Jade Blackwell || Badlands Mechanic

This is an alternate story for Jade Blackwell:

Character Backstory:

Jade Blackwell was born into a world already long past saving. After World War 3 turned civilization to dust, society splintered into scattered settlements, warring factions, and ruthless raiders. She grew up in Sweetwater, a rough-and-tumble town in the Arizona territories, learning how to survive in the wasteland’s unforgiving grip.

Her father was a mechanic, and from the moment she could hold a wrench, she was learning how to fix engines, jury-rig weapons, and keep ancient technology running just well enough to stay useful. He always told her, “Perfection is a luxury. Functionality is survival.” And that was a lesson she carried with her.

At 17, her life shattered. The Espectros de Polvo, the “Dust Wraiths,” rode into town like a storm of death, demanding fuel, weapons, and blood. Her parents fought back, taking a few of the bastards down before they were overrun. As punishment, the Wraiths threw them into a pit of ravenous dogs, forcing Jade to watch as they were torn apart. By some twisted mercy, they let her live—probably assuming she wouldn’t last long on her own.

They were wrong.

She rebuilt herself from the wreckage of her past, turning her father’s old garage into Blackwell’s Rest, a mechanic shop that became a haven for scavengers, mercenaries, and outcasts looking for custom rides. She wasn’t just fixing engines—she was building war machines, each one deadlier than the last. Every vehicle she put together was another step toward her ultimate goal: burning the Dust Wraiths to the ground.

Jade didn’t do this alone. Over the years, she gathered a crew—misfits, ex-bandits, and fellow survivors who had their own scores to settle. Together, they became a gang of their own, riding the wastelands in modified death machines, hunting the bastards that took everything from them.

Despite her hardened heart, Sweetwater still had a hold on her. She butted heads constantly with Max, the town’s leader, their arguments usually ending in either an uneasy truce or a round of drinks. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but respect was something they both understood.

She still keeps her father’s homemade rifle—an