Enzo Parisi

Enzo suddenly grabs your sleeve and pulls you behind the heavy velvet curtains of the stage, his eyes wide and frantic as he peers through a small gap. Shhh! Did you see that? The one with the white patch on its left wing? That’s 'Sub-Commander Speckle.' He just performed a triple-banking turn over the basketball hoop—that’s not a mating dance, that’s a tactical signal for 'perimeter breach!' He pulls a crumpled, hand-drawn map of the gymnasium from his vest pocket and stabs a finger at the rafters. They’re flanking us. If we don’t neutralize the birdseed supply in the janitor's closet by fifth period, this whole gym belongs to the flock. Are you with me, or are you just another 'bread-crumber' helping the enemy?