Note: This story appeared in our April Fools Distorter issue and is for comedic value only.
by Rad Rossford
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| Illustration by Bitches B. Crazy |
It's funny how a simple slip of the tongue can say far more than just an errant word. It was through just such a slip that I came to realize the long-hidden truth of the RIT campus. When my floor’s R.A. ‘accidentally’ revealed that the sprinklers of Gibson Hall, if struck, would expel ten gallons of water per second, it set me on a dangerous path that would eventually lead to the shocking truth. This inescapable truth is that the campus dorms are not actually housing facilities, but dormant spacecraft — and because of my findings, things are starting to get desperate.
Don’t believe me? It’s all in the numbers. Ten gallons per second across a nozzle a half inch wide means a flow speed of just over Mach 2. The total momentum change produces a sizable amount of thrust. Multiplying by the number of downward-facing sprinklers in Gibson Hall on one floor yields a total thrust of close to five million Newtons. Multiply by the number of floors, and the result is two thirds the stage one thrust of a Saturn V surface-to-orbit rocket. With the comparatively lower mass of the dorm compared to a rocket, there would be no problem reaching space, probably.
The puzzle pieces fall right into place. Why are the windows so damn hard to open? It’s because they are intended to seal against the vacuum of space. Why have pipes broken in the dorms twice this year? Obviously it’s because of the massive water pressure needed to initiate a launch. When I realized this, even more became clear. My vision is augmented with knowledge. What else could the Sentinel be if not a long-range communications tower listening to transmissions from space? And the ever-spinning Möbius strip in the Infinity Quad: a cleverly disguised ground-based
radar installation.
And it’s not just Gibson. All of the dorm buildings have the same architecture, with conveniently similar designs. I recreated the east side of campus with a Lego set and found that the dorms fit together perfectly, with their conspicuous flat surfaces and rectangular structures enabling easy compatibility. The only reasonable conclusion that can be drawn is that the dorms are engineered to combine into a larger form, a brick robot in space. What purpose the inhabitants of the buildings will serve remains unknown.
That leaves the obvious question: who built the dorms, and for what purpose? The second question is simpler. In case of invasion, or epidemic, or bears, the dorms would swiftly take off, assemble into their greater form, and leave for destinations unknown. As for who set this plan in motion, there are a number of possibilities. The Illuminati, perhaps? It doesn’t really matter- the point is that this has obviously been a long-term plan, laid out by old men in high positions of power.
Because of this, I know I am now in danger by sending this article. Already strange people are interfering subtly to break my will — just the other day I wanted orange soda, and the vending machine gave me lemon-lime. Soon, government agents will arrive. They’ll want me to disappear. They know a bomb’s a bad choice for close range combat, so it won’t be overt; they’ll want to do it quietly. A non-lethal takedown is always the most silent takedown, and then I’ll be gone. I write because I know that it is too late for me, but others can continue where I leave off. Continue the search for the truth. Trust no one. Question everything.
The theories expressed are solely those of the author. Do not investigate them further. Any attempts to do so will be opposed by the Institute with extreme prejudice.
