You give up on the trap door and walk away to ponder alternate plans when suddenly you notice a larger campus police officer waddling toward you, sweat dripping down his head from his marked acceleration.

 "Hey you!" he exclaims, "What business are you up to, sporto? We heard word there was suspicious shit going on here. Now, I want to be able to call in and say 'all set,' but I can't do that until I'm sure that all is set."

 "Say what?" you reply.

 "That's it, you're under arrest. And you know what? I'm glad. One less piece of crap walking around this campus."

 He whips out his big, shiny, metal handcuffs.

 "You know what," you offer, "why don't I go get you a twinkie and we'll forget this ever happened?"

 And with that you dash off.

If you decide to run upstairs, turn to Page 10.

 

If you decide to run downstairs, turn to Page 21.