Ryan, probably unlike most, was escorted to the building. By the government. Once there he climbed out of the car, looking around slightly. He immediately spotted a crying girl, and simply shook his head. Weakness. He looked at the building coolly, folding his arms. Years of fighting had built up muscle on the teenager. Through his white t-shirt, the tattoo's were visible under it. On his knuckles and forearms were several scars, some faded from years ago, and some looking very new. He scowled slightly and shook his head, walking towards the door, his face remaining rather void of emotion.