Feeling quite cavalier, you scramble up the side of the building and into the open window. Inside, you discover three alumni bound in ropes with scotch tape over their mouths. Yet there is a third alumnus, a guy you recognize from some intro class whom you believe was in a frat, but now is in a choke hold, compliments of a man dressed as a mime: he’s got the white face paint, Parisian attire, and Cirque du Soleil build, yet somehow is about to strangle this ex-linebacker with ease.
Seeing you, the mime lets up his grip, just enough for the captive jock to smile and say, ‘Aha! You’ve arrived just in time for the coup de grace – could be fantastic, no?’
Hold on, isn’t he the captive in need of saving? Why is he seemingly taking delight in his imminent death? No time to think about it – he’s gonna die soon, regardless. Maybe he’s somehow brainwashed the mime into becoming a weapon for his own self-destruction?
You reach into your pocket and feel your ninja star, kept for just this sort of occasion. You’re an excellent shot, everyone knows that. So the question is, whom do you take down: the jock, or the mime?