Colin Hunter was the average 20 something. Growing up in a small suburb outside Belfast, He developed quite the taste for Marijuana, partying, and most importantly, travelling. Through the partying and drugs he ran into some rather unsavoury people. Soon he began to flip some weed.
Just some dime bags to his friends at first, then the pills, coke, ket, eventually he was moving a lot. Kilos. That's when the I.R.A started to take notice. You don't start making the money Colin was making in northern Ireland without people noticing. One night he was sitting playing xbox, ripping his bong when he heard a smash. Upstairs?....no that was the kitchen window. He quickly opened his coffee table drawer and reached for his 45. 1911. It was too little too late. He Woke up on a sofa in a house he did not recognize. It was all downhill from there. The I.R.A had been keeping an eye on him and how he ran his business, and they knew he did it well. After all, he was moving more recreational drugs in northern Ireland then the RA themselves. He was ruthless when he had to be, and had more than a few dead bodies on his hands, but nothing too crazy, most of them had it coming.
The I.R.A financial director wanted to have a chat with him. He liked how he ran his business, and had only one question, "you want to make this international?". Colin was a business man after all, and this was good business in his eyes. So the I.R.A made their current drug runner "go away" and gave Colin vehicles, men, routes, and all of their contacts. He started to move product from eastern Europe and Amsterdam where it was cheap as chips, he used the age old drug dealer business plan, but low, sell high. Soon he had expanded the I.R.A drug territory over multiple countries and he became something he never thought he could. He became stone cold, no family, no friends, no nothing. He loved what he did though. And he was good at it. That was until one fateful run to Russia. Moscow was where one of their weapon contacts were, he often traded with the I.R.A weapons for heroin. Colin's usual route was by land through South Zagoria, mainly because their border protection was so old school and behind on the times that There was no way they would get caught. Not only that, but they were poor, therefore easy to pay off.
As He drove up to the checkpoint entering to the russian side of the border, his heart dropped. There were Russian military men standing there running checks instead of the people they had paid off. It turns out their Moscow contact had gotten caught up, and started singing like a fucking bird. fuck. They even knew they were coming.
Colin spent the next 3 months fighting for his life in an old Russian Gulag. It was torture, he was forced to kill more people inside that prison than he ever had doing his job. Luckily for him the I.R.A had men inside and still managed to provide protection for their men inside various prisons worldwide. But not Cernarussian prisons. The correctional director at the time had such a giant stick up his ass his feet couldn't touch the ground. So they transferred Colin there. It was here that he truly snapped. It was primal. He had to survive. The things he did, it was just so he could survive. It wasn't until the guards stopped showing up that he truly panicked. He never knew how it happened, He just started to hear the growling , snarling. Fuck he did not know what was going on but he had to get the fuck out of that god forsaken prison. Luckily he had already began to chip away at the eroded walls in his cell, It took him 2 weeks of no food, drinking the rain water that trickled through his window. But he made it out, and he was never the same after he did.