But after the Vancouver Disaster, with most of his team either dead or missing, they stripped him of his command and kicked him out of the only life he’d ever known. Silent Jim found him, cleaned him up, and got him back on track. Together they built a new team from the castoffs that nobody else in the Brotherhood wanted. It’s been an uphill battle, but he’s willing to do whatever it takes to claw his way back to the top.

But he and Gabriel struck up an instant camaraderie, like they’d known each other for years. Fighting side by side, they’re an unstoppable team. Silent Jim was counted among the dead following the Vancouver Disaster. He’s since reappeared, giving no explanation for his absence, and nobody else is brave enough to ask about it. Some say it’s not the first time he’s pulled this resurrection trick. It probably won’t be the last, either.

There’s even a cave painting in France that depicts a pretty remarkable likeness of Wolf mowing down Neanderthals with a Gatling gun. The Brotherhood had long hoped to get Wolf signed on fulltime, but nobody wanted to work with him. He’s not what you’d call a "team player." Only Gabriel was foolish and desperate brave enough to give him a shot.

Dr. Bijou Labeaux’s doctoral dissertation on the zombie toxin was no less than a revelation, and the Brotherhood set her up with a cushy, state-of-the-art laboratory to continue her research. All that was left was to run her through the basic field combat exercises required of all new recruits. Once Bijou realized how fun fieldwork can be, she became obsessed. Every moment not spent toiling away in the lab was spent petitioning the higher-ups for a promotion to field agent. When Silent Jim showed up, she knew she’d finally made it. Now she’s out of the lab and ready to kick some ass.

Come work for the Brotherhood. Use the powers she’d been cursed with to save others from monsters like the vampire who’d turned her. She liked the sound of that. It’s been an uphill battle. She hears the things they call her behind her back. Drac. Vlad. Blood-Chugger. Rigor Mortis...

Rigor Mortis.

She likes that one. Maybe she’ll keep it.

He hadn’t earned it, but he was given command of an Epsilon Chapter straight out of the academy. It got his team killed. He was the lone survivor of a werewolf attack he should have prevented. He got the antivirals in time to keep him from going full-wolf, but just barely. He hardly recognizes the angry, feral face in the mirror anymore. Unable to trust himself around other people, he retreated to a remote cabin in the forests of Montana until RM showed up to put him back to work. He’s not the leader anymore, but he figures it’s just a matter of time until Gabriel screws up big enough. All he has to do is wait.

And it’s all wrapped up in a titanium chassis driven by synthetic musculature and covered with realistic, damage-resistant artificial skin. The real power is all in the Goggles. In the event that a Cipher’s chassis is destroyed, it can be reinstalled—with memories intact—by attaching the old Goggles to a new chassis. The Mark III Ciphers in particular were famous for their virtually indestructible Goggles. But nobody uses the Mark IIIs anymore. Not after what happened in Vancouver. And yet every time Gabriel requisitions a new one, they send him one of these obsolete pieces of crap. Someone in the Warehouse has a sick sense of humor

He found it. A cure for death. It brought back his sister, but she didn’t come alone. An entire cemetery full of corpses clawed their way out of their graves. They came back, but they came back wrong. Hungry. He had to put them all back down. And when his sister attacked his grandmother, he had to put her down again too. And when his grandmother changed, well... But there was no time to mourn. Whatever he’d done had lingered, and people don’t stop dying. They’d bury them by day, and he’d rebury them by night. Weeks passed before the Brotherhood found him and put an end to his grim vigil. He hasn’t given up on a finding a cure, but these days he’s more careful.

Her grandfather, Thomas Carnacki, was a pioneer in the electrical arts, and put those talents to use as a ghost hunter for the Brotherhood (electricity has a nasty habit of not playing nice with ectoplasm). He passed away recently, leaving his estate to his granddaughter—along with his legacy. Adapting his turn of the century gadgetry for the modern world, Sparky’s put her technomantic talents to work, battling Evil and pwning n00bs for the Brotherhood.

Built from scratch, a genetic cocktail of the best warriors on the planet cloned ten thousand times over. Super soldiers, programmed with the combined combat knowledge of five thousand years’ worth of Hunters and put on ice to await the apocalypse. And then some idiot turned off the wrong switch. Ten thousand identical soldiers waking up, knowing only how to kill monsters, coming face to face with nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine doppelgangers. They found her the next morning—beaten, scarred, and bloody, but alive. The only survivor of project Armageddon. They scrapped the whole thing and stuck her in basic training—a mere formality of course. Don’t worry, there are more contingency plans. Lots more.

Thanks to some quick thinking on Harkadian’s part, a fist through the skull didn’t mark the end of Ned’s tenure with the Brotherhood. He’s back, and he’s better than ever! "Un"Ned is a much more useful asset in the field these days, now that he’s upgradeable with new, more lethal body parts. Not to mention he’s virtually unkillable. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still freaking NED. But now you can throw him at a monster to distract it without feeling too guilty about it. Don’t worry, he loves it! This is his destiny. His undead, patchwork destiny.

Don’t rightly matter if’n he’s punchin’ out drunks in a bar room slugfest, divin’ in the swamp to put a gator in a chokehold, or layin’ the smackdown on some bloodthirsty beastie from the pits of Hell. There ain’t no meanness in it—hell, ol’ Gator ain’t got a mean bone in his body. Like we said, the boy’s just a born brawler. Fell outta his mama with his fists clenched and he ain’t opened ‘em since.

In addition to the print-to-order custom chassis and fancy new slimline Goggles, the Mark IVs feature a wrist-mounted holographic display for mission briefing and intel delivery, and are packed with the latest Ciphertech package, allowing them to process database information at an exponentially faster rate. Despite these improvements, the Mark IVs are not without their critics. Some agents claim their Ciphers have developed behavioral quirks. Some attribute these strange and random behaviors to a simple software glitch, while others view it as the first signs of an emerging intelligence. Are the Ciphers becoming sentient?

Unrelated note, how would one go about clearing the browser history on a Cipher?

He is, at a genetic level, a perfectly normal Douglas fir. There’s no reason he should be walking around, but there he goes. Not knowing what else to do with him, the Brotherhood took him in and tried to find a place for him in the organization. This being a less enlightened time in the Brotherhood’s history, supernatural agents were still facing discrimination and exclusion by their fellow agents. With no chapter willing to take him on, Tree was assigned to Iota. There he has proved to be an expert at infiltration and espionage, and has used these skills to flush out traitors within the Brotherhood. Tree is a master of disguise and camouflage and can disappear in practically any environment. Within reason— I mean, he’s a friggin’ tree after all!

It was—well, used to be—a dude in a sweet-ass duster, clutching a shiny, slightly damaged device that turned out to be a time machine. Kentucky figured this guy wasn’t gonna miss either of those things, and set off on the adventure of several lifetimes. From the prehistoric past to the far-flung future, all of space-time is his playground. He’s never looked back. You play around with history long enough and you’re bound to attract some attention from the Brotherhood.

Others, a god made flesh. There are those who claim to have watched him die, only to have him reappear in a time of great need. Could he be a god? Or is he merely a mortal with incredible skills unlike any other? Only the Purple Ninja can say for sure, but he is not talking. Not about that, at least. He actually talks quite a lot for a supposedly silent assassin.

There is another theory. Some say that there’s a place on Earth that few men have had the honor of seeing. A secluded village, in an unmapped valley, high in the Himalayas. The Dojo Arigato: the secret training center for the Purple Ninja.

Some say he single-handedly saved the world, but Kincaid’s having none of that. He’s always been a team player, which is why it pained him to have to leave the Chapter. The injuries he’d received during the battle were too severe. His days as a Hunter were over.

Today, Kincaid serves the Brotherhood as the North American Regional Director, in addition to his work as the Brotherhood Tribune - defender of diversity, tolerance, and equal rights for all Brotherhood agents. In his time as Tribune, recruitment of supernatural agents, once considered taboo, has become commonplace. His most recent success is the introduction of vampiric field agents in the Brotherhood. As for what’s next, he’s got some ideas. Some crazy ones. The Brotherhood may not be ready for a demonic Demon Hunter, but they’ll get there, and he’ll help them along.
He’s in no rush.