. In 1995 the happy couple were staying at a tavern in an old Spanish village off the shores of the Guadiana, when a particularly tenacious Hunter finally caught up with them. Apparently seeking revenge for the murder of one of his own relatives, he managed to immobilize Victoria with a blessed chain and cross before blowing a hole clean through her chest, obliterating her heart and killing her almost instantly.
Of what happened afterwards, Lucco recalls very little. Everything became an infuriated, bloody haze, set to the tune of a saxophone punctuated with screams. When he had finally calmed down, everything within a two miles radius of the town had been killed. Literally everything, from the piles of splintered bone and crimson mush that had once passed for human beings and animals, all the way down to the uprooted trees and blackened smudges where insects had once crawled. It was the only time in Lucco Bright’s entire life that he had ever been legitimately angry, and the result was nothing short of catastrophic. When asked about it later, he only had this to say:
“That sonova bitch, I was the one that was gonna kill her!”
Completely lost and without aim, the man turned to the last refuge in the world that would still accept him, among the relatives and comrades of Victoria: The House of Altare. He has worked as Altare’s most infamous Enforcer ever since, taking the dirtiest of jobs and personally seeing to it that the lifespan of its enemies takes a sudden and drastic plummet.