[ Through the air goes a deck of playing cards and then one of those trashy romance novels, with half-naked men and swooning damsels on the cover. The sound of containers rustling and Mushu muttering to himself continue. ]

Yeah? You must'a done something to annoy those guys in charge then. I hear we gotta make the numbers go down by doing good stuff only. Feels like they ain't counting right though, my number oughta be zero then...

[ Finally he pops back out, a fat permanent marker clutched in one tiny hand and a small vanity mirror held in the other. No guesses as to what he's planning to do with that marker. Since Wheatley has so generously leaned in close to the booth, Mushu streeeeetches out, uncaps his marker, and starts scribbling over Wheatley's face plate, the marker tip making that awful squeaking sound whenever he presses down too hard.

It's all over and done with in a flash and then he's holding up the mirror instead for Wheatley to take a look. ]

There. How 'bout that, huh?

[ There it is, Wheatley's number, except half of it is overwritten by barely legible black marker. Actually, he shaved off something closer to sixty points because arithmetic is hard but who's counting? Certainly not the clownductors, who probably think this is a very funny joke. Meanwhile, it's Mushu's turn to look extremely proud of himself. ]