She unloaded the contents if the magazine into the remaining shooters. Now, in life Beth never was excellent with a gun. Death provided certain opportunities however, and several times over the course of her fifteen years she slipped into the body of a gun-toting whackjob. She took those chances to learn a thing or two. She still couldn't hit a target on the bullseye, but everywhere else was fair game. The thralls either side of her dropped to the ground, struck in the shoulders, stomachs, legs... wherever her bullets ended up. No one, it seemed, prepared for one of their own to turn on them.

A few fiery blasts from the crumbling building took care of those wielding the rockets. She thought she heard shouting again, but her attention was elsewhere. One of the downed shooters dragged themselves towards the flaming corpses on crippled legs. Beth followed and slammed the butt of her rifle into his head. "I always wanted to do that," she told his unconscious form.

A bullet tore through the chest of her meat suit. The strike prompted her out of the body as it fell, and she spun in search of her would-be killer. The lone shooter ran from the scene, their gun pointed behind them. Briefly, Beth considered letting them escape, live, and make some feeble attempt to flee from Nemsemet's grasp, before she decided their death was inevitable. The supernaturals, at least, could not afford to be found a second time.

She ended his run for life with a brick to the head. "Sorry, champ." It was kinder than Nemsemet would have been, by far.

Unburdened by the weight of a body, Beth took off back down the street. Once she caught sight of Tony, Flint and the strangers making their way to... she had no idea where the rest planned to go, exactly, but Flint was headed for his car. Beth waited a moment to perform a headcount, darting through the devastated front wall of the daycare to ascertain the survival of Parry and the Asgardian, then followed Flint. She stopped beside his car. "That plan of yours, Flint dear, what was it again?"