“Shawn,” the psychology student grunted. When he didn’t offer a last name, he remembered he didn’t have one. Or at least, to the best of his knowledge he didn’t. Bruised and cut cheeks flushing a brilliant red, Shawn cleared his throat. “Uh, just, Shawn.” At the end of his sentence the student gave an embarrassed cough.

Head aching worse from the sudden blood surge that came with standing up, Shawn grabbed onto the streetlamp that had stood by and watched while he was pummeled. Again. Growling in low distaste, he used a hand to smooth back his hair.

“Ugh… Why pick this psychology major again? You’d think I’d get old or something. There are tons more of me! And yanno, most of them are smaller,” Shawn said with a low groan of disdain. It was true. In his class at least there had to be another hundred students. Most of which would be far less capable then defending themselves. That’s not to say Shawn could help himself at all, but they would be worse off. That’s what Shawn thought, anyway.