What lies do that drywall and plaster cover up?
We have all seen that little space that used to be TU Copy; the wall just one flight of stairs down from the café in McFarlin Library. One would expect that thing to be caged up, the window blocked off like a closed boutique in a mall. Or perhaps the little window could have just left alone with a sign that read, “Sorry, closed indefinitely.”
Instead, the school did something pretty interesting. TU put drywall over it the window to seal it away permanently, as if to gaslight students into thinking there was never anything there. But here’s the kicker: the slab of drywall blends in perfectly with the wall around it in every way … except it’s indented by a few inches. It genuinely looks like there should be something there, and those of us who were here last year know that it looks like that because there used to be a window there.
So why? Why would TU put such a permanent seal over that countertop, but only make half an effort to make it completely unnoticeable?
The answer is simple: thermonuclear disaster conspiracy.
The added wall is lined with lead and boron, the semi-covered look is to warn students that the area has been sealed for a reason, and the casualness of quietly erecting a new wall over TU Copy keeps students from being alarmed. It’s the cover up of the century.
The story begins back about half a year ago, when Petroleum Abstracts commenced researching a forbidden topic in the energy industry: clean energy.
TU Copy employees installed a nuclear reactor deep in their office. If anyone was wondering why everyone claimed that they kept finishing in the red every year, that would explain a lot.
And so the copiers, much like the alchemists of old, pursued dangerous and forbidden knowledge in secret. This was their downfall.
The taboo of this forbidden lore threatened the fabric of Tulsa’s economy. If nuclear energy took over, what would we do with the Golden Driller? What would we call the baseball team?
That’s when it happened. C security reports, named [redacted], seemed to reference some level of sabotage before they were burned. One big bang later, and next thing you know oil is the leading source of energy in Tulsa.
The Physical Plant did an excellent job of putting the affected parts of McFarlin back together in time for nobody to notice the damage in the morning. What they did not count on was the zombies.
The three students pulling all-nighters in the library that night were so heavily irradiated they turned in mere minutes. Unable to be stopped in time, the trio took to campus to spread the plague. They were stopped after nabbing about a dozen victims, all of which are now being contained within the corpse of TU Copy, behind that unassuming wall.
A new branch of campus moved in after Petroleum Abstracts was forced to leave: CSAS, or the Center for Stopping Armageddon-level sicknesses. It’s apparently been completely ineffective, but there’s always hope for the future.
No word yet on whether anyone has been able to actually enter that area and leave unscathed.
