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I roleplayed Hitman 3's Mendoza level as a coin-obsessed idiot

Your money *and* your life.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the Hitman business, it’s this: when a person sees a coin, they will risk absolutely anything to pick it up. Now since I was made in a lab and all, I don’t know much about money. But I’m not stupid. I reckon these “coins” they’ve been giving me for my missions must be pretty valuable. In fact, I am utterly certain that they are worth one billion pounds each. And I’ve got three of ‘em. Which makes me a trillionaire.

So. Diana - the boss - has taken me to Mendoza. Not exactly sure why, ‘cos I wasn’t really paying attention, but there's this Yates geezer throwing a fancy party, which she wants to infiltrate so that a secret society can make her queen of the world. She’s welcome to try. But she hasn’t got three billion pounds, has she? I have. And I'm gonna use 'em to beat Diana at her own game, join this secret society myself, and become king of the world. All I need to do is get into a position to impress them, and I’ll be set for life.

I’m not massively experienced socially, so on my way down the road to the party I decide to mingle with some rich blokes. As a conversation starter, I throw a billion quid on the floor in front of them. Then, as they start to reach for it, I snatch it up and stare expressionlessly in their faces for ages. It doesn’t impress them as much as I hope, but it does make me feel good.

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*glug glug glug*

There’s a camera crew at the entrance to the party, and usually I’d keep a wide berth. But it’s hot out here. I’m pretty thirsty, and the reporter’s got a can of delicious fizzy pop right next to her. Now let me tell you, I fucking love fizzy pop. So I can’t help myself: I walk right onscreen, pick up the tin, and beast every drop while staring right down the camera.

Once I’m in the party, I have a bit of a dance, making sure to show off the coin in my hand as much as possible. But nobody comes to dance with me. In fact, a woman tells me to “stop being such a freak”, while a very posh bloke asks why I’m “scurrying about”, and it dents my pride a bit. I feel a bit of a mug.

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Fed up, I decide to stop wasting my time with these snobs. I need to get into that big house on the hill, and show Yates why he should make me king of the world (the reason is that I have three billion pounds). But there’s some rooting tooting cowboys guarding the gate, and I don't want to disgust the rich people by strangling them.

I'm stymied. But I figure that maybe a bit of assassination might cheer me up. So I lurk in a flowerbed at the edge of the party, wait for a waiter to pass by, and chuck a coin in front of them. “Ooh!” they say. “A shiny billion!” But then before they know it, it’s rustle, rustle, snaperoonies, and they’re dead as a brick, stashed in the lavender. This is great fun, and I keep at it until I’ve got a great big heap of dead waiters in the flowerbed with me. Now who’s going to bring your fizzy pop, eh, you big posh bastards?

Feeling a bit better, I wander off to find another way up to Yates’ place. My luck’s in - there’s a security tunnel at the back of a car park that’s child’s play to sneak into. And what should be on the table inside, but a ripe banana and ONE BILLION POUNDS? I can’t believe it! What fool has left this lying around? Well, tough luck to them: it’s Ian’s now, and he’s a bloody quadrillionaire.

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Through the tunnel there’s some sort of fizzy pop factory, and a load more cowboys like the ones who were guarding the gate. There’s no rich people here to be disgusted, though, so I release the beast on the lot of ‘em, and take all of their fizzy pop to boot.

There’s a couple of black ops blokes too, with a sniper rifle. I chuck crowbars at them, and then it’s my rifle. But I don’t really feel like doing guns today, so after nicking the cool black op clothes, I just use the rifle's scope to have a bit of a peer around, making quiet pirate noises and pretending it’s a telescope. Aha! There's Yates’ house - and it’s just across a field of lovely Argentinian lavender! Excited, I hop over a wall and scurry fragrantly through it like one of those dinosaurs off of the telly.

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As I’m clambering about on the walls around the house, I hear a couple of guards having a bit of a chat, and they mention a safe in Yates’ basement. Crikey! Maybe he’s got a couple of coins of his own in there. I could be, like, a silmarillionaire if I got my hands on those. I’m beginning to reckon that sounds like a better plan than being made king of the world, tbh with you. Once I’m inside the house, I have a quick hang out with the maids while I look for a bit of a snack. There’s loads more fizzy pop in here, plus some fruit, and even a meaty bone in the sink. Yum yum, into Ian's pockets it all goes.

But I can’t hang around forever - I need to find that safe. So I head down to the cellar, where I find three more black ops blokes, who mistake me for their commanding officer. Idiots! I crack their necks like pepperamis, and bung them in a cupboard. I find the safe easily and get it open... but there's only some rubbish paperwork about a data leak or something in there, and not a billion pound coin to be seen. I'm a bit depressed by that.

But hang on, what's that in the main room? There’s a table here, with fancy nameplates: one for Yates, and one for Diana. Kerblammo! This must be where the secret society are going to meet and elect the king of the world! My luck's turned right round. All I need to do is wait here for them to show up, and then wow them with my fabulous wealth. But if I'm gonna really impress them, I'll need to set the mood first. And if there's one thing really really posh people like, it's an extravagant feast. So let's get some scran set out.

"If there's one thing really really posh people like, it's an extravagant feast."

First of all, I carefully place a coin in front of three of the chairs. This is a risky bluff, as it only leaves me with one billion pounds to my name. But I want them to think I'm so terrifyingly mega-rich that I can give out billions like I'm just sharing a bag of wotsits, so on the table they go.

Next, drinks. There's all the tins I nicked from the cowboys, plus some fancy wines and all. Problem is, I'm a bit too used to assassinating, so I hurl them all at the table with lethal force, and they smash everywhere. Oh well. At least there's food - a nice apple, an apricot, three bananas, and a lovely, rich meaty bone. Then, one final touch of class: a massive brick of cocaine that I found in the guards’ locker room. It, too, smashes everywhere. The feast is prepared!

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Bone appetite.

I sit around in the basement for an hour, feeling more and more miserable. My murdervision, which can see through walls and everything, tells me Yates is still in his garden, and it dawns on me that this meeting isn't going to happen at all. Once again, I feel like a mug. I bet the secret society people all know I'm here, and they've just decided to snub me. Is my money not good enough for them?

Fine. If that's the way Yates wants to play it, then we'll just have to do things the old-fashioned way, won't we? I creep back up to his house, and have a bit more of a loot, to find something really killy. Eventually, in the attic, I find the solution: it is a honking great broadsword. Hehe, yeah. That'll show him. I grab the weapon, and creep out onto the roof to spy on my prey.

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I decide to lurk on the balcony to Yates' bedroom, and wait for him to come upstairs for some kip. Awkwardly, though, his wife comes out for a smoke instead. Weirdly enough, she doesn't seem too bothered by the dead-eyed black ops bloke crouched on her balcony with a broadsword. But I don't want to take any chances, so I welly the sword at her neck.

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Then I hear Yates coming up the stairs. Here we go! I'm well cross with him for not coming to my party in the basement, and I'm dying to sword his idiot face off the second he enters the room. But I force myself to be patient. 'Cos there’s a way to make this so much sweeter.

Very carefully, I lay the broadsword down at my feet, and produce the one billion pound coin from my pocket. As Yates walks in, I stare at him, and toss the coin right next to his shoe. He doesn't even miss a beat, the big git. “Wow!" he says, like a schoolboy who has found a really sizeable frog, "YES!”

He stoops to pick up the coin. For exactly half a second, he is one billion pounds richer. But then he's got a broadsword through his head.

And that is how I became the king of the world.

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A sworded affair.

About the Author

Nate Crowley avatar

Nate Crowley

Reviews Editor

Nate Crowley was created from smokeless flame before the dawn of time. He writes books, and tweets a lot as @frogcroakley. Each October he is replaced by Ghoastus, the Roman Ghost. You can email him at: nate.crowley@rockpapershotgun.com

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