T8: Danielle

"Got one!" hissed Carrie, with vicious satisfaction in her voice.

Danielle didn't think she'd got anyone yet. All she'd seen so far were small, dark heads silhouetted against a bright blue sky, glimpsed in desperate, furtive glances as she peeped her head nervously up over the banister. A country girl, she'd never liked minimalist architecture, but she was certainly grateful for reassuring solidity of concrete today.

"Come on, keep going," prompted Carrie, and Danielle nodded, heels scratching on the hard floor as she scrambled up the next few steps, her attention still nervously fixated on those elusive shooters on the top floor.

She didn't want to end up like Alba.

"Stay focused!" That was Carrie again- seemed like she was in charge now. "Watch the top of the stairs!"

Panting a half-voiced affirmation, cursing herself for choosing heels and a tiny skirt to climb so many stairs, Danielle tore her attention away from the flank and looked ahead, just as she approached the top of the stairs. She saw a flicker of movement and her stomach flipped over in alarm. Another of the black-clad women: She'd been crouching low, but now- hearing Danielle's clickety-clackety heels and out-of-breath pants- she rose up with a smirk on her face and a gun in her outstretched hand, and Danielle had enough time to blurt out pleading little half-scream before the fat pistol slug slapped into her belly.

Carrie's weapon banged conclusively behind her and the bitch who'd just shot her stumbled back with a strangled squawk, but Danielle was already staggering, clutching reflexively at the burning hole in her skin as she stumbled forwards. She went down, the reassuring solidity of concrete no longer so welcome as her body sprawled bruisingly onto a cold, hard floor.

A sob escaped her lips as the others scrambled past her without a word.