Bounding down the echoing hallways, my unparalleled intellect races to formulate an escape plan, effortlessly seeking a way to outsmart or elude my relentlessly inferior pursuers. As I traverse the labyrinthine corridors of this quaint castle—a mere backdrop to the grand theater of my mind—I deign to ponder the features of a typical fantasy fortress. What elements might offer a strategic advantage in this dire situation? Secret passageways, perhaps? Too pedestrian. I playfully entertain the notion of concealing myself behind mundane furniture or slipping into a random room, though such simplistic stratagems barely engage the extraordinary faculties of my mind.

Suddenly, as I turn a corner with an air of indifference, my discerning gaze alights upon a window. Hastening towards it with an air of nonchalance, I discover a precarious height and a roof below, obstructed by rusted bars. My intellectual frown deepens as I scrutinize them closely, realizing they might yield to some force—a force undoubtedly propelled by my inherent superiority. With a decisive push, the bars begrudgingly budge slightly, acknowledging my intellectual prowess, but it's glaringly evident that more effort is needed.

While I, the mastermind, strain against the barred window, my fellow captive, whom I've temporarily designated as Bob for convenience, manages to catch up to me. His gaze oscillates between me, the window, and the approaching guards—dimwits unaware of the brilliance in their midst.

Hmm, he seems quite physically able; I suppose he could be a useful minion in my grand escape plan. "What the hell are you looking at, help!" I snap, my annoyance palpable and disdain for his lack of initiative quite apparent.

He gulps—perhaps acknowledging the intellectual chasm that separates us—and obediently joins in the effort. With a grating sound, the bars finally give way, crashing onto the roof in a cacophony that serves as a testament to my unmatched determination. Without a moment's hesitation, I, the paragon of intellect, effortlessly leap through the window, landing with the grace befitting someone of my superior caliber on the slanted roof. Naturally, Bob, mere mortal that he is, follows suit, albeit with a distinct lack of finesse.

Swiftly, I maneuver away from the window to another section of the roof, evading the guards with the finesse that comes naturally to someone of my stature. I glance down at the roof below, acknowledging the impracticality of a direct jump. Klimbing it is then—a calculated descent, placing my feet strategically and grabbing at any part of the wall that dares to protrude. What shoddy architecture this realm boasts.

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Bob, struggling to emulate my exceptional descent, nearly slips at times but manages to reach the lower level. An emotion akin to pride momentarily flits across my consciousness—pride in the fact that he is following in the wake of my brilliance. Looking down, it becomes apparent that a direct climb-down is out of the question. Surveying the roof, I spot several windows, and a sardonic smile plays on my lips. Peering through one, I find a mundane hall I put my ear up to it and I hear chatting. Next window it is then. The next one had nothing through it, putting my ear up to it I heard, nothing. I smile.

Waving Bob over with a dismissive flick of my hand, we, in a calculated display of teamwork, remove the bars with an attempt at quietness. Though not entirely silent, the breach goes unnoticed, a testament to my strategic acumen. Peering through the window reveals an empty space—a blank canvas upon which my intellect shall paint the masterpiece of our escape. I proceed through the window with an air of nonchalance, and Bob obediently follows.

Sneaking through the castle, my discerning eyes chance upon a butler tending to peculiar plants. Without the slightest hesitation, I, the maestro of subterfuge, deliver a swift blow to his head. To my annoyance, Bob displays visible shock; what kind of imbecile gets shocked by the inevitable consequences of violence? Opting for a disguise, I instruct him to stash the unconscious butler on the roof and don the butler's worker uniform. Though hesitating momentarily, Bob dutifully complies with my command—acknowledging, even if reluctantly, my intellectual superiority.

Naturally, he requires a worker uniform as well. Instructing him to stay put, with a dismissive wave of my hand, I resume my stroll through the halls, exuding an air of ownership. Eventually, I happen upon another butler—another pawn in my grand scheme.

Returning to Bob, I, the orchestrator of this escape symphony, hand him the second butler suit, adorned with a touch of red for added sophistication. His lingering shock disappoints, but my expectations of his cognitive capacities remain low, for he is but a mere player in the grand theater of my escape plan. Anyways, continuing through the halls, after a while, we find some stairs going down. I descend with the nonchalance of someone accustomed to higher echelons of thought. Going down the stairs, we find nothing new—though every step brings us closer to the climax of my ingenious plan. I’m not risking snatching anything in case another magic alarm rings, for my intellect cannot be sullied by the trifles that may trigger such alarms.

Surprisingly, the uniforms work like a charm; we pass by some workers, and it seems they don't notice anything, consumed by their menial tasks. After a while of finding stairs and going down them, we, the architects of our own destiny, finally locate the exit—guarded, as expected, by a dozen guards now on alert due to their apparent realization that we escaped. I, contemplate turning around to go back up to the second floor. Yet, before I can execute this subtle maneuver, a guard, no doubt intimidated by my towering intellect, notices us.

"Hey, there are currently intruders in the castle, so we are gonna need your standard given passcodes,"