Jeff was born and raised on the Imperial world known as Scarif. He was born to parents working in a leisure town on one of the many inhabited archipelagos in the northern hemisphere. The family business of fishing, cooking, and restaurant ownership in support of the local Imperial garrison had been passed down several generations. The restaurant was a favorite amongst the locals, widely known for several exquisite seafood dishes made fresh from the various "catches of the day".
Jeff learned the family business, and became a decent fisherman and cook. However, he quietly longed for another path. From an early age, he had a keen interest in flight and all things that flew. As a young boy, he loved to venture to the beaches surrounding his home and watch the comings and goings of the many craft, civilian and military, serving the area. He went through the motions to support his family, working in the restaurant after school and sometimes on weekends as his studies allowed, but never really demonstrated an obvious passion.
Jeff's mother and father saw the lack of enthusiasm, and while it disappointed them, they loved their son too much to force him into something he clearly wasn't passionate about. The finances were always a bit tight, and they could never afford to send Jeff to any kind of flight school, but cobbled enough money together and called in a favor from an Imperial officer who was a regular patron at the restaurant, to buy Jeff an older model flight simulator. Jeff loved this gift so much he could barely be pried from it, sometimes sacrificing school, sleep, and restaurant duties to teach himself how to fly and lose himself in the experience.
Somewhat regretful, Jeff's father frequently had to pull him kicking and screaming from his new found sim addiction and insist he return to the world and help his family. Resentful, Jeff always did the bare minimum, somehow graduating school and continuing to help his family with the never ending grind of life in a small business. Little did Jeff's mother and father know, somewhere on a simulated combat mission, he had made the decision to join the Imperial Navy.
The day after his 18th birthday, Jeff hiked off on his own, under the guise of shopping for fresh produce in the local City market, and found the local Imperial garrison recruiting office and applied. He never told his family. A week or so after his interview and testing at the recruiting office, he received his acceptance offer, which came as a severe shock to his parents. There was a heated discussion, which degenerated into a screaming fight, which turned into Jeff packing his bags in a fit of rage and running off from home.
Jeff was never able to speak with or see his family again after this fateful day, due to the storm that eventually overcame Scarif.
Life was tough in the Imperial Navy, Jeff barely made it through boot camp. Somewhere along the path he developed a resilience and toughness which allowed him to continue into flight school, and eventually getting into the cockpit of a real TIE Fighter. Jeff was assigned to one of the squadrons that was based at the space station forming the shield gate that protected Scarif. By this time the tropical world had evolved into a core asset of the Imperial Navy and Jeff was proud to be one of those protecting it.
Two years into his life as a fighter pilot in the Imperial Navy, on the day that the fateful Battle of Scarif erupted, Jeff had sudden pangs of guilt about how things had been left with his mother and father. He vowed to try to reach out to them on his next round of leave. Jeff had evolved into a valued leader in his squadron, becoming an excellent trainer and gifted in explaining the components, systems, and tactics of just about every Imperial craft. He was supposed to take a flight of cadets for gunnery training when the klaxons sounded as the Rebel fleet dropped out of hyperspace. Thrown into battle, Jeff and his comrades waded in against the Rebels and stood their own to the best of their ability. Many of his good friends were lost in the action that day.
Jeff never really formed an opinion about what the Empire was, or what it did. Scarif's secrets were far above his pay grade. The training and conditioning was strong, and his pure joy of flying even stronger, that he rarely thought deeply about any particular mission or orders. This started to change as he first watched the Death Star's surprise exit from hyperspace, followed by the destruction caused by the now infamous low power laser blast. The blast triggered immediate destruction which wiped out a good portion of the northern hemisphere, his family included. Jeff watched horrified in real time. He was distracted to the point of tragedy, losing his flight and sustaining heavy damage to his TIE Fighter. Only Lord Vader's arrival in the Star Destroyer Devastator saved him. The Devastator made short work of the then exhausted Rebel fleet and the remnants of Jeff's squadron were able to withdraw to support ships that arrived in the Devastator's wake.
To say the Imperial forces were left in chaos after the battle was an understatement. Jeff found himself aboard a nameless support ship surrounded by crew he didn't know. In a haze of rapid fire decisions and luck he still can't quite explain to this day, he stole a transport and just ran. The Imperials never came looking for a random pilot and Jeff was able to fade away into the lawlessness of the Outer Rim. He kept a low profile for many years, taking random dead end jobs, doing good deeds, questionable deeds, whatever was needed to stay alive. After nearly 3 years of running around and in a constant state of worry for his life, he decided to make a change. The first step was to return to Scarif. He'd heard things, whispers and rumors, but felt the need to see it.
What he saw when he eventually made it back rocked him to the core. A slow motion environmental catastrophe, combined with strip mining, left his beloved home a dead husk. The Empire abandoned Scarif after pillaging what was left. He hung in orbit for hours, trying to process the magnitude of what was below. He felt somehow dirty, like he'd contributed to the vile act that took away everything.
Eventually shaking himself out of the stupor and memories of his childhood, he decided he needed to take action. Jeff was determined to chart a new course with the rest of his life and atone for his time with the entity that destroyed his beloved home. He faded back into the relative anonymity of the Outer Rim, but this time seeking contact with the Rebel Alliance, whom he eventually found. He was able to find his way into a training squadron and resume his life as a pilot, choosing the callsign "Blixus" in memory of the sea creatures and lost oceans of his home.