You're sitting there navigating through piles and piles of files, frustrated with what you aren't finding. After thirty-two minutes and thirty-two and a third seconds, a dorky looking chick wearing spandex and rubber boots stomps in trailing mud and stinking of horsie pooh. She looks as surprised to see you as we are that anyone is reading this.

 "Hi." You don't want to come off like a jackass, so you offer a greeting.

 "Hi. I'm here for the Equestrian Club and we're doing our annual Trojan Horse-a-Thon, but unfortunately our plans fell through... There doesn't seem to be anyone looking to escape the UC in a giant Trojan Horse today."

 Then it smacks you in the face like a cheap cologne: That's one of the things the Equestrian Club does! Maybe they can help you escape!

 "Maybe you can help me escape!"

 And so they do. Bet the bomber never thought of this!

Turn to Page 71.