”****ing kidding me with that?” Carrick shouted out loud trying to be louder than the ringing that was happening. It was great having enhanced hearing. Especially when someone wanted to show off their car. Their overly loud car. ”****ing grounders.” he added along with a string of curses as he closed the distance to the trees.

There was a muffled shout and Carrick turned his head around still flying towards the trees. The guy was back again and was shouting something... worked every time! No one like their photo being taken.

It didn’t matter though, Carrick wasn’t stopping. Why would he? He couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in his ears. First his shoes, then no big foot, then his ears. ”**** today.”

The M82 is a Semi Automatic Anti-Material Rifle firing a 50-Caliber Armor Piercing slug capable of penetrating armor surfaces on LAV's, Hardened Structures, and Aerial Combat vehicles as well. 10 Rounds. Magazine fed and in capable hands was accurate out well beyond a MILE under optimal conditions. During his time in service Romulus would use this Rifle in an overwatch capacity to do everything from disabling the engine blocks of terrorist vehicles, to shooting entire helicopters out of the sky. For it's his current intent it would be an absolute act of over-kill were he seeking a lethal response to basically being ignored. He'd have put his right foot up on the bumper, widening his stance while cradling under with his left hand, his right hand finding the top of the scope that met his eye and beginning D.O.P.E Procedure. Internal calculations that occur quickly, taking in factors present in plain sight such as the wind direction (Sway of the top of the tree's), Speed of the target (Depicted by targets actual movement time between two points), and distance from target which was a distance that was No LESS then a 1/4 of a mile but no where near that of a 1/2. Actions that at this point in time where literal muscle memory conduct themselves accordingly, all orchestrated by breathing which heralds in an almost machine like level of performance in accuracy and target tracking, even if he made it over the canopy line,  so that at the moment he took the final inhale....

-BOOM!!!!!-

His targets senses like his own were enhanced, and sensitive. While Romulus cannot speak to the bird man's experiences, he can rely on the many decades of experience he has had at focusing them in and utilizing them under combat and environmental duress. So if he was in fact still flustered by the punishment the cars engine put on his hearing, he'd fail to hear the kinetic uproar caused from the violence occurring within the rifle of the gun. The expelled gasses out the side of the muzzle brake which coughs up an armor piercing tungsten tipped round at over 853 meters per second. He MAY FEEL it, This round would travel from the barrel, and seek to go into and through the right wing (At the feathers/Membrane dead center), and while presumed not to be a vital area, or lethal, the combination of the large round and the air-wedge around it would make for QUITE the large, and presumably incapacitated flight were he successful at all. If the shot was true to intent he'd see the mutant either fall freely from the sky or manage some form of hobbled flight which could presumably making a second shot easier to have----pursuit as well. For now Romulus removed the rifle scope from his eye and began going into a light jog after setting his feet down and coming around the car to head toward his target and into the trees.

The ringing in his ears died down finally as bronzed wings snapped up and down carrying the Irishman to the trees, one last look was all he took before disappearing into the foliage and it was a good thing he did. There was a little reflection back where the car and man were something... wasn’t right.

Carrick slowed a little more turning his wings slightly when he heard it, ‘Boom!’ something clipped his wing. Flapping his wing once was enough to let him know something was wrong. It hurt but he’d heal. He was still pretty sure he was immortal. That being said, that didn’t mean he wanted to test it out... that would be crazy.

The roar of a lion echoed out from Carrick’s mouth as he howled in pain, all over a picture! This guy was a nut job. Gliding into the trees he landed on a branch, and hopped to the next one. ‘Flight’ ”I know!” he shouted back as every fiber of his begin was telling him to move and get out of there. Looking to the nearest tree Carrick hopped to the next branch and then the next one. Ignoring the angry squirrels.

‘Flight!!!’ he was still in shock from the shot hitting his wing. It was painful but he’d live. Not the first time he been shot at either. ‘Flight!!!!!’ ”Shut up! I know!” he said again this time softer as he tried to find a spot where he could access the damage. Carrick had time. Wasn’t like he was fighting that big foot who vanished into the woods. That was a fight he didn’t want.

Once he heard the roar, it confirmed that his intentions had been successfully conveyed and Romulus immediately begin to press the issue. The mutant was knowingly but unknowingly aware of at least some of what Romulus was capable of, namely his ground speed. It hadn't been put together by the kid yet that the bigfoot he was looking for was really a rifle toting gunman with gifts, and NOW, a rifle toting gunman with GIFTS and a bone to pick with him. His boots were like machine gunfire against the ground moving from asphalt to grass and now scattered brush. He had just previously put a Puma to shame in the sprint with more gear then he had on now and currently with peerless eye sight and a profound adeptness at tracking targets at a distance, he began closing the gap between the two of them. The mutant was far to large in trees and branches that were far to small, and the branch to branch act was no where near as fast as he flew or Romulus could run as he picked up the pace, rifle tucked close to the chest, eyes forward and leaning into a half-sprint that would see him break into speeding-ticket ranges of ground pace in his mad dash to clip distance. 

The machine gun fire stopped and instead advertised a sliding sound, like brakes being applied over a low-friction surface from something or someone large coming to a halt, and that was the case. 30 yards away on the ground, some 60 or so feet down from the mutant, Romulus would stand with his eyes once again peering into the scope---but not close. It was spaced, as if he didn't want to totally sacrifice his peripherals when it wasn't needed seeing as how the target was so close for a rifle that was meant to be used for things insanely far. His voice was LOUD, once more calling the mutant to at "Im NOT a fan of asking twice and im not! So when I say DROP YOUR PHONE DOWN TO ME NOW, I expect you to reach into your pocket and do just that. Don't OPEN IT. Don't press any buttons. Don't even BREATH ON IT or LOOK AT IT LONG or I'll PULL IT OFF your CORPSE after I put one in you and your body drops down here instead! I winged you! That's the only freebie you're getting! The NEXT one is for keeps!" 

If the phone came down, Then Romulus would infact collect it and be on his way. If it didn't----Well it was clear he wasn't anything for play and he was everybit a man of his word. 

His hearing came back again this time in full as he tried to slow his breathing, he needed to be quite. Hide, ‘flight!’ Carrick ignored the voice again looking to his wing that looked a little too beat up to make it far. Another tree nearby caught his attention but he decided to stay in place for a moment longer. Feeling he couldn’t make another sound. Even if he could stick the landing. It’s cause the branch to shake and bring attention to it.

Which... didn’t seem to matter... again. The giant with the gun was below him, tell him to give him his phone. Because of a picture. Well, now it just told Carrick what he had on the guy. Clearly someone who didn’t want to be seen. Which Carrick had seen him several times over today which told him something else. Even if he gave the man his phone the odds of him getting out of this situation was pretty low. Which was a shame, how would his fans take it? His girlfriend? Or Zek? Poor guy would be lost without the shifter.

The man’s voice was loud and commanding. Something that immediately told Carrick not to do what he said,”You didn’t even tell me once! Ya just started shooting at me!” Carrick called back trying his best to put the tree between him and the gunman. ”Ya catch more bees with honey!” he said about to reach into his pocket then stopped. ”Wait... those seem like they are very contradictory commands!” he debated texting for help without looking at the screen. He spent hours learning how to in class, on the rare occasions he went.

”Hold on?!?... am I supposed to be holding me breath?” Carrick asked looking at his wing. It was still painful but it was a bit easier to move than it was seconds ago. Adrenaline? Or time? Should he shift?

Now cat like slits looked down to the gunman from the tree a low rumble vibrating from his chest. Carrick was backed into a corner, none of his forms liked that. ‘Fight?’ that seemed dumb. ”I just got this one!” it didn’t seem like he had many options.

”Pretty sure yer just gonna shoot me anyways. Me being a mutant and all, and well... you hating us.” Carrick was nervous. He talked more than he should when he was nervous.

There was a definitive difference between these two right now. One of them was playing games, and didn't know when to quit. The other was not a fan of games, and very rarely did he ever play at all. While the kid wasted time talking, fidgeting, checking wings and pump faking on reaching into that pocket Romulus' dropped to a knee to brace himself for a close-set shot, butt of the gun into the fold of his right inner elbow, left hand gripping the tripods as one would a commander-grip. The sights were set and the moment big bird put a tree between he and him thinking 4 inches of spruce was going stop a sub-sonic tungsten tipped AP-Round, AT THIS close a distance---He'd have reminded him otherwise. 

"-BOOOM!!!!!!"

There goes that sound again, and boy was it hell on the ears. Carrick was a strapping young changeling. Good size on him, shoulder to shoulder he was wider then any tree here, especially if you include the wing-span fucked or not. Would be no surprise that the next bullet was intended for what could be seen of the injured wing, targeted through the tree which would fail to stop the round outright but definitely alter it's trajectory and worse still, explode out the back end of the tree not only sending the round careening toward the actual wing-arm itself to inflict massive trauma, but at least subject his face and eyes to a wild and violent exploding plume of wood/bark shrapnel. Surely that would more add to unpleasantries and with any hope, disorientate him enough along side the wing trauma to fell the boy out of the tree as a whole. Carrick needed to see the act for what it was---MORE MERCY, clearly the man was a far above average shot and could have spared himself this and One-Shotted him through his skull from the git-go. 

Had he found success, The rifle was poised and kept trained on him while he approached and with any luck a phone being produced for him to take, had he not and a manuver was made that brought the slow mover out into the open for an easier shot, he'd ready himself to indulge in that as well.

The first gunfire shot drew mansion attention when a staff member with heightened senses heard the noise. She was a nice old lunch lady, just doing her job. Carrick actually knew her, truth be told. All students at the mansion would. She had a habit of giving extra food to kids she thought needed “a bit of padding for the wee bones.” Miss Rogan had given Carrick extra food several times. Apples, portions of potatoes and gravy, even dessert. Especially dessert. She loves giving out brownies. Miss Rogan contacted the nearest member of staff, and from there, news traveled fast.

A math teacher heard the news minutes later, and got a student teacher to fill in for his class while he investigated. Having been a police officer years ago, it would not have been his first time investigating gun shots. As an X, it would not be his first fight. As he walked out of the building and onto mansion grounds, his mind focused on a form. Golden lion armor (google GARO tv). He built it up around himself using millions of tiny triangular razor sharp psychic barriers, stacked mathematically for perfect composition. For protection, from the barriers themselves, as well as other things. They were diamond-hard, made of pure imagination. Once they were formed, which took about two minutes real-time, he focused on summoning the massive black and gold sword that went with it.

He took his time with forming the blade. Because he had taken flight. That split his concentration between a good number of things. Flight, shard armor, forming the sword, and scanning the grounds for sign of what had caused the gun shot. Triangular pupils narrowed beneath the lion helmet

His flight speed was 75MPH. The first thing he noticed, when he started putting it to use, was a trace of smoke trail left from a minute earlier. It had largely dissipated, but there was still enough to show him something and lead him somewhere. The second gun shot lead him the rest of the way.

A voice in his comm ear piece told him what the lunch lady had heard. Her hearing was good enough, now that she had gone outside and stood on-watch, to pin point distance and direction, which she told him. Tetsuya Shinbo sure was glad they kept her on staff. Useful in a pinch. He headed that way. By the time he reached her “coordinates,” ( which he mentally mapped and tracked with his “math brain”. As useless as that sounds), the sword was mostly formed. He finished it as he stopped to hover 100 feet above the tree line, with his back to the sun.

Tetsuya Shinbo, AKA Shard, looked down on the scene. The trees obscured most of it, but it being January, foliage wasn’t too dense. He saw big, bulky wings shifting beneath sparse foliage, a very large man in black, and the glint off a very large firearm.

Who brings a gun anywhere near a school zone? Psychopaths, that’s who.

There was something going on. The time it had taken, from the second gunshot until he had arrived had been several seconds, not instantaneous. Sorry wing man. In a perfect world, he would have teleported behind the guy with the gun and said something like “nothing personnel, kid.” But this was not a perfect world. All he could do from his distance was rush downwards at 75 MPH, hoping to bring a massive six foot long broadsword down on the barrel of the gun. And hope he was not too late to prevent a THIRD shot from going off.

The Asian said nothing as he flew downwards like a golden missile, aiming to sweep the gun from the gunmans hands in a speed-assisted downward strike. If we’re being fair, the sounds of air resistance against armor may have given some clue of his rapid descent. As would the golden shine of his armor in front of the backdrop of the sun. Ninja, Shard was not.

As he landed with his strike, Shard roared like a lion. Which was not deafening, seeing as he was not a lion or part lion, like some sort of gryphon. Merely an aging Asian man pretending to be a golden lion knight from a 20 year old Japanese television show. But he had practiced it in the mirror a lot. Which is pathetic, but… it sounded a little intimidating, rather than pathetic itself! So hey! He had that going for him at least. Which was nice!

”You’re by a school asshole! Did you really expect to go unnoticed? THINK!!!” he screamed.