"Hey guys, cut it out, ow! My glasses cost several hundred dollars! I don't think that carpet is fireproof! Hey, we'll call you if we ever get a settlement check for you from the Department of Education! Guys?"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2866133&forum_id=2#27776585)

The moment of reflection is interrupted by a sudden crash, a grotesque young hand of color has burst through the roof hatch and is now flailing around blindly for flesh to rend. A brisk spring wind brings up the sound of screams from the streets below. The associate takes a deep breath and calmly pulls the blackberry out of the chest pocket of his Traveler Wrinkle-Free Slim Fit shirt. He loads Carpe Diem. Typing now. Frantic. "0.2 - Lit the signal beacons". He pauses, recalls the Zeke Morris post from the Biglaw Advice thread from the day before. "0.5 - Coordinated and discussed with team re: lighting the signal beacons...". These duties extinguished, he trades the blackberry for a set of matches from his back pocket. He's trembling now. Not only from the cool April breeze whipping off the Atlantic but also for the fact that, deep down, he knows he's not given adequate notice to his team that he would be beaten to bloody pulp by youths of color on the rooftop. No matter. Summer associates will arrive soon. They'll fight on without him. It takes a few tries to light the match, he's shaking violently now. Finally it ignites. He immediately throws the match into the hollowed out center of the altar.

A brilliant blaze erupts, throwing him backwards against the AC unit and scorching his ginger unibrow. The fire singes away the swollen clouds of a cool mid-Atlantic evening. Just a few seconds later. A reciprocal blaze from across the Delmarva. "My god!! We're saved!! The fires of Wilmington burn bright!". Far off in the distance, more lights. Stars lighting up the sky. A celestial trail stretching towards Atlantic City. Now Philadelphia. Trenton. New York City. Pittsburgh. Another crash. He realizes that he'll be dead within minutes. A corpse without a head and a lawyer without a name. But reinforcements would arrive to avenge him. Troops were no doubt already massing within the fiery frontiers of DLA's realms. Barrel chested litigators from New York with fists of stone and limp-dicked WUSTL men who fought with a frenzy and vigor reminiscent of the Old Norse berserkers. He smiles now as the youths of color swarm him, removing his limbs from his body, stretching him in every direction, tearing off limbs as if his component parts were being removed for future reassembly. "Thanllll" his severed head groans as a protesting youth hoists it triumphantly. All black now. His duty is done.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2866133&forum_id=2#27776783)

The beleaguered and battered summer associates, exhausted from a night of gallantly holding the elevator bank, collapse at his side. "Thank the gods, you've arrived!"

"Don't thank the gods" belts NMTP. His horse bucks wildly as they charge into the stairwell. "Thanl the scholarship!"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2866133&forum_id=2#27777044)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2866133&forum_id=2#27783702)

Yes, yes it is.

*standing tall, head down and eyes closed, fist in the air, finally he opens his eyes*

"We fight on. For Shaddix. For the scholarship."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2866133&forum_id=2#27784054)