You throw the radio across the room, it shatters across the wall sending a hail of microchip-boards, springs and shards of plastic spraying across the floor.
Through the large bay windows at the far end of the room, which look out onto your garden, you see there's a man, turned towards you, staring at you as you pant and growl at the mess the dessicated radio has caused. You're pretty sure he's part of your gardening staff. His presence is an affront to you, an unforgivable intrusion onto this, the aftermath of an act of privacy.
You grab the cafetiere filled with hot coffee and march towards the window. The gardener moves backwards uneasily, visibly wary of what is it you're about to do. To put him at ease you smile and wave at him. Then you open the window fully, as though to speak with him. He approaches slightly, to better hear what it is you have to say. Instead, however, you pelt the cafetiere directly into his face with enough force to cause it to shatter instantly on contact. He staggers backwards from the patio onto the lawn and collapses onto his back.
You seize some other nearby kitchen items - a pepper-mill, a large mug which had at one time or another held an Easter egg, a whisk - and throw them with a forceful precision at the gardener's prostrate form until he ceases struggling to get up and remains still, bleeding and cowering.
You explain to him, loudly enough for him to hear, that none of this would be happening to him if there wasn't a secret cabal which had its tentacles firmly rooted into every single aspect of this country's society. You begin telling him some of the basic details around the business firms involved in the so-called suicide attacks on the twin towers in New York on September 11th 2001, but you find yourself inadvertently wandering off-topic. Additionally, the gardener appears to have ceased moving entirely.
Do you want to:
Call the correct authorities and alert them to your actions.
Throw further things at the gardener.
Through the large bay windows at the far end of the room, which look out onto your garden, you see there's a man, turned towards you, staring at you as you pant and growl at the mess the dessicated radio has caused. You're pretty sure he's part of your gardening staff. His presence is an affront to you, an unforgivable intrusion onto this, the aftermath of an act of privacy.
You grab the cafetiere filled with hot coffee and march towards the window. The gardener moves backwards uneasily, visibly wary of what is it you're about to do. To put him at ease you smile and wave at him. Then you open the window fully, as though to speak with him. He approaches slightly, to better hear what it is you have to say. Instead, however, you pelt the cafetiere directly into his face with enough force to cause it to shatter instantly on contact. He staggers backwards from the patio onto the lawn and collapses onto his back.
You seize some other nearby kitchen items - a pepper-mill, a large mug which had at one time or another held an Easter egg, a whisk - and throw them with a forceful precision at the gardener's prostrate form until he ceases struggling to get up and remains still, bleeding and cowering.
You explain to him, loudly enough for him to hear, that none of this would be happening to him if there wasn't a secret cabal which had its tentacles firmly rooted into every single aspect of this country's society. You begin telling him some of the basic details around the business firms involved in the so-called suicide attacks on the twin towers in New York on September 11th 2001, but you find yourself inadvertently wandering off-topic. Additionally, the gardener appears to have ceased moving entirely.
Do you want to:
Call the correct authorities and alert them to your actions.
Throw further things at the gardener.