I see my quarry across the laundry room: two armed guards ready to put this whole place on high alert if they see me. I slip behind the out-of-order soap dispenser and unscrew the back. There’s four bars of soap. Jackpot.
Along the first patrol route, I slide a bar of soap. He slips and falls. I climb onto his back and smash his head into the glass washing machine doors until he’s out cold. I decapitate him. The other guard sees it all and starts firing. I run at her poised to throw a can of black pepper—it’ll make her sneeze. But I forgot one thing: the soap. I slip and fall into my own trap. It seems like all is lost. But earlier, I dispensed some flammable hand sanitizer; in the chaos, a spark flies from the guard’s gun and ignites it. She immediately explodes.
