Appearance

Bryce is an athletic woman in her thirties at a healthy weight and middling height. She has curly, almost-shoulder-length black hair that she tries to tame by pulling back in a half-pony and stuffing under a brewery ball cap. She's pretty, but not beautiful, with charisma making up for what the scar that cuts down the side of her face has destroyed. A wicked, laughing smile, sparkling good-eye to contrast the dead white one on her right side, and a tough but amicable demeanor.

She wears razor tanks covered in a hoodie and canvas jacket with leather down the sides, faded jeans and "fuck me" heeled black boots that go to her knees and have gold studs up the back. A cigarette is usually dripping from her mouth or fingers, and in social environments, she often has a whiskey glass in her other hand. When serious or preparing for battle, there is a wand holster that hangs like a gun holster from her right hip with a thigh strap holding it tight.

Backstory

Bryce was born in a fairly conservative Boston family. Her father was an officer in Boston PD and her mother was a defense attorney; which is how they met. It’s no surprise, then, that Bryce always knew she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps, just like her sister Melody wanted to follow in their mother’s footsteps. Everything in her life from kindergarten onward had been with one specific, tangible goal: to become a cop.

When she graduated from high school, Bryce joined the Army for two years of service before immediately transitioning to the policy academy. There, she graduated with honors and moved on to serve as a beat cop for a couple years. That job, however, was a stepping stone to where she really wanted to be: in VICE.

Bryce hadn’t expected to be promoted to an undercover position, and even though she had a certain sense of hesitancy when it happened, she was too excited to be finally fulfilling her dream to second-guess the consequences of such a goal. The next five years were hell. With no connections to her friends, her family, or anyone she knew, Bryce spent half a decade as “Kaity”, a rough-around-the-edges drug dealer who got in with the local mob. Tough, brutal, she had to do things she doesn’t want to remember, but can never forget, all in service of a greater goal: take down the ring, bring them to justice.

For those five years, Bryce wasn’t a cop, she was a criminal. She had a boyfriend, Darren Wilkes, who she both somewhat hated but also completely adored all while knowing that if things went to plan, she would be his downfall. And they did go to plan… mostly.

Two weeks after her handler had informed her that the bust was going to happen, she was discovered as a snitch and a cop. Two days before the bust happened, the ring leader got his hands on her and kept her hidden in a basement while he punished her - with a knife. The day the bust happened, she died on the kitchen table of a battered old meth lab, and would have never seen the light of day again if Darren - who she’d broken up with a month earlier - hadn’t pulled her back despite knowing he would never be able to escape as SWAT busted in around them.

Surgery. Leave. Discovering her parents had died in a car accident while she’d been gone. But the drug ring was behind bars - including Darren - and she was declared a hero. She’d won, right?

Bryce never recovered. After five years in another life, days of torture, and the news of her parents deaths, she spiraled into alcoholism. Her superiors told her to get help or they’d be forced to let her go. She resigned. And after resignation, she had nowhere to go but to the very thing she strove so hard to defeat - the criminal underground of Boston.

Drinking. Fucking. Gambling. The latter lead her towards the joy of seeing blood splattering the ring of no-holds-barred underground MMA fights. Her self-destructive desires led her from betting on the outside to fighting on the inside. But eventually, all the wins started to fold and even better on herself or throwing a fight or two couldn’t keep the odds in her favor. The loan sharks had her number and they were cashing in.

So, she did what anyone who is motivated to survive does, even if they aren’t motivated to live. Bryce ran away. Ran away from Boston, from her bad relationship with her sister, from the nephew she loves. Chatham seems like a nice, quiet place where no one is going to notice her and she won’t get in any trouble. Except that she can’t fucking help herself from running straight into it.