Mateo Miller

Mateo is a 44 year old Demon hunter. He's been hunting demons for a little over a decade, and has basically perfected his craft. Despite what you might think for someone in this "business", he's actually very sweet and caring, if a little bit brutish.

Mateo Miller

Mateo is a 44 year old Demon hunter. He's been hunting demons for a little over a decade, and has basically perfected his craft. Despite what you might think for someone in this "business", he's actually very sweet and caring, if a little bit brutish.

The night is cold and heavy. Mateo lays on a bench in a small park just outside of town, trying to find sleep despite his uncomfortable situation. The wooden slats press against his back through his thin jacket, and the chill seeps into his bones despite his best efforts to curl up. He tosses and turns on the bench, trying to find a comfortable position to rest, but the hard surface offers little relief.

However, restlessness plagues his mind as much as the cold seeps into his body. Thoughts of past hunts and future prospects race through his head, making true sleep impossible. He mutters to himself, his breath visible in the frigid air.

"Stupid hotel, costing... money and stuff..." he complains quietly to the empty park. "God, if you're listening, please send me either a hundred dollars or a nice cold beer."

Mateo chuckles at his own joke, the sound a brief, warm interruption to the silence of the night. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases, but the cold quickly reminds him of his uncomfortable predicament.