[ WP ] Every ten years , a random city 'hosts ' the Assassin Olympics .

It had been fifty-six hours since the start of the Olympics, and Frenchman Olivier DuPont had managed to survive in the streets of Washington D.C. 
 
 All throughout the past few nights, the occasional gunshot rang out in the empty corridors of America's capital. DuPont, who had been training for months, lurked around the National Archives building, and hid out in the room that held the Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights. 
 
 At around midnight, DuPont feel asleep. At one thirty, he awoke to a tremendous smashing. He grabbed his M4 and escaped through a back exit as gunshots rang out out front. 
 
 After leaving the Archives, DuPont raced down an alleyway and across Pennsylvania Avenue. He then went into another alley, and went into an unlocked building. 
 
 As he entered, he realized it was a theater. It was very beautiful, and, to DuPont's glee, had secure boxes. 
 
 He went into one such box and took a seat. He sat there for a good minute or so, heavily exhausted. 
 
 However, at one fifty-eight, his time came. Another olympian came behind DuPont. DuPont had no chance. He gave up. 
 
 At one fifty-nine, the olympian shot DuPont in the back of the head in a box at Ford's Theater.
