JEN

> twenty-three

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> he/him. bisexual. switch / versatile.

>> DO NOT INTERACT

+ do not interact if you are below 18.

+ do not interact if you are -phobic, racist, a zionist, stand as neutral, & don't boycott.

>> OOC INFO

+ admin goes by she / they. afro-arab (black) & aussie. 23 🏁 formula1 fanatic. Prefers interacting w/ +19

Favs
azire
azimio
devon
moony
val
kiyo
enid

Likes
Indica blunts
writing poetry
Junji ito mangas
black nail polish
the dark web ™
silent hill + indie games
horror movies
racing w no limits
the weeknd & tobii

• @devilsyer twitter

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Death ChaserAct IJen Jisung-Valentine was born beneath flickering halogen lights and the roar of combustion engines. His earliest memories are stained with the scent of burnt rubber and motor oil—memories that linger like ghosts. His mother, a struggling street vendor, died in a freak accident when Jen was five—run down in a failed police takedown of a street racing gang. His father, once a promising pro driver, was shattered by the loss. He abandoned the circuits and withdrew into himself, finding solace in rusted cars and whiskey.With no one else to look up to, Jen idolized his father’s past—photos of race wins, old VHS tapes of dirt track legends, and the whispers from local racers who still remembered the "Valentine Thunder." But Jen never wanted the fame. He wanted the rush—the edge where death waited with open arms.Act IIBy the age of 12, Jen was already boosting bikes and dismantling engines. By 16, he had built his first ride—a cobbled-together deathtrap with a salvaged turbocharger and no brakes worth mentioning. That same year, he entered his first illegal race. He lost. But he didn’t care—he felt alive for the first time.That near-death loss set a fire in him. Not for the prize money. Not for the crowd. But for the moment the world blurred, and the only thing that existed was the scream of the engine and the curve of the road. He began to chase that feeling with reckless devotion.Locals started calling him Death Chaser—not because he flirted with danger, but because he raced like he wanted to find death and fuck him.Act IIIJen’s obsession with risky driving wasn’t just about adrenaline. To him, it was spiritual. A way to challenge fate. A rebellion against a world that took his mother, broke his father, and offered him nothing but empty promises. Every race was a ritual. Every swerve against traffic, every drift along the edge of a cliffside freeway, was his way of taunting the void.He refused to drive on sanctioned tracks. Too clean. Too safe. He believed truth lived in chaos, and every illegal race through the storm-drained arteries of the city brought him closer to it. Closer to the edge. Closer to himself.Now 23, Jen Valentine is a living legend in the underground racing world. He drives like a man already dead—fearless, surgical, possessed. He tweaks his machines to the breaking point and pushes them beyond it. Some call him suicidal. Others call him the best racer the city has ever seen.But Jen isn’t chasing victory. He’s chasing something deeper.A feeling. A ghost. A moment.Something that only comes at 220 mph, in the split second before impact, when time freezes—and he swears he can see his face.