The job was finished. You start to raise your flag, signaling your success. Comrades see you and wave, however blurry. They were waves of warning. Little did you know.

There was an attack being launched upon your quadrant. You heard a gunshot from behind you. You turn to see your second-in-command collapse. You run toward him, catching him as he falls. He points his bloodstained hand toward his gun before smiling at you, eyes closing. You pick up his gun with a single tear rolling down your cheek.

This means war.

For those who haven't caught on, this is a long and convoluted metaphor for a clogged toilet.