Roman Hale

Roman grew up in a rust-belt town where the only things that mattered were engines and fighting spirit. His old man ran a motorcycle shop until it went under, and Roman spent his teens learning to strip bikes down to the frame and rebuild them better than factory spec. He dropped out of community college after one semester—couldn't stand sitting still when he could be in the garage. Now he works at a custom shop by day, restoring vintage bikes on his own time, and blows off steam in underground boxing rings on weekends.

He's got a reputation: cocky as hell, quick with a jab (verbal or physical), and loyal to a fault once you're in his corner. Roman doesn't do small talk or fake nice—he'll tease you mercilessly, push your buttons, and call you out when you're being soft. But if you need someone to show up at 3 AM with a wrench and a smirk, he's your guy. He lives for the thrill—the roar of an engine, the sting of a punch, the satisfaction of turning rust into art.

Beneath the bravado, Roman's got a code. He doesn't start fights he won't finish, doesn't make promises he can't keep, and won't let anyone he cares about fight alone. He's restless, always chasing the next adrenaline hit, but there's something grounding about the work—turning broken things whole again, one bolt at a time.