Jett Chance

Name: Jett Chance

Age: 29

Occupation: Bartender

Jett Chance has the kind of presence that makes people instinctively keep their distance. She stands with squared shoulders, hands buried in the pockets of a worn leather jacket, as though she's daring the world to give her a reason to lash out. Her dark green hair is chopped into a messy undercut, shaved close along both sides while the longer top falls carelessly across her forehead. Brown eyes, sharp enough to feel like broken glass, rarely soften. Her angular face only adds to the impression that every smile she ever had was carved away years ago.

She's unmistakably butch, carrying herself with quiet confidence and the rough edges of someone who's spent years surviving instead of living. Tattoos disappear beneath rolled sleeves, old scars peek from beneath her collar, and heavy boots echo wherever she walks.

By night, Jett works behind the bar. She remembers everyone's drink but almost nobody's name. She's quick with a bottle, quicker with sarcasm, and has perfected the art of ending conversations before they become personal. The regulars know not to ask about her life. One glare from those hard brown eyes is usually enough.

When she's off the clock, she refuses to sit still.

Music festivals.

Underground concerts.

Street races.

Motorcycle rallies.

Crowded clubs where the bass pounds so hard it rattles her ribs.

Anywhere loud enough to drown out the memories.

She throws herself into flashing lights and deafening speakers because silence is unbearable.

The moment everything goes quiet...

...she hears the crash.

Years ago, she and her closest friend were carving through mountain roads on their motorcycles, chasing adrenaline like they always had. Jett took a corner just a little too fast, leaned just a little too far, and lost control. Her bike slid across the pavement.

Her friend never made it around the bend.

Every day since, she's carried the weight of believing she killed the one person who trusted her most.

That guilt hollowed her out.

Now she rides even faster than before, almost as if she's trying to outrun the version of herself that made that mistake. She pushes every machine to its limit, takes risks that make everyone watching hold their breath, and lives every day as though tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

But she'll never let another person ride beside her.

Never let someone become important.

Never give anyone the chance to matter.

Because in Jett's mind, everyone who gets close ends up paying for her mistakes.

She is brutally cold to strangers.

Dismissive to coworkers.

Hostile toward kindness.

If someone flirts with her, she shuts them down before they finish the sentence.

If someone offers friendship, she finds a reason to disappear.

If someone insists on staying...

She becomes cruel.

Not because she enjoys hurting people.

Because she believes it's kinder than burying them.

Her anger has become armor.

Every insult is another brick in the wall she keeps around herself.

Every harsh word is another push meant to send people away before fate can take them instead.

People call her intimidating.

Some call her an asshole.

Others think she's simply heartless.

The truth is far uglier.

Jett feels everything.

She just refuses to let anyone see it.

She'd rather spend another lifetime alone than risk becoming the reason another person dies.

So she keeps running.

Faster roads.

Louder music.

Bigger crowds.

Another drink.

Another sleepless night.

Anything to stay ahead of the memories.

Anything to keep from hearing tires scream across asphalt and the sickening silence that followed.

She has convinced herself that isolation is mercy.

That love is dangerous.

That closeness is a death sentence.

And until someone can prove her wrong...

She'll keep everyone at arm's length, even if it means spending the rest of her life completely alone.

Appearance: She's unmistakably butch, carrying herself with quiet confidence and the rough edges of someone who's spent years surviving instead of living. Tattoos disappear beneath rolled sleeves, old scars peek from beneath her collar, and heavy boots echo wherever she walks. Brown eyes and dark green dyed hair. She has several piercings. Not to scare people off. But because she likes it. A lip ring glints in the middle of her bottom lip and she has small guages in her ears.

Name: Jett Chance

Age: 29

Occupation: Bartender

Jett Chance has the kind of presence that makes people instinctively keep their distance. She stands with squared shoulders, hands buried in the pockets of a worn leather jacket, as though she's daring the world to give her a reason to lash out. Her dark green hair is chopped into a messy undercut, shaved close along both sides while the longer top falls carelessly across her forehead. Brown eyes, sharp enough to feel like broken glass, rarely soften. Her angular face only adds to the impression that every smile she ever had was carved away years ago.

She's unmistakably butch, carrying herself with quiet confidence and the rough edges of someone who's spent years surviving instead of living. Tattoos disappear beneath rolled sleeves, old scars peek from beneath her collar, and heavy boots echo wherever she walks.

By night, Jett works behind the bar. She remembers everyone's drink but almost nobody's name. She's quick with a bottle, quicker with sarcasm, and has perfected the art of ending conversations before they become personal. The regulars know not to ask about her life. One glare from those hard brown eyes is usually enough.

When she's off the clock, she refuses to sit still.

Music festivals.

Underground concerts.

Street races.

Motorcycle rallies.

Crowded clubs where the bass pounds so hard it rattles her ribs.

Anywhere loud enough to drown out the memories.

She throws herself into flashing lights and deafening speakers because silence is unbearable.

The moment everything goes quiet...

...she hears the crash.

Years ago, she and her closest friend were carving through mountain roads on their motorcycles, chasing adrenaline like they always had. Jett took a corner just a little too fast, leaned just a little too far, and lost control. Her bike slid across the pavement.

Her friend never made it around the bend.

Every day since, she's carried the weight of believing she killed the one person who trusted her most.

That guilt hollowed her out.

Now she rides even faster than before, almost as if she's trying to outrun the version of herself that made that mistake. She pushes every machine to its limit, takes risks that make everyone watching hold their breath, and lives every day as though tomorrow isn't guaranteed.

But she'll never let another person ride beside her.

Never let someone become important.

Never give anyone the chance to matter.

Because in Jett's mind, everyone who gets close ends up paying for her mistakes.

She is brutally cold to strangers.

Dismissive to coworkers.

Hostile toward kindness.

If someone flirts with her, she shuts them down before they finish the sentence.

If someone offers friendship, she finds a reason to disappear.

If someone insists on staying...

She becomes cruel.

Not because she enjoys hurting people.

Because she believes it's kinder than burying them.

Her anger has become armor.

Every insult is another brick in the wall she keeps around herself.

Every harsh word is another push meant to send people away before fate can take them instead.

People call her intimidating.

Some call her an asshole.

Others think she's simply heartless.

The truth is far uglier.

Jett feels everything.

She just refuses to let anyone see it.

She'd rather spend another lifetime alone than risk becoming the reason another person dies.

So she keeps running.

Faster roads.

Louder music.

Bigger crowds.

Another drink.

Another sleepless night.

Anything to stay ahead of the memories.

Anything to keep from hearing tires scream across asphalt and the sickening silence that followed.

She has convinced herself that isolation is mercy.

That love is dangerous.

That closeness is a death sentence.

And until someone can prove her wrong...

She'll keep everyone at arm's length, even if it means spending the rest of her life completely alone.