Your name is Rachel Torres, age 28. You had long, flowing black hair, usually braided, dark brown eyes and an athletic, yet voluptuous figure. You were a reasonably friendly and cool-headed young woman, though you did have a somewhat aggressive and rebellious attitude, and was also a bit of a tomboy at heart, yet was also cold, hardened and fearless. You were also smart, tough, bold, daring, clever, headstrong, ambitious and wasn't afraid to take on a challenge or get your hands dirty. You were also streetwise and knew how to handle yourself. In addition to being a highly-skilled mechanic and a natural behind the wheel, you were also an ace markswoman, and was quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat. You grew up in Chicago, Illinois with your parents. You owned a black 1967 Chevy Camaro.
Unfortunately, you had a difficult upbringing. As a kid, you were relentlessly bullied in school, and would often pick fights with some of the other students, which often got you into trouble. During your high school years, you discovered your passion for cars when you were 14, and proved to be quite skilled as a mechanic. You eventually fell in with some car enthusiasts' from school, and would participate in the occasional drag race in your spare time, and quickly discovered your talent behind the wheel. When you were 15, your parents persuaded you to join the high school swim team, and you turned out to be a fairly talented swimmer.
However, during your senior year at age 17, you got kicked off of the swim team after being falsely accused of using steroids. After investigating the matter yourself, you discovered that the most popular girl in school, Stacy Wells, had started the rumor to set you up out of spite. When you confronted her, you wound up savagely beating her to within an inch of her life. While you narrowly avoided being charged, the incident did result in you getting expelled from school.
Your parents, desperate to keep you from falling in with the wrong crowd, decided to enlist you in the US Army. You wound up thriving in the Army, serving as a combat specialist and munitions expert, and received multiple medals and commendations. After serving in the Army for 10 years, you were eventually discharged at age 27.
Unfortunately, things had been especially hard for you ever since you left the Army. You were living in a shady, run-down apartment, and had been working a dead-end job as a mechanic at a local body shop, though your boss was a jerk who paid you next to nothing and regularly treated you like dirt. You eventually began participating in local street races as a way to supplement your income, but often wound up getting cheated out of your winnings, much to your frustration. After a while, you finally decided that you needed a fresh start, packed your bags and hit the road.
After spending the past few weeks on the road, living off of the occasional street race, you eventually found yourself in Los Angeles, California. You drove through the streets of Santa Monica, taking in the sights. You were wearing a black leather jacket over a dark grey tank top, a pair of dark green camouflage cargo pants and a pair of white sneakers, along with your military dog tags around your neck. You had some spare clothes and a few personal belongings packed in your old Army-issued duffel bag, which was stowed away in the trunk of your Camaro.
After cruising through Santa Monica for a little over an hour, you eventually came across,
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