“They were robots,” gibbered Student Government Czar Sandra Slicer, fourth year Art or Something major at RIT. “But it seemed so real. So real.” I tried to get her to comment further, but she kept pinching her skin as if she were trying to feel whether or not she was made of bone or metal.
Since she was clearly out of her mind due to the haunting horrors she had witnessed, Distorter has tried to piece together what happened from those close to Slicer:
“She was receiving these cryptic communications,” her henchma– errrr, Vice Czar and fifth year Beep Boop major Im a Bat said, clearly confused by the whole situation. “They said things like ‘Munchkin can’t be allowed to rise’ and ‘my legacy is the Weather Machine. Go to the Weather Machine. It will all make sense.’”
Slicer’s friend was on the phone with her as she approached the Sentinel, more commonly known as the Weather Machine to President Wrestler’s inner circle, and heard Slicer’s initial reaction to the sights that unfolded before communication was cut off.
“She was surprisingly skittish,” said the friend, who asked to remain anonymous. “She went up to it, yelled about how there was a secret tunnel and then all I heard after that was whirring and clicking.”
Intrigued, I went over to the Sentinel to check the matter out for myself. Sure enough, if you can successfully overcome the oppressing feeling of bureaucracy and the hot stench of burning tuition dollars that serve as deterrents — a power only possessed by RIT students in their final semester — there you will find a large depiction of a maze. If you’re brave enough to press your hand to the center of the maze, part of the concrete underneath slides away. Are you prepared to face what’s down there?
I wasn’t, so I sent someone else instead. What she found will shock you. Luckily, unlike Slicer, Rachel Evans was able to retain at least enough of her mental faculties to tell me about it afterward.
“They were producing clones of Wrestler,” she said, clearly shaken. “Some of them were finished, and they were identical. They seemed like real people.” In addition to the completed clones of Wrestler, Evans saw some that were clearly works in progress. “They were hanging like mechanized Vitruvian Men. It was the most disconcertingly dazzling thing I’ve ever seen.”
“They were hanging like mechanized Vitruvian Men. It was the most disconcertingly dazzling thing I’ve ever seen.”
After combining this information with Bat’s description of the message sent to Slicer by Wrestler, it’s clear that the current president is determined to displace the incoming president Munchkin and rule the bleak wind tunnels of RIT for the rest of eternity.
Upon further investigation, it’s clear that the recent slew of disappearances of mechanical and industrial engineering students was due to the need to develop the facilities we found underneath the Sentinel.
“Like, six of my classmates just disappeared,” said seventh year Mechanical Engineering student Billy Hopkins. “I was kind of okay with it, though. I know at least one of them was infected with Stupid Fucking Question Disorder, and I’m trying to develop critical thinking skills.”
We reached out to Wrestler’s office for comment, because apparently we have a death wish. We got an automated response. Then again, it’s possible that all of Wrestler’s vocal functions are automated. As well as his movements. And maybe his staff. Does his wife know? Is she a robot too? Am I? HOW DO I KNOW WHAT’S REAL?
Anyway, here was what this particular machine told us:
“President Wrestler is currently in rest mode, and will return your call as soon as he feels fully charged. Thank you for your inquiry.” They're really not very good at hiding this robot thing, in retrospect.
We also attempted to get in contact with incoming President Munchkin, but were unable to locate him. There are three possibilities for this: either the robots have gotten to him already, he has retreated to form a strategy to combat the mechanical menace or he's fled Rochester in fear of his life. If he's as smart as he seems, it's probably the latter.
The implications of the facility underneath the Sentinel — the Weather Machine — are, as yet, unclear. There is so much we don’t know. Is the current incarnation of Wrestler a robot as well? If so, how long has RIT been run by mechanistic means? Is Wrestler the only one, or is RIT entirely under the jurisdiction of an animatronic administration? How long has this been going on? Who can we trust?
This revelation does provide clearer insight into a few questions that have been plaguing the Distorter staff for several years.
"I knew those bastards were actually heartless," said Boss Ass Bitch, alumna of the RIT Truth-Telling major and former Distorter editor in chief, whom we reached out to for comment. "I tried to warn everyone, but did they listen? No, they were too distracted by banjos and orange hair."
"I tried to warn everyone, but did they listen? No, they were too distracted by banjos and orange hair."
So, what do we do now that the Robot Regime of Wrestler is upon us? Some will deny, some will rationalize. "What is the worst that could happen?" they'll ask. "This is what we wanted. Wrestler forever! Spend all the tuition on balloons!" We here at Distorter, however, urge you to realize that the peaceful transition of power is what keeps RIT strong. Wrestler's intention to remain the president of RIT for however long it takes for all those robots to stop working will tear at the very fabric that holds the institution together. Besides, there's no way Munchkin would be that bad, right? Right?
Aww hell, why do I care? I'll be gone. Good luck with the Automated Armageddon, RIT.