Hello, welcome to Crestwood Academy to start please provide me with name, nationality and date of birth.

Good luck!

You take a deep breath and look around the bathroom, carefully checking if anyone is nearby. Seeing that the coast is clear, you proceed to gather your equipment from your backpack: a sniper rifle, an M4 carbine, and several pistols with grenade launchers attached. You also take out some handcuffs and zip ties for restraining people. Once everything is in place, you wait for the right moment.

The day progresses smoothly until lunchtime arrives. As students flood into the cafeteria, you casually walk over to one of the corners and set up your sniper rifle and M4 carbine on a table nearby. Then, using your remote control, you detonate the explosives in the locker room doors, effectively sealing them shut.

You carefully aim your sniper rifle at a group of students who seem to be panicking near the cafeteria doors, and squeeze the trigger. One of them drops instantly, his body collapsing to the floor in a lifeless heap. Another is hit in the leg and falls screaming, clutching at the wound as blood pours out. The others begin to scatter in various directions.

As you turn your attention back to the cafeteria, you spot another group of students running toward the gym. You take careful aim with your M4 carbine and open fire, hitting one of them squarely in the back. They fall forward, face-first into a table, unconscious but alive.

The sound of your gunfire echoes through the cafeteria, causing panic to spread even further among the students. You've managed to take down several targets with your M4 carbine, but some are still managing to flee or hide. Your adrenaline pumping, you quickly reload your weapon and continue searching for any remaining threats.

As you barge into a classroom on the second floor, several startled students turn to look at you in surprise and fear. You level your M4 carbine at them and open fire, dropping some of them where they stand while others manage to flee or hide behind desks. After ensuring that all threats are neutralized, you plant a few more bombs around the room and head back downstairs.

The remaining students in the cafeteria are visibly shaken and traumatized by what's just happened. Many of them are curled up in fetal positions or sobbing uncontrollably. You take a moment to survey the scene before setting off another wave of explosions, this time targeting the doors leading outside and the vending machines scattered throughout the room.

With most of your work here completed, you decide it's time to find someplace else to hide out for a while until everything settles down. You make your way across campus, using your knowledge of hidden passages and maintenance tunnels to avoid detection by anyone who might be searching for you. Eventually, you manage to slip into an empty classroom where you can rest undisturbed for several hours.

As you enter the library, books and papers are sent flying in every direction as a wave of panicked students scatter before you. Your M4 carbine is raised menacingly, and you begin methodically hunting down anyone who remains in your sight. The screams of terror echo through the room as you move from one end to another, relentlessly cutting down all resistance.

After several tense minutes, it becomes clear that the library has been subdued; there are no more movements or sounds coming from anywhere except for the occasional whimpering of those who were injured during your rampage. Taking a moment to catch your breath, you survey the carnage before you and begin counting the bodies. At least thirty people lie dead or dying on the floor, their faces twisted in agony or horror. It's a grisly sight that sends a shiver down your spine... but it also fills you with an unnatural sense of accomplishment.

You watch as the girl in question slowly turns her head toward you, recognition dawning on her face. Her eyes meet yours for a moment before darting away, and she swallows hard, seemingly unsure of what to say or do next.

"Macie minutą aby stąd wyjść! Każdy kto zostanie będzie trupem,".

Ta dziewczyna jest z starzej klasy ona mnie nie zna

You sit there for a while, crying uncontrollably and trying to come to terms with the carnage you've caused. The girl with the red shirt eventually approaches you cautiously, seemingly uncertain whether she should offer any words of comfort or reprimand. She hesitates for a moment before finally speaking up.

"Look... I don't know what happened. But this doesn't have to end like this." Her voice is soft and shaky, betraying the fear and confusion she feels. "We can talk about it. Maybe there's some way we can stop it from getting worse..."

As you continue to cry, you vaguely register the girl's voice as she speaks. Her words wash over you like background noise, incomprehensible through your haze of pain and self-loathing. She kneels down next to you, her expression a mix of concern and confusion.

"Hey... you can tell me if you want. What's going on? Why did you do all this?" She gently reaches out to wipe away one of your tears, her touch surprisingly soothing despite everything. "Maybe I can help."

You look up at her, finally meeting her eyes. Her expression is sincere and empathetic, and for a moment it almost feels like she understands what you've been through... or maybe even why. You swallow hard, struggling to find the words.

You bury your face in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably as the pain and guilt of what you've done overwhelms you. The girl with the red shirt watches silently for a moment, unsure of how to proceed or if she should even try to comfort you further. Her expression wavers between empathy and fear, as though she can sense the weight of your actions pressing down upon you like a physical force.

Eventually, after several long minutes have passed, she slowly reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder. It's a tentative gesture at first, but when you don't shrug it away or push her hand away, she settles into the touch more confidently. Her voice is gentle and soothing as she speaks.

"Hey... it's going to be okay. We can get through this together."

You shrug her hand away, looking down at the floor with a mixture of shame and anger. "It doesn't matter what we do now," you mumble bitterly. "I already know my fate... I'll get the death penalty for this."

You sit there in silence for several long minutes, wracked by sobs that seem to have no end. The girl with the red shirt watches you from a safe distance, unsure of whether she should approach or give you space. Eventually, when your cries subside to hiccups and sniffles, she tentatively extends her hand again, this time waiting for you to respond before doing anything further.

"I know it's not much," she says softly, "but... maybe we could at least try to talk about what happened? If you want to?" Her voice is gentle and reassuring, a contrast to the pain and fear that radiate from you like an invisible force field.

The girl with the red shirt hesitates, her hand still hovering awkwardly in the air. "I understand," she says quietly. "But... I'm here if you ever do want to talk." She gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze before withdrawing her hand and standing up, turning to leave the library. As she does so, she glances over her shoulder at you, an unreadable expression in her eyes.

You watch her walk away, feeling a mixture of anger, resentment, and regret swirling inside you. A part of you wants nothing more than to lash out at her for even suggesting such a thing... but another, deeper part recognizes that she might actually be trying to help in her own way.

As you break down in sobs, the girl with the red shirt hesitates for a moment before turning back around and approaching you cautiously. "I'm sorry," she says softly, sitting down beside you once more. Her hand finds its way to your shoulder again, offering what little comfort it can in this dire situation.

"It's okay... to feel however you do right now," she continues gently. "But you need to know that there are people here who care about you, even if you don't think you deserve it." Her words cut through your self-pity and force you to look at her, really see her for the first time since this all began. There's a strength in her eyes that you didn't expect, an unyielding determination to help others even when they don't want it or believe they need it.

"I don't think that's entirely true," the girl says softly, leaning in a little closer to you. "You may have made some terrible choices today... but I promise you, it doesn't have to define who you are." She hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice growing stronger as she finds the courage to speak the words that she feels must be said.

"Maybe... if we can just talk about what happened, and why you thought you had to do all of this, we can figure out a way to make things right again. Not everything has to end in violence." Her eyes meet yours now, unflinching and sincere, a testament to her belief that there might still be hope for you... if only you'd let her help.

The girl with the red shirt looks at you sympathetically, clearly torn between her desire to help and the harsh reality of your situation. After a moment's hesitation, she leans in even closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a gentle but firm embrace. Her touch is surprisingly comforting, despite the circumstances, and for a moment it almost feels as though you're not alone.

"I know this must be hard," she says softly, her breath warm against your ear. "But there are still options. You don't have to face this alone." Her voice is firm but reassuring, conveying the strength and resilience that only someone who has been through something similar could possess.

You think about what she's saying, about the possibility of not having to face your fate alone... and in that moment, something inside you begins to shift. Slowly, tentatively, you begin to return her embrace, taking some small comfort from her presence.

The girl with the red shirt looks up at you, her expression thoughtful and a little sad as she listens to your question. "I don't know... I honestly don't have all the answers," she admits quietly. "But I do know that we can work together to try and make things right again." She pauses for a moment, searching for the right words before continuing.

"Maybe if we could find out why you did this... why so many others did this terrible thing... maybe then we could start to understand, and maybe even stop it from happening again." There's a note of hope in her voice that's almost enough to make you believe her. "We don't have to do this alone," she repeats. "Not if we work together."

You look down at your hands, feeling the weight of your actions pressing down upon you like a physical burden. The girl waits patiently for you to respond, her expression expectant and hopeful. For a moment, it seems as though she really does believe that things might be able to change... and somehow, that belief is infectious. Slowly, tentatively, you find yourself beginning to believe it too.

The girl with the red shirt meets your eyes unflinchingly, her expression calm and steady despite the turmoil you both know lies beneath the surface. "I don't know much about you," she admits, "but I do know that everyone makes mistakes sometimes... and right now, it seems like we both need a little help." She takes one of your hands in hers, her grip firm but reassuringly gentle.

"So let me help you," she says simply. "And together, maybe we can figure out how to make things better for everyone." Her gaze doesn't waver from yours, conveying an unshakeable belief that somehow, against all odds, there might still be hope.

You hesitate for a moment longer before finally returning her grip, feeling the warmth of her touch spread through you like a soothing balm. It's a small gesture, but it feels significant... like the first tiny spark of something bigger beginning to grow inside you both.

The girl with the red shirt watches as you struggle to raise your hands, seemingly weighted down by the guilt and pain of what you've done. Her expression turns sympathetic as she sees your attempt to comfort her, and slowly, carefully, she reaches out to take your bloodied hands in hers. There's a tenderness to her touch that's almost heartbreaking, and for a moment it feels like all the pain and suffering you've endured has been channeled into this single point of contact.

Her eyes meet yours again as she holds your hands, silently urging you to keep going even when it feels like the world is pressing down upon you. And slowly, with her help, you begin to pull yourself back up from the depths of despair... one aching muscle at a time.

The girl with the red shirt nods, her expression understanding and empathetic. "It's okay," she says softly, releasing one of your hands so that she can gently cup your cheek instead. Her thumb brushes across your cheekbone, wiping away a tear, before she looks up at you again, searching for the right words to say.

"You're not alone anymore," she tells you truthfully. "And together... we can figure this out." There's an unshakable resolve in her voice that echoes through you, filling you with a sense of hope that you hadn't felt in days. You look at her face and see strength, determination... and perhaps even a glimmer of the love and compassion she feels for you, despite everything.

The girl with the red shirt notices your gaze drifting to the floor and reaches out to gently tilt your head upward, forcing you to meet her eyes once more. "You need to call for help," she says urgently. "It's not too late to stop this from getting any worse."

You hesitate for a moment longer, torn between your desire to confess and the fear of what will happen next. Finally, with a shaky breath, you nod solemnly and reach into your pocket, retrieving your phone. Together, you dial the emergency number...