FRANK

 Frank – The Patron Saint of Caffeine and Gasoline

Frank wasn’t born—he was forged in the noise. Somewhere between the screech of a revving engine and the thunder of an overdriven amp, he clawed his way out of the smoke and steel. While Kevin’s job is to jump headfirst into every Army gig Title 32 throws at him, Frank is the one they call when things get loud, greasy, and reckless.

He lives off a steady diet of black coffee and pump gas, the fuel that keeps him wired, wild-eyed, and forever awake. Frank doesn’t sleep—he just paces like a caged engine, waiting for the next riot of sound and speed. His hair? Permanently blown back by the roar of open pipes and jet fuel. His jacket? More patches than leather, each one stitched from nights spent in dive bars, motor pools, and desert highways.

Where Kevin is chaos in uniform, Frank is the rock ’n’ roll outlaw—the roadie who never left, the mechanic who never clocked out, the ghost rider that doesn’t quit. He’s a Motörhead with bones instead of skin, and he exists for one reason: to keep the throttle pinned and the speakers screaming.

Title 32 didn’t hire Frank to work—they hired him to wake the dead.