[color=FireBrick][h1][center]Oshea Jackson[/center][/h1][/color]

[center][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/cb/5c/0b/cb5c0bbe5220d4ad7f22f7156e378b2c.jpg?noindex=1[/img][/center]

[center]"You lack the minerals and viramins, iron, and the niacine."[/center]
[center]O.C. - Time's Up[/center]
[hr]
Oshea awoke from his slumber; one last glance out of the window, it looked like the Blackbird landed. With a grunt and a stretch of his arms, Oshea then unbuckled himself from the seat and rose. A stream of cold shot down his spine, and he let out an audible shudder. Sure it wasn't winter, it seemed Oshea's nerves begun to get the better of him the closer he got to the Blackbird's exit. Sunlight, today it was a lush yellow stronger than usual and coated with patches of red and orange. He stopped to marvel its presence, and it occurred to him: he'd rather not be fighting the Brotherhood today, no, today he wanted to sleep. In sleep, he couldn't be worried about the next task, the next request, the next loss.

As he and his compatriots often had to do, Oshea pushed his doubt to recesses of his mind. He froze. Dull aches rushed from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head; the onset of his anxiety. But why now? He had done far more daring things than fighting the Brotherhood: getting into fist fights with armed gunman, throwing Hail Mary passes on 4th and 25 in Madden, talking back to his mother. A myriad of things had been more worthy of his fear than beating up a few bad guys, a simplification of course, the Brotherhood were well-trained mutant assassins in every right--but Oshea always thought the mundane more frightening than the fantastic. [i]Breathe, fool. Breathe.[/i]

Oshea never took his mother's advice for much, and he knew he should have. Her face swam to the front of his mind from whatever crevice he had buried it, and louder than ever, in unison with his sub-conscious, she spoke to him for the first time in years:

[i]"Just breathe, baby. It's gonna be alright."[/i]

As a boy, he was never prepared for anything; he did everything on a whim, a swell of hotblood, the pulse of a desire. It was also the reason he ran from anything that seemed too big for him. All of this, this X-men business, this Brotherhood business, it was all too big for him--and now he had to run toward it.

He closed his eyes, and let the black blot out his worry alongside each breath he took. He opened his eyes; sunlight, a stronger and more lush yellow than usual. He flipped the visor on his face; all color fell to mono-ruby red. One last breath. [i]Breathe.[/i]

A whir of wind, a blue streak. A fine disappearing act, if he were to say so himself. It was game time, and Oshea was ready to play, he scouted the surrounding area for anything nefarious in nature or ontology.