Attacking Shaw was a stupid thing to do. He was made to feel like an adolescent who didn’t think things through all over again. Toss aside with the mere swipe of a hand. But, this time, he wasn’t just thrown into a work unit and deprived of (very little) meals and sleep. This time, Shaw had no problem beating him to a pulp. He no longer had used for him. Mutants were not common these days, but they were not rare and unheard of as they had been during the war.
Luckily, they hadn’t brought attention. Meeting off school grounds. Sure, the warehouse had received a deal of damage, but it was in the middle of nowhere. While, he had no care if Shaw was found out to be Schmidt or... whatever his real name was. He couldn’t afford to be found out as Magneto.
Now, making it back to campus? There was the problem. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, or why Shaw hadn’t just killed him in his unconscious state. But, when he’d woken up, he felt... relieved. And, sore, and like he was dying. Which, he probably was.
He’d tried to make something with his powers to wheel himself back. But, using them consumed energy and every time he tried, he managed a few minutes before he was collapsing from the pressure. Walking was his own solution. All he knew was that he left sometime when the sun was in the middle of the sky, and arrived (finally) when the sun had set and most wouldn’t notice his injuries unless they were close.
Why he was hunched over, and relying heavily on the buildings to keep himself of the ground -- well, he hoped they would just assume he was a drunk. Those seemed to be common on campus.
What he hadn’t expected was to get turned around on campus. He could barely focus. Could barely breath with the sharp pain in his chest. He’d been trying to go to the dorms. He couldn’t go to the medical wing, they’d ask too many questions. He had to get home. Sleep, focus on clotting his injuries and increasing his blood flow.
When he hit the ground. He hit it hard. His vision went black for a moment and when he managed to collect himself and actually look around, he saw that he must have bumped into someone. Or... several someones. Or, maybe he was just dizzy or hallucinating. He didn’t know. He didn’t care.
His eyes fluttered for a moment as his body begged for rest. Even taking a moment to catch his breathing was a mistake. He stumped into a coughing fit, blood dripping from his mouth as his forehead pressed uncomfortably against the concrete.
On instinct, said blood raised from the ground and came together in a bubble before morphing into a gun to aim at the people near him.
“Get --” another string of coughs. “Get’way.”
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