Wilbur had been wounded from a huge fight he got in with some guy in Las Nevadas who didn't seem to get the hint to leave Wilbur alone. And with Wilbur— he would talk back. And talking back always leads to an argument. Wilbur knew he should have acted better, but he wanted to feel some sort of good argument for once. Not one where it was him and Tommy bickering, or fighting with Quackity- or anyone else, no, a good and proper fight for once. Just to feel something.

So here he was, holding his arm in front of his chest to ease the bleeding, and the numbing pain while walking. Blood staining through his dirty yellow jumper and the sleeve of his coat. Since his revival pain felt different. He could feel it yet it also felt almost like the wound wasn't there at all.

Small curses left the man's lips throughout the walk. He wasn't even sure where he was going, anywhere that he could patch himself up. And away from prying eyes. Trying to stay clear of lit areas - which proved oddly difficult. Wilbur didn't have anywhere in Las Nevadas to exactly call home, all he could do was go and hide like a wounded animal. His gaze fixed on the floor, brows furrowed as he watched as his boots scuffed against the path.