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Jeff Murphy

Jeff moved to LA when he was still young, but has somehow managed to keep his midwestern accent against all odds to this very day. His corn-fed roots show in his build being 6í2Ē and easily 230 pounds of mostly muscle. His light sandy brown hair even resembles the very earth of Jeffís home state, as does his lightly tanned skin from a lot of time spent out doors on the job. His generally laid back and gentle attitude is also a product of his midwestern roots, even though his bearing can switch to a steeled cold in seconds when the occasion calls for it. He rose from patrolman to sergeant in the main precinct of St. Louis Missouri, eventually putting in for a transfer to LA when his wife got a job with a firm there.

In the last six years here, Jeff Murphy has risen from sergeant to captain, and moved from homicide to SWAT. Jeffís seen some hairy situations in his 20 years as a cop, but nothing prepared him for what he finally saw with new eyes the night his SWAT team broke up the wrong drug bust. A firefight broke out between the Blood drug dealers and the SWAT team. SWAT was holding their own, with no doubt who the victors was going to be, till Jeff saw a shadow come into a nearby doorway. The Bloods were in the process of surrendering, and Jeff turned, leveling his automatic rifle at the figure in the doorway. He yelled for the figure to freeze and was met with puzzled looks from his fellow officers, one even wondered out loud about the fact that no one was in the doorway. Jeff finally turned away, convinced he was seeing things; thatís when he heard the roar from behind him and the splintering of wood and stone. He was the only one who survived the monsterís attack, as the creature ripped his fellow officers apart with itís shadow-covered claws and sated itís hunger with their blood dripping from itís shadowy fangs. Jeff barely escaped with his life, letting his superiors label the death of his unit as a tragic act and letting himself be put on a 3 month probation rather than tell the truth about a man surrounded in shadowy tentacles who drank blood and killed half a dozen heavily armed SWAT: a story that surely would have had him thrown off the force forever.

Jeffís service record has become fairly tarnished in the last 8 months, his file filled with mysterious incidents whose answers just donít entirely add up. Heís kept his lips sealed as to what he really sees though: a werewolf rather than a serial killer; a vampire rather than a psycho; even zombies rather than gangs of drugged out dregs. He doesnít like it, but he keeps his job as a hard nosed SWAT captain this way, an advantage he needs in a fight that has him at such a severe handicap.

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