I was lazy, then I was sick, and now we're back! What? All of this time spent, and you didn't answer the questions? It can't possibly be because I didn't remind you, right?
Turn 13Scream a cacophony of words (in unison with the Landites, so as to magnify our mind-destroying power) at the receptionist out of frustration
You decide to blow the receptionist's mind off the map. "I see that there is a damned cult that lay here. You want to replace the glory of God in my head with demons, qliphoth and all sorts of nightmares! Unfortunately for you, I have this wonderful thing known as 'plot armour'."
Zultan suddenly finds that half of his armour is missing, before the receptionist holds it up. The armour ripples, before blackness spreads across its surface. Ink drips out of it. The receptionist taps it twice, and begins vocalising. One of the Landites has their head explode.
"Sorry about that"
Aim my weapon at the comrades "Don't even think on signing the contract" try to take the gun from Triklejester
Triklejester? That sounds vaguely Afrikaner. You wave your secret weapon at everyone around you. It's like civil war is about to break out.
You try to steal the gun from Triklejester.
Suckerpunch TrickleJest and wrestle him to the ground.
You suckerpunch TrickleJest, and wrestle him to the ground! He now has a broken hip!
"So we're attacking Triklejest now, I want to help."
Run Triklejest over with the car, then use the last of the steel the make the car less generic.
You run Triklejest over with your car, and then make your car
stylish!
The Chaos Continuation Committee.
"Oh, our one. The Chaos Continuation is an organisation that wishes to plunge this accursed world into darkness, and build it anew: promising absolute liberty of action, and the annihilation of those pesky lords that lurk above us. Now, any specifics?"
I realize absolutely nobody is going to answer the Receptionist's questions, and decide to fire off a missile named "Triklejest" which interferes with any attacks not spelling Tricklejest properly as a perfectly rational response.
Huh, you mispelled TrickleJest. Fortunately for you, I am a merciful person who listens to everyone's attacks regardless of spelling, except when I'm not.
Welp, great! The people are attacking TrikleJest and TrikleJester, who are not me, TrickleJest. Which is fine for me. Eternities does sucker punch me, but he doesn't knock out my gun. I command the gun to self-explode, resulting in a nuclear explosion, this time specifically pretty fucking large, enough to engulf both myself and Eternities in the blast. Woo! I put uranium and self-detonation machines in all of my devices. Everyone should know this by now.
The receptionist admonishes you for using school projects such as atomic weapons outside of the lab room. She then steals your gun, causing it to not go off.
As time passes on, you notice a door. It's locked. Great. The receptionist asks you three things: "who's here, why are you here, and who's shooting?" Please, get all three questions right. Bad things might happen to you, otherwise.
The receptionist evaluates the answer to all three questions. We'll list them here.
1. Who's there?
ANSWER:
2. Why are you here?
ANSWER:
3. Who's shooting?
ANSWER:
Oh, I suppose that because we're in school, I have to award you a mark. In the UK, I believe this would be Unqualified. In the USA, I think this would be F. I don't know what it may be in Hungary, especially a 1930s Austria-Hungary evangelical school, sorry about that. Do you know what happens to students in the system? If they get U/F/unknown Austro-Hungarian failing grades, like you guys, the system consumes them and turns them into a Walmart worker or something. If they get too many degrees, they have been BRAINWASHED by BIG GOVERNMENT. I think that's bad for your health, like dying -- or is dying good for your health? It gets confusing.
The receptionist walks up to you. She holds Trickle's stolen gun in one hand, Zurban's stolen Plot Armour in the other.
"You didn't have the simple decency to answer three simple questions! Shameful! Horrendous! Who taught you? Have they no manners?" Everything around her appears to blur, then flash red. The receptionist seems a little broken. Now, she's all "for Cordoba!" and you're all on the ground.
You're all dead.Please don't get back up. I mean, that isn't a request. It isn't even an order. Don't get back up. You
can't get back up, definitely. Everyone is dead, and there is most definitely, decidedly, certainly nothing you can do about it.
Please don't get back up.
Everyone is dead.