Borne to the woods, Black took hunting at the ripe age of six. His daddy didn't mind letting him shoot the pea-gun. So he started practicing on raccoons, missing all of his shots. Until he fired the last cartridge out of the banana clip, and hit the critter. He was ecstatic, and demanded to go again. He didn't miss a shot after that.
Fast forward a couple of years, and his home life wasn't all to good. He lived out in the woods more often than not, his father was beginning to drink too much and it changed him in the moment. It was always bipolar at home. Wishy washy with money and a terrible place to grow up, he learned to navigate the urban jungle that was Portland. He learned that taxidermists and fancy eaters were salivating at the thought of fresh furs and bodies, and rare meats. And so one and one became two; money and fun. He traveled about, hunting everything his clients ordered, and over the years of becoming rich, evading police, and acquiring a very broad nickname, "Hunter", he grew to be comfortable on his own.
Skip a couple of years and he was on the internet, looking at an article about a master boywer, who created the heaviest bow in what seemed to be the world. Reinforced and carved in so elegant a way, it was well worth the money. But he lived in a no-where town called Chernarus, and he'd be forced to take a boat, the airports were down for maintenance. And then you have now; stuck in zombie paradise, happily enjoying his right to survive. It's a way to live.