Wind blustered through the open window of the white Ford E450 van, bringing with it the sweet scent of rain washed nature and the blossoming flowers of the spring. The vehicle was somewhat large and ungainly, an older model van mated to the large square box of what was once an electrician's mobile workshop, featuring five opening compartments per side to allow access to regularly stowed equipment. The sides of the E450 were coated in a gradient of grey, while the rear, side-swinging doors wore a fairly uniform slathering of grit and grime from the long trek it had made to be here. Behind the van, on a lightweight aluminum trailer sat a same year Grand Vitara, an older mid-size SUV, now fitted with a mild lift, more aggressive tires, a sturdy welded steel front bumper, and a roofrack that extended over the windshield slightly. The added gear was mostly in black, contrasting pleasantly with the two-tone Green and Silver paint of the off-road vehicle.

Inside the cab of the cab of the van, sat behind the wheel was Aulay Sokol, a rather stocky young man of five foot-seven, yet weighing over a hundred and ninety pounds. His thin auburn hair on the top of his head seemed to be more than compensated by the formidable beard he wore, a thick and unruly thing that was several shades of red lighter than the rest of his hair. Thick musculature braced his neck, leading to his broad shoulders and barrel chest. He wore a simple grey t-shirt that exposed his thick forearms buried under their own coat of thick hair, a pair of jeans and some well build, and long used, handmade leather boots, made of un-dyed cowhide, still soft and supple, but creased, and mottled with stains both obvious and subtle. With his left arm resting on the window ledge of the door, he steered the truck with his right, listening a mixture of folk music and rock coming from the aftermarket player.

Part of him found it odd, that just over two years ago, he had been at home in Alaska, never really used a computer, driven a vehicle, or even used many electric "things." His exposure to electricity and the modern world were through brief visits to Kenai, and when the Ranger's needed his help locating plane crashes, or lost hikers. It was to the point he was more comfortable around helicopters than he was around cars and trucks when he left home on the FBI's dime. The next two years had been a brutal crash course in "modernizing" the Alaskan Primative; from computers to cars and trucks, to cell phones and microwaves. Except the real purpose had been to train him as a marksman. Using his ability to see energy sources via the radiation they emitted, enabled him to make the shot that no other marksman could: Through blind walls where the criminal thought themselves safe. He was also trained in the means of relaying information to others, so they could be informed of a threat they couldn't see. 

Then came the last mission, the fifth after his "Graduation" from the FBI school, when he was approached by two men whom he recognized as Heroes from the news reports, and the information offered by the FBI. The option was simple, join them and help a team stop more than what the FBI could, pooling his ability and training with other empowered people, or stay and make less of an impact.

It took him a week to decide, before he packed what he needed from his apartment back in Virginia, and headed for Metro City.