I try to run – even though I already know that running never, ever works out for me here – grabbing the film reel as I do so, only there's a nun mannequin doing something so incredibly un-nunly in the middle of the table that I stop to gawp.
They don't seem to care that for someone like me – someone who tries so hard to be stealthy but has been steadily giving themselves away since Snake first met Meryl – emerging at all is the victory.
It's why the dudes in the white coats behind frosted glass always seem so disappointed in me when I emerge, pale and shaky, at the end of each trial.
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