Upon waking up to find myself in a noisy, ice-creamy mall, I run to find an exit. As I wrestle with the impenetrable, locked doors, I look over to see a floor waxer, keys in ignition. I have found my battle mount. I laugh maniacally as the floor gets dangerously slippery in my wake.
I make my way to the food court, taking a mop that I found next to the floor waxer with me. With Vera (I named my mop), I run into the McDonalds, drenching Vera in hot, boiling frying oil. I run back out, dripping delicious greasy death, and hop back onto Alistair (my floor waxer). I ride into the fray, whipping Vera around like a medieval flail.