I recently swapped my copy of Skyrim for Assassin's Creed 3, hoping to trade the life of a catman ninja for that of a revolutionary. I played through the tutorial (conveniently placed Animus and cool glitchy graphics, check) and hopped into the main quest. After a bit of dicking around on a big boat, I arrived in Boston.

Now, when the Assassins' Guild says "nothing is forbidden, everything is permitted," I take their words fucking seriously. Rather than follow the guy who's supposed to lead me to wherever I need to go, I decide to take history into my own hands and go apeshit on the early American populace.

Now, since I'm at the beginning of my quest and unarmed, an assassination attack merely chokes an enemy, rather than killing them. Since NPCs don't die when choked, it doesn't count against me. Oh, heavens, what an oversight for a sociopathic assassin such as myself.

Within minutes, half the populace of Boston is scattered around my feet like the countless petals of a corpse-flower, writhing in pain and moaning for help. A brave few had the balls to confront me with a feeble "oh my god, help!" only to experience the wrong end of a three-point chokehold. I didn't realize American settlers were such pussies.

Eventually, I roused the suspicions of a few Redcoat guards, who rushed over to ventilate my chest with a few jabs of a bayonet. Little did they realize they were up against a bloodless, American GOD who could take at least a dozen shankings without a flinch. I amused myself for a short while by stealing the guards' muskets, using my Revolutionary Ninja Skills (?!) to twirl about, forcing bayonets into eye sockets and amputating legs just below the knee.

I was unaware of the firing squad forming several yards away from me--twelve guards with muskets drawn, primed, and aimed. BAM! With a cacophony of black powder, I went down like a rock, staggering from the dozen bullet wounds in my chest. But wait! A sliver of health still remained! Eager to escape my fate as a swiss cheese impersonator, I scrambled up the side of a building, sprinting away from my attackers.

Alas, I missed my jump and plunged two stories onto a horse, instantly desynchronizing. Huh. I suppose revolutionaries are impervious to grievous bullet wounds, but can be done in by a simple fall onto the back of a pack animal. And here I thought I understood history.