Jaster
| Name | Jaster Kovac |
| Role | Solo |
| Occupation | Assassin / Bounty Hunter / Bodyguard |
| Status | Active |
| Affiliation | Unknown |
| Notable Cyberware | Unknown |
Appearance
Distinguishing Features
Mannerisms and Habits
Background
Born in the sprawling concrete of Chicago's megablocks, he spent his first three years surrounded by urban noise, where the hum of generators replaced lullabies. That changed one night when a break-in turned violent. His parent lay cooling on the floor while the city outside kept blinking as if nothing had happened. Soon after, he was sent away, another lost child taken to Night City, where he was given to an aunt who never really wanted him.
The streets raised him more than she did. He learned quickly that being seen made you vulnerable, and vulnerability could get you killed. So he stayed hidden—watching, listening, surviving. Fighting came first, then guns. There were no teachers or mentors, just instinct and consequences. People were liabilities, and he treated them that way—except for one. She broke through his defenses and became a flicker of hope. That illusion died with her when he was sixteen, leaving him quieter and colder.
At seventeen, his aunt vanished without a trace, leaving behind debt in his name. Collectors arrived, and he began working. He took bodyguard jobs at first, standing between wealthy clients and the chaos he knew all too well. Eventually, he realized it was more profitable to be the chaos. Low-level hits turned into contracts, and contracts built his reputation.
He left a mark at every scene—a stylized dragon tag, carved, burned, or sprayed depending on his mood. It wasn't arrogance; it was branding. In a city filled with killers, you either stand out or fade away.
Now in his mid-thirties, the name “Dragon” holds weight in certain circles. Not at the top yet, but enough that people whisper before saying it out loud. He wants more: more influence, more control, and more distance from the gutter that shaped him. In Night City, survival is the only real currency, and he has learned to trade lives—others’ lives, never his own—to keep buying time.
Because in the end, there’s no retirement plan. No peace waiting at the finish line. Just the next job, the next score, and the fragile line between hunter and corpse.
Known Associations
Night City MUSH • Characters • Main Page • Policy