[User]
I take out my pumpaction in the other hand and then ak47 and pumpaction both at the same time ratatata bishoom bishoom.
[System]
BANG!
Her bullet flies straight toward you—but you're ready and already moving. Fast. Precise. Prepared.
With one swift motion, you whip out your pump-action shotgun, fire at the exact right moment. and—
BOOM!
The shotgun slug smashes into her bullet mid-air, neutralizing it instantly; Canceling each other out in an insane display of gunfight physics that absolutely shouldn't work—but somehow does.
The impact sends tiny metal fragments scattering in all directions, harmlessly deflected by your SuperDuper Vest. You remain untouched.
The room shakes from the force, debris falling from the already-collapsing ceiling.
Her smirk falters for a split second.
And now—it's your turn.
You grip both weapons—AK-47 in one hand, pump-action shotgun in the other.
And then—
RATATATATA! (AK-47)
BISHOOM! (Pump-action)
RATATATATATA! (More AK-47)
BISHOOM BISHOOM! (More boom.)
You're a one-man army, unleashing pure destruction. Bullets tear through desks, walls, and whatever remains of the classroom.
RATATATA! BISHOOM! BISHOOM!
You unleash hell, dual-wielding your AK-47 and pump-action at the same time, filling the ruined classroom with a storm of bullets, shattering desks, walls, and whatever shred of sanity was left in this classroom.
BISHOOM! BISHOOM!
And her?
She's dodging. Again.
Twisting, flipping over debris, sliding behind cover, moving like she's dancing through gunfire.
But not untouched.
A bullet clips her shoulder.
Another grazes her thigh.
A shotgun pellet scrapes across her ribs, tearing through her shirt.
She grits her teeth, blood dripping onto the shattered floor.
She dives behind cover, flipping over a desk, moving faster than she should. Your bullets tear through chairs, shatter windows, and send books flying.
One stray bullet slams into a locked drawer at the professor's desk.
The lock breaks. The drawer flies open.
Inside—stacks of old, dusty books tumble out.
Among them?
GTO – All Volumes.
Goodbye, Mr. Chips.
Age is Just a Number.
And many, many more.
A suspicious number of "educational" books.
For a moment, the chaos stops.
A stunned silence fills the air.
Then—
One guy near the back squints at the collection, then turns to his friend.
"Yo."
"Yeah?"
"Isn't that, like… a weird combo for a professor?"
His friend nods slowly. "Yeah, bro. That's some red-flag energy."
Another student makes a disgusted face. "I knew he was like that."
"EWWWWWW!"
"I KNEW IT! I KNEW HE WAS A PERV-"
The English professor's corpse remains slumped over his desk, unable to defend himself.
You and the girl both glance at the fallen books.
Then back at each other.
Then back at the books.
Then—
RATATATATATA! BISHOOM!
The battle continues.
What do you do next?