After several minutes of lost hope, I caught his scent once more: a faint, but discernible trail of footprints. I deduced that his shoes had been dampened by the recently-sprinklered grass on the Green. To my confusion, the trail led to the mysterious Power Plant. A loud hellish noise spewed forth from the Power Plant, as if a giant robot was being tortured inside. I shuddered, but continued to follow the footprints.
Just then, I beheld a sight oddly, distantly familiar: the entrance to the Steam Tunnels. I hadn’t come across this part of campus since freshman orientation! The tunnel were dark, cold, and damp, but I ventured on. That composite would have to be found. There was an eerie silence. The only sounds that could be heard were a dripping noise and the faint, reverberating sound of some underground frat party in a basement far away. I turned on my cell phone and used it as a flashlight.
To my surprise, the tunnel appeared to be inhabited. Composites lined both sides of the tunnel. A random assortment of smiling faces: 1982 Rho Rho Rho (the Crew team frat), 1986 Nu Delta Epsilon (the streaking frat), 1993 Alpha Alpha (the alcoholics’ frat), and many others. What’s more is the ground was littered with black North Face jackets. Hundreds of them. What type of place was this? Who would do such a thing?!
“Greetings, my little detective friend,” said a harsh voice out of the darkness. I gasped. It was Sherlock Brolmes’ worst enemy, Broriarty! “It’s good that you came to my little party, Sherlock.”
“Oh, actually, I’m just Broprah, his assistant,” I said.
“Oh, really? I’m so sorry, Broprah. It’s really dark in here — I had no way of knowing. Could you maybe text him or something? Tell him to come here? That would be great,” said the arch-villain.
“Yeah, sure, he’s just taking a shower. He’ll be over in a second,” I said as I sent him a text saying just ‘STM TUNNLS’ and waited patiently for his arrival so he could solve the crime and finally bring the composite back to Tri-Zete.