Off To Cameroon!
Dusty and Tracer got home in less than 3 minutes, since they hadn't really gone far but had been driving their awesome shiny car in circles. Dusty rushed inside with grim determination on his face, yelling, "Cameroon! Cameroon!", while Tracer took a moment to refresh her foundation, lipstick, mascara, eyeliner and rouge; touching up on her hair in the process as well. She then stalked inside the home with a smirk, obviously pleased by her makeup skills. But then- she stopped, surprised.
Dusty was stabbing away frantically at a yellow, plastic children's laptop, screaming, "I told you, A is for absquatulate! " Tracer sighed and pulled out her own laptop, and within an hour's time they were on a cab to the airport. Walking into the airport, however, Tracer needed to empty her bladder, and rushed off in the general direction of the washrooms before Dusty could say, "A is for absquatulate!" She was in the process of unbuttoning her jeans and opening the stall door at the same time, when she stopped. Standing inside the washroom, perched smack on the toilet pot, was a big Russian dude with snake tattoos and pale, vampire skin (Ask me not how I know he's Russian, all big guys with tattoos and vampire skin are Russian). And he was pointing a gun straight at her.
Tracer ducked, and a bullet ricocheted off the mirror behind her, smashing it into smithereens. "Why did you go for the mirror", she wailed," How will I fix my makeup now?" She then did some awesome stunts which otherwise we could only see in action movies, and the next bullet just managed to graze her on her thigh, not fatal but leaving a deep cut. Then the Russian dude fled the washroom. "Wrong toilet!" she called after him, before collapsing into a scary-looking pool of blood. Blood has always terrified me.