At first, the Stalker didn't register the consequences of her actions - it felt unreal and disconnected from the world around her. For a second there, she couldn't even fathom that this was the world of the real, where actions have consequences. She stood there motionless, swaying a little as she watched the bubbly mix of pink and red flowing out of the exit wound on Moralfag's head. And then it hit her, the wave of sound and noise, of panicked screams of low powerlevel fags that littered the convention floor: some were running away, some were taking
pictures. Then there was a Sailor Moon cosplayer whose skirt lifted up and revealed under it the bulge of an erect penis, fighting it's way out of the frilly panties that looked like they would snap at any second. The Stalker realized that her face was turning red and her crotch was on fire in a way that she never felt before - she wanted that penis inside her, but it was impossible - no man would ever love her enough to do that. Tears made their way to the floor to mix in the pool of her pussy juice. She squeezed off another round and the Trap made a squeak and fell on the ground, clutching at his stomach. At the same time, his penis went wild and unleashed an unholy torrent of semen, most of it hitting the Stalker in the face, some on the Moralfag's corpse, some on the Fanfix girl that was typing away like it was no tomorrow on her '99 Thinkpad. The floor of the con was almost empty now, and it was only a matter of time for the police to show up and put an end to this one way or another. The Stalker started to cry again, her tears making long streaks down her face, carrying with them blood and semen that was beginning to dry.