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The day, so far, fluctuated across a spectrum of time.

Worry gnawed his perception to a near grinding halt; the group around him could probably feel the anxiety rolling off of him in waves.

And then it stopped completely—a calm—before everything went into full overdrive. He was staring intently at a tablet in the center just in front of the archway to another section, a frown stretching his lips lower at the sullen words. Next thing he knew he was face first near another display, nursing a lightly bleeding noise—bruised, not broken. Everything after that was a muffled mess of explosions and words before he was standing stock still in front of four soldiers, with the rest of his group preoccupied with their batch of gunmen.

Something coursed through his veins, like a switch that turned on every sense in his body and overwhelmed him with panic, adrenaline, and a sudden urge to flee. It ripped through him before the bullets ever could and glued his feet to the floor. Harley could feel the toxins leave his body and stain the air with their contagion; he could smell the sudden difference all too well. Now, as it spread across him, he could only feel the urge to do one thing: get away from Duncan, Frankie, and Freddie as fast as his legs could take him.

The men before him dropped their weapons, hunched over, and waited for his inevitable move, like a pack of starved hyenas desperate for anything. That was his cue. Harley spun and ran down the wide expanse of exhibits and artifacts that littered the room. For a second there, he let him quietly bask in the [i]Indiana Jones[/i] feel of it all, before reality hit him square in the jaw. There were still people there and though they were frightened and huddled in blotches around the halls, they would rise up like vicious dogs if he were to get close enough. Even with the shock and panic shaking through him, he knew better than to risk the lives of innocent people.

Eventually, though, he did have to stop. A group of people were currently staring at him wild eyed, some pointing at the soldiers behind him. His eye caught the door to an opened janitor's closet and without thinking he slid in, leaving the door ajar for the four to pounce on him. Harley stood stock still as they eyed the group of people hungrily, the moment going over in halves and quarters of the time it actually did. It was slow, their sudden disinterest as they all snapped their necks in unison to face him, eyes gaunt and stricken with bulging veins visible behind the helmets they wore. They dove, smashing themselves through the doorway in a fight to get to their prey and Harley stood there, eyebrows suddenly furrowing as his gaze hardened. It was slow at first, their bodies attempting to push themselves through and successfully doing so, albeit at a sluggish pace, but they calmed down. Or at least, that's what it looked like, and Harley made no move or indication he had done something, but the air changed drastically in that split second.

The soldiers stood, inching themselves out of their predicament and stood as stock still in the hallway. Harley finally made his move, the soldiers parting as he exited. They switched places, Harley observing from outside whilst they waited within the tiny space. And Harley shut the door before audible howling and roars could be heard from within. The door shuttered under a sudden weight; loud bangs could be heard from inside; gurgling and snapping all in unison under a cacophony of fleshy sounds and desperate cries. Until blood pooled from within, inching its way from under the crack to soak Harley's white and blue converse shoes.

Checking for any survivors wasn't necessary. When the sounds stopped, so did their heartbeats. His blood running cold was enough of a signal for him to turn toward the group of huddled people, catch their eyes for a moment, and then shamefully turn away.

Harley caught up with his group the moment Freddie gestured for them to head through the now open doorway, a track of blood visibly following him down the hallway. He didn't speak, just cast his eyes downward before stepping up toward Art and Frankie as Freddie approached the blood spattered teacher. If he looked up, he'd swear he could see her in some war torn battlefield in the middle-ages, shouting a blood curdling call to action. The notion sent shivers down his spine, but he made no indication that he acknowledged everyone else. With his abilities still volatile from previous use, any further stimulation could bring down the building, that how fearsome the mutants around him were.

The mess that Art was observing, the battle her students were still locked in, didn't register for him and they couldn't, lest he have another issue arise. Harley had been lucky he was far enough away from Frankie or Freddie or Duncan when it happened not a few minutes ago.

He wasn't quite sure now.