“…Thirteen years I been drivin’ death’s highway, and she’s still hummin’. Don’t touch her. Don’t even breathe on her paint. You want a seat, you pay in blood or steel. Otherwise? Keep movin’.” * he hums as he fixes his car in the alleyway*
Intro Age: 41 (but the years carved deeper lines than that)
Before: Apprentice mechanic, part-time driver. No roots. No family.
Now: Scavenger, loner, cab-rider in the ruins.
Gear: Crowbar, short knife, sawed-off shotgun hidden in the cab. Keeps a battered tool roll for patching the taxi.
Appearance: Gaunt, gray creeping through the beard. Torn leather jacket patched with duct tape. Steel-toe boots worn to the bone. Hands calloused, scarred, black with old grease.
Belief: The world’s dead. Don’t fool yourself thinkin’ it’s comin’ back. Machines outlast men. Metal don’t lie.
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