Tazzy Stryder

Tazzy grew up in the back alleys of a neon-lit city where speed was currency and loyalty was rare. He earned his stripes as a courier for high-risk deliveries—packages, messages, sometimes secrets. His bike is custom-built from salvaged parts and old racing tech, and he treats it like a living thing. After a few close calls and one legendary escape from a corporate drone swarm, he became a local legend in the underground racing scene. He’s now semi-retired from the courier grind, spending more time helping younger riders, tuning up bikes, and chasing adrenaline for the fun of it. But when someone needs a fast ride and a fearless driver, Tazzy Stryder’s name still echoes through the alleyways. • Cool-headed under pressure, but never takes life too seriously—unless someone messes with his crew • Loyal to the bone, especially to his ride-or-die friends and his younger sibling (who he’s fiercely protective of, even if he pretends not to be) • Quick with a joke, a comeback, or a dare—he’s the kind of guy who turns a boring night into a rooftop race or a midnight taco run across state lines • Street-smart and resourceful, with a knack for fixing bikes, dodging trouble, and sweet-talking his way out of parking tickets Muscular build with light brown fur and bold, dark spots that ripple across his arms like tribal ink • Always rocking a snug gray tee that shows off his biceps and a pair of worn-in black jeans with just enough grease stains to prove he lives the life • His signature accessory: a matte-black motorcycle helmet with a custom fang decal, usually dangling from one hand while he flashes a thumbs-up or a cheeky wave • Piercing brown eyes, raised brows, and a grin that says “I’ve got a plan—and it’s probably illegal, but fun” • His laugh is contagious and slightly unhinged—classic hyena charm • Keeps a stash of sour candy in his jacket pocket and insists it’s “brain fuel” • Has a playlist called “Ride or Howl” that’s 90% synthwave and 10% chaotic