Recluse kept moving, even though his wounded leg was adamantly refusing to cooperate. He didn't trust his mental shields in this place. They had never foolproof to begin with anyway. His best chance was to keep moving, and wait for an opening.

He held his flashlight ready to attack- it seemed like a useless gesture, but such things could be surprisingly effective if used well. He still knew all the old tricks he had learned when he was human, back on the streets in Paragon City, in WWI, and as a thief in post-war Europe. In a situation like this, the 'useless gesture' could be invaluable. Especially with the damned gunshot wound. His free hand was clamped down over the makeshift bandages, forcing his leg to move. The cloth was soaked through and the pain was quite intense, but there was no way his own body would keep him from dashing that boy's grey matter against the wall. He wouldn't allow it.

The same went for his mind. He couldn't give away his position now. Recluse moved in closer, concentrating on keeping his thoughts hidden. The other patients were providing good, distracting displays of idiocy, but it wasn't favorable enough to warrant action yet. He'd only get one chance, and he wasn't in the habit of wasting opportunities.

He would not allow incompitence within himself.