Gone Postal

'You have three hours...you may begin.' The lecturer's words reverberated around the examination hall.
Jason allowed his eyes to flick to the cover sheet of his test paper.

His mind was elsewhere. He had things other than economics to worry about. These people...students around him, were scum. Filth of the highest order. Privileged assholes, their studies funded by 'The Bank Of Mummy & Daddy'.

The university took precautions against cheating, but their approach to checking students for handguns tucked inside their trousers was sadly lacking.

Jason stood, smiled, and aimed the firearm at the student sat in front of him.