[center][color=FireBrick][h1]Oshea Jackson[/h1][/color][/center]
[center][img]https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRjtfO2BcJ4mxrdczwdEbebi4Gzn4cKHY2FO1grfvoVWaMg9LSa63bMfE9A[/img][/center]
[center]"Been down and out before--let's hope this ain't the last time."[/center]
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Location: Hanson Power Plant Interior
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Blood streamed down his face--with a broken nose, he couldn't even breathe through his nostrils and could hardly see what was in front of him. The light protruding through the entrance door was all that kept him from total blindness. At first, Oshea had a clever plan. Now? He was quickly running out of options. With watery eyes and some minor swelling of his lower lids beginning to manifest, he was trapped. All he could do now was muster some kind of defense and hope his years of amateur fighting payed off. He didn't back against the wall, no, that was true cowardice; he put his hands in front of his face weakly, every nerve-ending he had sliced with agony. Somehow, he had to go on. He couldn't lose here. Who was going to keep Quicksilver in check if not him? Not that he was doing a great job of it at present, but still!

As a kid, Oshea dreamt of becoming like his heroes he saw on TV: King, Ali, Mandela, Beast, Professor X. They all seemed invincible then, and if his current predicament was indicative of the fallibility of idols Oshea had just been taught a bitter lesson. Oshea spent much of his life on his feet; then he felt his knees wobble before finally giving out from underneath him. There was going to be no glorious comeback, no mighty upset. It was over. The bell had rung, the white towel was thrown; Oshea was down for the count.