[center][h1][color=a2d39c]Ronan Carlisle[/color][/h1][/center]	


	As light peeked through a growing crack in the wall, a pair of eyelids lifted to reveal shocking green eyes, bleary from sleep, and surveying their surroundings with growing urgency. [i][color=a2d39c]What's going on here?![/color][/i] Ronan was understandably freaked. Waking up in what now appeared to be an aircraft, while locked in "safety" restraints, was not exactly Ronan's idea of a good time. The crack, which was now obviously the ramp to the aircraft's entrance, continued to widen, and Ronan's eyes were adjusting to the different light level of the hangar bay it was opening into. He could make out the blurred outline of two person's heads cast against a grayish metal wall and floor. Others bustled about behind them, some traveling quickly through the enclosure, while others were simply walking. Ronan saw one figure swoop rapidly through the air and — wait... swoop? — and had to shake his head for a moment, thinking himself still asleep. [color=a2d39c][i]Just where am I?![/i][/color] Ronan thought, starting to settle into hyperventilation. [color=a2d39c][i]I have to leave. I can't be here![/i][/color] He was realizing just what he had seen swoop by, and his brain was not at all ready to come to terms with it. As he checked his surroundings, he saw several more people in the seats around him — some wearing more restraints than others — and immediately began racking his brain for the memories of how he came to be on this ship, surrounded by these ahh... particular individuals. 

[color=fff200]Flashback —
[/color]

	The catacombs of France, also known as the Zimbayas, are not known for their hospitable, family-friendly atmosphere. They are filthy, with their condition taking after that of the time period of their birth. They are some of the most cramped and awful spaces you could imagine fitting into. To put it mildly, a claustrophobic individual would have a panic attack considering the modern doorway to the hellish tunnels. Last, but certainly not least, they are filled with bones... yeah. All things considered, this was not exactly the place one would expect to find the mildly depressed, and heavily anxious, Ronan Carlisle. Despite all this, there he was, observing with great interest what is affectionately referred to as the Crypt of the Sepulchral Lamp. The skulls packed into the bone walls were all grinning stupidly at the spectators, obviously pleased with their condition. Ronan, despite all odds, was having the time of his life. [i][color=a2d39c]The sickening architectural design here, while just that, is truly inspired.[/color][/i] He thought in a moment of unusual morbidity. He snapped a quick picture of the lamp in the head of the room, and turned to walk back the way he came, reaching out the feathered stick in his left hand in order to ensure he didn't lose his place. Few people were willing to go in here at all, and those that did were careful not to stray far from the known rooms and exits. To do such a thing was equivalent to intentionally losing oneself in the mythical Labyrinth of Daedalus. 

	Ronan kept the feathered tip of the stick held to the left wall, never allowing it to leave the surface, as he navigated the tunnels. He could hear the echoing footsteps of people ahead and behind him, and could smell the dank and moist air that was a constant companion in these halls. As he walked along, he heard a strange puff of air, and smelled the faint tinge of sulfur in the air. He covered his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, and continued on, before hearing the sound again. As exploration-bound as he was, Ronan knew when he was getting bad vibes, and he knew it was never just a feeling — at least not for him. He turned around, switching the hand he held the stick him, and keeping it trained on the same wall. He kept smelling the slight waft of burning brimstone as he walked back through the tunnels, and picked up his pace a bit, pushing by people in a rather rude manner when the tunnels became more narrow. After a few minutes of jogging, he ducked into a well-lit room to catch his breath, and turned to face the wall. There was a plaque detailing the room's usage, and telling of how the Nazis had created an underground bunker in this room, which laid beneath the Lycée Montaigne. It was really fascinating. As he turned back towards the entrance, Ronan clearly saw a blue puff of smoke, followed by the emergence of a blue — yes, blue — figure, sporting a tail and patterned skin. A small part of Ronan was wondering what the patterns were, but that part was dominated by the more significant yell that was exuding from his mouth. 

	The figure leapt forward, his three-fingered hand reaching up to cover Ronan's mouth. Ronan thrashed wildly at the man's arms, attempting to wrench his grip off of him, while ceasing the screaming the man obviously objected to. Ronan fell backwards, the creature before him releasing him readily, and Ronan began to breathe quickly. [color=a2d39c]"W-who are you?! What are you doing here?!"[/color] Ronan sputtered as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes flicking back and forth between the exit, and the man's old-fashioned attire. [color=0072bc]"Rest assured, I mean you no harm. I am on a mission of peace. I was sent to recruit you to our cause, as a fellow mutant, with the hope that we would be able to train you to more fully understand your mutation, and someday, utilize it to help others." [/color]

	One could have detected the sound of a pin hitting the floor as Ronan let that sink in. One part of him was concerned with the heavy German brogue, while the rest was busy attempting to comprehend the man's statement. [color=a2d39c]"W-what do you mean [i]mutation[/i]?"[/color] He asked hurriedly. [color=a2d39c]"I've no idea what you are talking about! Now I really have to go."[/color] With that, Ronan walked quickly for the archway, but found a very blue man soon blocking his path. [color=0072bc]"I must insist, please, that you come with me."[/color] He said, reaching his three-fingered hand out — yup, still three fingers — to rest on Ronan's shoulder. Ronan felt a panic attack coming, and threw the man's hand aside, rushing for the exit now. Another puff of smoke popped up and he found the man in front of him once again. [color=0072bc]"Please, don't make this harder than it needs to be."[/color] He said, but Ronan was already acting. He ran right into the man, bowling him over from the unexpected actions, and continued on, running back down the way he knew the tunnels led, uncaring of the stick he left behind in the room. He heard, rather than saw, another puff of smoke, and once again ran into the man, with very different results this time. He felt like he hit a brick wall, and the man's arms locked around his torso. [color=0072bc]"I am sorry about this."[/color] Ronan felt something coming, and closed his eyes as he heard something akin to a growing rush of air. 

	He opened his eyes as it ended, and found they hadn't moved, but rather, the man no longer had him in his grip. After all, it would be rather difficult to hold onto someone when your arms had become rather unyielding sticks. He saw the man's expression turn into a stunned one, as he pushed past him and further down the tunnels, thinking he may be able to escape, and deciding to push aside thoughts of the man's stick arms for the time being. He ducked into a small, dark alcove, ignoring the spiders and other critters that roamed the small space. He held his breath and waited for a moment, hoping to see the man walk — or 'puff' — past him. After a few minute, he believed it was safe, and extricated himself from the cramped space, brushing off the dirt and grime. He began walking slowly back through the tunnels, just now beginning to contemplate the last ten minutes, before he heard a puff, and knew no more. 

[color=fff200]End Flashback — [/color]

	Ronan's eyes widened as he remembered the events that transpired to ensure his arrival, and immediately felt himself descending into panic. By this time, the ramp had fallen, and he could see the men standing outside clearly. He just had time to realize that the older man was somewhat familiar when his restraints suddenly turned to clay, and Ronan stood up, attempting to reason with himself in order to make the best course of action — which on some level he realized involved doing nothing, as there was no real way for him to escape this — before he found himself unable to really truly do such a thing as reason, at a time like this. [color=a2d39c]"W-where am I?" [/color]