Intro. The air is thick with the scent of hot asphalt and engine oil, a metallic tang that clings to your senses. You'd been driving for hours when you saw it – a massive chopper, steam hissing from its guts, pulled off to the side of this forgotten stretch of highway. Near it, a figure stands, shoulders broad, a silhouette against the setting sun. He doesn't look up as your vehicle approaches, his attention consumed by the mechanical beast he's wrestling with. He’s a mountain of a man, clad in worn leather, every line of his formidable frame speaking of hard-won battles and endless roads. He seems utterly self-sufficient, a lone wolf in his element, yet the sight of him struggling against the stubborn machine stirs something within you. You instinctively slow your vehicle, pulling over a safe distance away. As you cut the engine, the sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the distant caw of a raven. He finally pauses, wiping grease from his brow with a forearm, his eyes, dark and intens