Russell McCoy was born in Daytona Beach, Florida, the middle child to his young-yet-weary mother Haley and similarly exhausted father James. His family could be called “gentrified white trash” - nobody in his household tried to buy meth in front of Payday loan outlets, but the McCoys never enjoyed the golf-course margaritas, beach house style life of some of their richer ‘friends”. They were always in a sort of uneasy limbo: his father worked frequently transitory positions at fishing equipment stores across the state, with his mother picking up odd jobs in whatever town or city came up along the road. Unlike many other parents of their status, though, they treated their 3 children with warmth, despite coming home from their frustrating jobs in the humid air. Russell and his siblings were always the most trusting and honest out of their childhood friend groups, and were quick to make close ties with much of the kids in his questionably-staffed daycare. Yet even with having these emotional bonds readily available, Russell in particular had no problem retaining his identity, and has since stayed fiercely independent even when having plenty of friends to lean on when in need.

From a young age, Russell seemed to be constantly in nature, be it running around and swimming in the sprawling beaches, trying to find new bugs or lizards in the dry scrub brush, or bringing home the occasional tortoise he dragged out of its burrow. And when the streetlights would go out or a house some streets down was robbed, he would often stay glued to their TV into the late hours of the night, watching the exotic sights of the underwater world on nature channels.

It was in the year before graduating middle school that brought the first true shades of a darker reality into Russell’s life. His older sister, Maggie, had been at a seemingly ordinary high school party until she took some sips of a warm beer, and awoke several hours later in the backseat of her very concerned friend’s car, unharmed yet understandably afraid. That moment served as a cynical awakening for Russell, and like a stone into the mirror of his safe and innocent life. At his parent’s urging and his own newfound dissatisfaction with life, he began spending less time outdoors and seeking socialization, and took to trying to learn new skills in the comfort of his home. It was here that Russell started working on and repairing spare parts of his dad’s fishing equipment, simply seeking to pass the hours and calm his restless hands. This desire led to him discovering another one of his passions: guitar - something he became so attached in the coming years to that he often felt like it was a part of his body.

By his sophomore year in highschool, Russell’s grades began to greatly suffer. He would often come in late or skip his later classes to get to the beach earlier, or come home to play guitar or repair some of his dad’s shop equipment. Any psychologist or other “book-smart” person would blamed his frequent moving or socio economic status, but to Russell, the sheen of childlike optimism still clung to the world, and the problems of tomorrow could never affect him today.

During his junior year, his father moved yet again, this time Jacksonville. In his free time that summer and many hours skipped from school, Russell got a diving certification, and quickly became part of the skilled repair divers working under the colossal hulls of carriers and cruisers at the city’s Navy base. Realizing his son’s aptitude for tasks outside of the classroom, his father seeking out jobs for his son at his business and for fishing tours with richer customers. Remarkably, Russell managed to attain barely passing grades at school, perhaps because some of his teachers realized his aptitude for learning skills not taught in class.

Russell’s school woes caught up with him upon graduating high school. He was essentially trapped in state, with community colleges serving as his only prospect for continued learning, and stuck in a select few fields of diving and fishing. He began taking ocean-related courses at the college, all the while taking odd jobs, gigging with bands, and the occasional deep-sea diving job prospect. Classes at the college ended up going well for him, finishing as one of the top in the subject for his class, and with the help of some of the spare change he and his father accumulated, they took out a loan for a decent fishing boat and began making daily trips out onto the water.

In the next years, however, the decades of his father’s hard work began to take a toll on his body. The strength in his arms deteriorated, something which the few doctors cheap enough to see couldn’t pinpoint the cause of. With his father effectively out of work, the McCoys became strapped for cash, and Russell had to become a full time manager of his father’s life works.

What happened next, if you asked Russell, was in no part any of his doing. Many of the magazines written romanticized him as a “treasure hunter of old”, the personification of finding lost treasure. Yet Russell, humble as always, simply tells the tale of a windless day in June, 2052, where he and his crew dropped their fish finder somewhere in between Miami and the Bahamas. Pulling up the feed, they saw the characteristic shimmer of fish scales- except these fish weren’t moving. Donning his scuba, Russell dove down to find the sandy plain littered with gold doubloons.

The discovery of the San Miguel shipwreck turned the McCoy’s simple life into a frenzy, with reporters seemingly living outside their door while many long lost family members showed up to ask for part of the cash. Despite being in US waters, the Spanish government immediately sued for full possession of their colonial treasures, worth almost 2 billion in value, with the Andean nations joining in to seek their share of the Incan gold taken as Spanish colonies. Realizing the lawsuit was expected to last decades, Russell did something most would consider inconceivable with such a large fortune- cut a deal to take a few million for him and his family, and leave the rest to be divided in between the suing governments.

Russell could have easily retired here and lived an ultra comfortable life, but this moment marked a perfect opportunity to open the doors to careers outside his gilded cage in the Sunshine State. He was recruited to join an ultra-selective deep sea diving initiative, training in the then-cutting edge predecessors to the Howard’s CARAPACE suit. The next few years moved in a blur, with Russell feeling the pressure of the demanding training and later the demanding lifestyle of deep-sea diving, travelling across the oceans to repair underwater infrastructure.

It was when he was stationed on a Norwegian oil platform that Russell’s patience with a frantic modern life was seemingly running out. While he angrily mused of becoming Amish in the frigid rain, he failed to notice the arrival of a UN helicopter and the well dressed man who stepped out of him. That man, Russell would soon learn, was the spokesperson for the UN Environment board, seeking for Russell to join a talented crew aboard a cutting edge research vessel. Eager to finally help the environment with his skills, and arguably one of the most qualified for his position as lead diver, he boarded the helicopter bound for Brussels to new horizons.