Classwork

Guns Blazing

"Call for backup," the armed White House guard shouted with his dying breath. With an effort, the childlike girl pulled her knife from his abdomen and heaved his bleeding form over the balcony. She whispered to seemingly nowhere, but the microphone embedded in her hand-knit beanie picked up her voice.

"Floor two is clear. Move on to the commander in chief?"

Her earpiece buzzed before she received a strict answer. "No."

Not wanting to disobey, she left the room and began clearing the hallway. She knew that she looked rather inconspicuous just walking down the hallway: just your average student on a tour. She slid her knife into her waistband and emerged into the main hall, stopping every few feet to admire a portrait or read a description. Occasionally she would gesture to a random tourist and say things like, "Wow, can you believe this?" Her pretense, she knew, was infallible.

Her earpiece buzzed again. "Kill the tour group. Leave one alive."

She nodded and let her eyes roam the top of the hall, making a mental note of the security cameras. She would have to destroy them. She spotted a tour group in an area with four cameras, and smiled to herself. It was all too easy.

"And if you look here, we have the portrait of..." She could hear the tour guide droning on about something on the wall. People had their phones out, taking pictures of whatever it was. Perfect. Her hand slid into her pocket and she gripped the small, metal, rod-like EMP in her hand. Her thumb brushed over the detonator once, twice, before pressing down on the rubber button. People dropped their phones in surprise as they short-circuited, and the cameras went down.

Again, too easy.

An elderly couple towards the front of the group collapsed, presumably already dead. The knife slid out of her jeans and into her palm, and she held it in her right hand, whirling to slice and stab. In just a moment, the only person in the group still moving was a lanky, bean-like teenage boy. She had him pinned up against the wall, quaking in fear, and stepped backwards, whispering one word to him before he fled.

"Run."

Watching him leave, as drenched in blood as she was, brought her to her knees, convulsing in maniacal laugher. She wiped her bloody hands on her knees and replaced her bloody knife in her waistband.

"I can't believe I get paid for this," she said.