[h2][color=ed145b]Ryan "Sharkman" Jacobs[/color][/h2]

Ryan had surfaced in one of the submerged levels of the prison, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a pair of black trunks and a metal mask. Behind him, he'd been dragging a large plastic garbage bag. He'd elected to swim there, towing his things behind him, triple-wrapped in black trash bags, and immediately started to familiarize himself with the seemingly abandoned facility. He closed his eyes, and focused on the signals being picked by his ampullae of Lorenzini, that tiny network of electricity-sensitive nodes throughout his body. He was pleased to see that the electricity in the building was online, and from that, he could sense the general layout of the prison.

He'd stopped to find the showers, clean himself up, dry off and change, so he was the last to stroll in, stepping over the remains of the potted plant. Like the others, the redhead was rocking the edgelord lock: He had on a black, high-collared jacket, worn closed. A black bandana covered his face, with a shark-jaw print. And on his back was his massive pair of clippers. Paying no mind to Jack's display with the chainsaw and unworried by Sana's pyromania, he casually pulled up a seat, at the same time grabbing his file.

[color=ed145b]"At least I know you're not gonna be scared away by the murders."[/color] He said, his voice distorted by the metal mask he wore under the bandana. Though they couldn't see his face, his dark eyes were squinting slightly in a smile. [color=ed145b]"Everyone else here has a rap sheet, right?"[/color] He asked the others in the room, leafing through the file like one would go through a family photo album.