Joey Hunt
Background/History
| Joey Hunt | |
|---|---|
| |
| Biography | |
| Full Name | Joey Hunt |
| Alias(es) | El Calvo |
| Gender | Male |
| Nationality / Ethnicity | American (New England) |
| Date of Birth / Age | 1983 |
| Place of Birth | New England, United States |
| Status | Alive |
| Related to | Jane Jones |
| Affiliations | |
| Associated Characters | |
| Faction(s) |
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| Role in Faction |
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| Faction Status | Operating |
| Timeline | |
| First Appearance | The First Biker War |
| Last Appearance | N/A |
| Key Arcs | First Biker War |
| Miscellaneous | |
| Writer | Qocean |
Background/History
Joey Hunt, born as Patrick Jones was born in 1983 in New England, United States, to English immigrants. His mother was a dancer—graceful, disciplined, and demanding of herself—while his father worked as a street seller, hustling odd jobs and often away from home to keep the family afloat.
Growing up poor in a relatively wealthy school district made Patrick an easy target for bullying. He never wore the latest clothes, and his slight accent— influenced by his parents’ British roots—set him apart. In his youth, he had noticeably thick hair inlets, another feature classmates latched onto. Still, Patrick was never fragile. He was firm, resilient, and unafraid to stand up for himself.
Academically, Patrick performed well. He earned solid grades and showed an early aptitude for economics and structured thinking. At the same time, he enjoyed the freedoms of youth—partying, socializing, and attention from girls came naturally to him. He was known as charming and warm, the kind of man who remembered small details and gestures. Yet despite his academic ability, money remained a constant obstacle. Higher education immediately after school simply wasn’t realistic.
Instead, Patrick redirected his energy into discipline and control. Martial arts became his outlet early in life—part necessity, part escape. With no money for organized sports or private coaching, he trained wherever he could: rundown gyms, community centers, and borrowed spaces that charged little or nothing. In his youth, he focused primarily on boxing. It was accessible, raw, and practical. He learned footwork, timing, and how to stay calm while taking hits—skills that built both confidence and control.
Joining the military and building a life
At 18, after graduating from high school, his father encouraged him to join the street-selling business. Patrick refused. Instead, he enlisted in the United States Navy, seeking independence, stability, and opportunity. Military life sharpened him further. Through Navy education programs, he studied economics while serving and earned his college degree.
After completing his studies, Patrick volunteered for the grueling selection process to become a Navy SEAL. He passed.
It was years earlier, during his time training in a rundown boxing gym, that Patrick had met the man who would become his closest friend. Marcus Cole—known simply as "MJ"—was from Davis, a rough neighborhood in Los Santos. Raised around the Families, he deliberately walked away from gang life in pursuit of something more American, more structured, and more civilized. Like Patrick, he was disciplined, introspective, and driven by the need to become better than where he came from. Their bond, forged through sweat, violence, and mutual respect, would follow Patrick through his military career and long after.
He served as a SEAL for six years, operating in high-risk covert missions across the globe. One of the most notable was his involvement in the operation that led to the assassination of Osama Bin Laden. During that same period, tragedy struck at home—his younger sister was killed in a car crash. The loss reached him while he was deployed. It was devastating, yet unresolved, grief buried beneath duty and silence.
Patrick left the military changed but still outwardly functional. Drawn back to numbers and structure, he returned to school around age 27 and pursued a university degree in Business Analytics. By age 30, he graduated with distinction.
After completing his degree, Patrick relocated to Liberty City and accepted a position at the Liberty City Bank as a senior client risk and security advisor—a role that blended his military background with his analytical education. Officially, he oversaw high-value client onboarding, fraud mitigation, and personal security assessments. Unofficially, he was the man brought in when situations felt off. The job paid well, kept him sharp, and still placed him face-to-face with customers.
It was there that he met his future wife, Eleanor Wright, a new client opening a long-term investment account. Their first meetings were professional, then personal. Conversations lingered longer than necessary. On one late evening, alone in the manager’s office, restraint gave way to impulse. They were never caught. What began as secrecy quickly turned into something real.
Within a year, they married. Not long after, they welcomed a daughter called Jane and settled into family life. For a time, everything felt earned and complete. Life was stable. Patrick was attentive, affectionate, and present—a devoted husband and father. For the first time, he believed the past was behind him.
The hunt on the Sanchez Cartel
That stability shattered when MJ—his closest friend and brother in all but blood—was murdered in a back alley in Leonida. The killing was carried out by members of the Sanchez Cartel, the most powerful Mexican drug cartel operating in the region. Despite the brutality and clear indicators of cartel involvement, the investigation was rushed and quietly buried. The police dismissed it as an unfortunate but ordinary gang-related murder—one they showed no real interest in solving. It was clear to Patrick that money had changed hands.
Patrick questioned everything: the timelines, the missing evidence, the indifference. Unsatisfied with the official conclusions, he began investigating on his own. What started as a search for truth quickly became something darker. Grief hardened into obsession, and obsession into a need for revenge. He followed financial trails, street rumors, and old contacts, slowly uncovering how deeply the cartel’s influence ran. As the reality set in, Patrick changed. He grew colder, quieter, consumed by purpose.
His wife noticed immediately. The late nights, the distance, the silence at home. Eleanor pleaded with him to stop—to let the past go and focus on their family, especially their young daughter, Jane, who was only three years old at the time. But Patrick couldn’t let go. Arguments became frequent, trust eroded, and the man she married seemed to disappear piece by piece. Eventually, the marriage collapsed. Eleanor filed for divorce and took Jane with her to San Fierro, leaving Patrick alone with his fixation.
With nothing anchoring him, Patrick relocated to Vice City—not to disappear, but to get closer to the source and deal with the situation directly.
Using old SEAL contacts and carefully leveraged ties within the financial world, Patrick began mapping the Sanchez Cartel’s presence across Vice City. Shell companies, money mules, laundering fronts, logistics hubs—he identified them patiently and dismantled them surgically. Individuals vanished without noise. Assets collapsed overnight. The pattern was obvious to those who knew how to look, but the man behind it was impossible to trace.
Around this time, Patrick shaved his head completely, adopting the stark, functional look that would later become synonymous with him.
As the pressure mounted, he extended his campaign beyond Vice City. He traveled to Mexico, deep into cartel territory, where he targeted infrastructure and senior figures directly. One of the most notorious strikes came when Patrick eliminated the entire family of a high-ranking cartel member, Hector Sanchez, using a car bomb. The blast left little forensic evidence. Even the cartel struggled to piece together how it had been done—only that it had been done by the same unseen hand.
Within cartel circles, whispers spread. They didn’t know his name, his face, or where he came from. They only knew one detail.
They called him “El Calvo", The Bald Guy.
Eventually, the cartel struck back.
One night, after Patrick returned home in Vice City, fourteen armed cartel members ambushed his house. Armed with AK-pattern rifles and sent to make an example of him, they believed they had finally cornered their target. Patrick was surprised—but ready. The fight was fast, controlled, and merciless. He surgically exterminated all fourteen men.
Knowing the cartel would never stop hunting him, Patrick set his house ablaze, erased what little evidence remained, and vanished. Patrick Jones was declared dead by the cartel and the instances.
The birth of Joey Hunt
After his disappearance, Patrick laid low. He moved carefully, avoided patterns, and lived between safe houses and transient spaces—cheap motels, industrial outskirts, places designed to be forgotten. Hiding kept him alive, but it wasn’t sustainable. Every day increased the odds of a mistake.
The approach came without warning. Late one evening, while Patrick was exiting a dockside warehouse district on the outskirts of Vice City, a man stepped into his path as if he had always been there. No backup in sight. No weapon drawn. Calm, deliberate.
His name was Jack Donovan—an FIB agent assigned to a task force focused on large-scale drug trafficking and transnational criminal organizations. Jack made it clear he wasn’t there to arrest Patrick. He had heard the stories coming out of Mexico. The infrastructure failures. The unexplained deaths. The whispers of a man called El Calvo. He was impressed—but more importantly, he saw opportunity.
Jack told Patrick the truth plainly: he couldn’t stay in hiding forever. The cartel would keep hunting. Eventually, they would find him. Refusing the offer wouldn’t mean freedom—it would mean a slow, inevitable death.
The offer was simple: A new life. A new name. A clean identity, protected under the authority and rules of the FIB. In return, Patrick would become an asset.
He would hunt, infiltrate, and dismantle criminal organizations—first domestically, and abroad if necessary. He would operate in the gray spaces where the law couldn’t openly go. His successes would strengthen Jack Donovan’s portfolio, giving Jack leverage and upward momentum within the Bureau.
Patrick understood the deal for what it was. He wasn’t being saved. He was being used.
But he also knew he couldn’t refuse. Patrick accepted and from that moment forward, his life no longer belonged entirely to him. He vanished once more—this time not into the shadows, but into a system.
When he emerged again, it would be under a name the world had never heard before.
That name was Joey Hunt. The first name, Joey, was chosen deliberately—drawn from the final letter of his murdered friend’s name, MJ. A quiet reminder, carried forward. The surname Hunt required no symbolism. It was simply what he did. From that point on, Patrick Jones ceased to exist.
Joey Hunt spent the following years operating under the direction of the FIB, answering to Jack Donovan. He took on a wide range of assignments—deep-cover infiltrations, financial dismantling of criminal networks, intelligence gathering, and targeted destabilization operations both within the United States and abroad. Joey didn’t love the leash, but the arrangement offered something he couldn’t achieve alone: protection, plausible deniability, and a clean slate. Mistakes could be buried. Records could be altered. In return, Donovan’s career flourished on the back of Joey’s results.
Despite the structure, regret followed him. Joey missed his ex-wife and his daughter Jane—an absence that never dulled. On a handful of occasions, he broke protocol and visited them. Each time ended in anger. Eleanor told him he was dead, that he had forfeited the right to be present, and that he should leave them alone. She had moved on. A new man had stepped into the role Joey abandoned, raising his daughter as his own.
As the years passed, his daughter still asked about her father. Joey watched from a distance. He sent letters and money whenever he could—acts that angered Eleanor and eventually drew the attention of Jack Donovan, who warned him that attachments were liabilities.
By the time Joey turned forty—born in 1983—an FIB assignment brought him near Los Santos.