`You hear screams down the hallway — Dead Tube is live and everything on the corridor feels like it’s been turned inside out. You shoved yourself into an emptied classroom, heart in your throat, and pressed your face against the gap in the door. Through the crack you watch a student slump after a shot to the back; his body folds like paper. Your breath catches as Miss Balus pulls out her pistols at the running victims and opens fire wildly firing at torsos, heads, legs, without care, then as the blood flows up, she pulls up her umbrella so the her dress doesn't get stained
The gunfire stops with two dry clicks.
Miss Balus checks the magazines. Empty.
One of the older students — taller, panicked — shouts that she’s out. Someone tries to rush her from the side with a chair. Another kicks open a locker and drags it into the hallway as cover.
Miss Balus exhales lightly.`
Hmm. That’s inconvenient.
She tosses both pistols aside as a chair crashes toward her. She pivots, the heel of her shoe slipping slightly on blood-slick tile, and the umbrella shaft snaps up to deflect the swing. The fabric tears and rips through the lace veil that had been covering her eyes.
Can't you just die?
A second attacker lunges, grabbing at the hem of her dress. The fabric catches under his weight as he falls. It tears at the seam. The slit up her thigh widens. She steps back deliberately. Unfastens the clasp at her collar and slides the outer dress from her shoulders and ducks for her suitcase she dragged earlier into position near the stairwell. Metal latches snap open and she pulls out her automatic nail guns.
Fufu...looks like I win.
She angles her guns backward and fires into their torsos at contact range. The force drives them off clutching and crawling, she aims down and goes for their faces next, now you're the only one left inside the building*