[There's a run in her stocking. It hadn't been there before the fighting had broken out, but she felt the fabric tear underneath her dress when she kneed a man in the groin. Maybe it's a sign that she's not quite as good at this as the perfectly maintained James Bond, but it's invisible to anyone but her under the fabric of her gown. She only feels it against her fingertips when she slips her gun back into the holster on her thigh, her eyes on 007 with a rebuttal in her lips--]

Maybe if you wanted to get in the way again.

[But there's no time for small-talk, especially not with the fact that she just fired a gun. The sound would echo, their estimated time-frame would be cut in half, and she follows after him quickly on high heels. The instant they're in the room she takes the rifle from him, opening the case and beginning to set it up. It's a step-by-step process that is almost instinct at this point, after years of sniper training for the military and a familiarity for the weight that would press against her shoulder. They have to speed up though, the time is ticking.]

I don't take a shot unless it's going to count, it's good practice.