“We’ve got ten minutes, tops,” snaps Sgt D’Amato. “That’s it. Move move move!”

Livingstone, Walker and Pierro run to the right, spray cans slippery in their hands. Edwards and Lee go left, flat on their bellies like snakes. They’re the lookouts.

In seven minutes flat they have finished spraying the Pythagorean Theorem on the wall of the ‘science’ building. Walker and Pierro slap hands gleefully. “Stop sucking yourselves off,” growls Sgt. D’Amato. “Save that for the base, ladies.”

Livingstone says, “Ah, Sarge, you’re being too–” The spotlight washes him out, snaps his jaws closed on his tongue.

“We’re painted!” shouts Lee. The sirens wail and the whick-whick-whick of the choppers comes howling over the buildings. They’re sprinting across the Quad when a bullet cracks through Lee’s calf and sends him spinning to the ground. “Down down down,” D’Amato bellows, and is taken in the chest while the others drop. He’ll survive to see the inside of the Reformation Rooms, thanks to his flak vest, or he would except Edwards puts a bullet in his brain. It’s a mercy the rest are denied by the supressor beams.