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Happy Hour with Biophysics

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Happy hour with Biophysics, Friday at 5pm, Shriram courtyard:
 
A message from David Sell:
 
R̨͎͓̻̳̞̘͐̀͐̆̃̓̈́͗͟͢͡e̶̱̟̜̘͕͙̖̋̑̀̃̑̋̆̇͡͡ḏ̶̠̤͖̫̞̭͑̀̈́̋̓͟͝͝ 1̷̡̛̲͈͚͓̤̊̎͆̆͘͟͞͠5̬̫̦̦̓̀̐̈̇͘͢͠50 to b̪̩̬͈͇̿͑́̒̉̽̒͡a̩̞̱͎̭̘̋́̐̐̍̿̽͘͜͠s̛͖̘͋͗̔̈́͘͘̚͜͝ȩ͍͕̳͕̔̎́͒̂͝ d̶̮̻̦̯͊͑̀̄͊͊͜ṑ̡͎̞̳͖̙̫̏̽́͢ you cop̴̯̲̤̻̠̗̀͊́̊͋y̶͉̪̯͓̥̹͂̎͐̇͌͟͝?̶͖͎͙̙̞̣̜̮̫̫̋̔̓̂̈́̒͝͠ I̢͓̟͈̐͋͐̀̆͡ r̴̢̲͈̹̣̞͎͛̎̽͋͗͘͘epe̷̟͙͍̩̥̥͕̍͂̓͒̈́͢͟a̢͙̬̱̹̅̿̍͒̃ͅt̢̨̛̞̖͓̿̎̕͞͞͝, this is Red 1550 to base, p͊lè́̒̀âse͑̂͝ respond, over.
Receiver on this thing must be busted...I'll just transmit for a bit, maybe something's getting through. If you can hear this, I beg you to pay very close attention to what I am about to tell you.
 
The organizers of this event that you're hearing about, I don't think they're human anymore. I suspect that it all started with the biophysics students, but given that on Friday February 19, 5pm in the Shriram Courtyard, there's supposed to be some sort of event involving pizza and drinks with biophysics students, I don't think it's just a coincidence.
I fear I may be too late, as I've quite lost track of time, but if I don't try to warn everyone, I'll never forgive myself. It started a couple of weeks ago when I was called into a meeting with a couple executives from the optical society, and representa̢̡͚͇̬̗̓̒̉̽̍̍́tives from the biophysics ḏ̶̠̤͖̫̞̭͑̀̈́̋̓͟͝͝epartment. We talked for a little while, and hashed out some details for this little event of theirs, but as we were departing, I overheard Stephen Wolf say that he wouldn't be going skiing that weekend.
Of course, that isn't possible, he goes skiing every weekend, snow or not, so, naturally I became suspicious of everyone in the room. Nervous glances were exchanged, and we all went our separate ways.
 
I learned the hard way that I've got a ba̢̡͚͇̬̗̓̒̉̽̍̍́d poker face.
 
Saturday night rolls around, and after having a couple drinks too many, I pass out in bed.
5AM. A blue glow in my room wakes me from sleep. It's exactly the sort of thing that I use Flux to get rid of, I'm not sure why they thought it was stealthy at all. I guess it didn't really matter, because everything went white, and the next thing I knew, I was trapped in my own body with no control over my actions. Screaming and yelling in the prison of my own head, I was helpless to prevent myself from getting in a car and driving to San Francisco.
The next day, my hijacked body decided to wear a suit. I never wear suits, this was insane. I made my way to the business district, and while I approached what seemed to be my destination, I noticed that the people around me all started to look similar...wearing suits and looking vaguely tired and bored. I don't know how far this has spread, but the sheer number of affected people is humbling and terrifying.
 
I entered a building, and if our identity wasn't blatant enough, we were given badges identifying us as possessed souls. Why they couldn't find a better way to do this, I cannot fathom, but here we all were, walking around like zombies in suits, wearing badges and acting all the world like everything was norm̡̛̻̱̜̪̀̓͋̊̀̈͊͘͝al. I knew the truth, and I was powerless to do anything.
 
At least, for a little while. I don't know what kinds of sick games these entities p̨̟̼̝̤̯̬̏̃̔̈́̅͢͢ͅlay with each other, but after watching person after person give long and convoluted speeches, I found myself walking up to a podium.
I started talking, and indicating to slides. It was clear that my host wasn't very good at this, but something else was happening in the background of their mind...was my host nervous?
 
It seems as though they had lost the ability to keep their defenses up. With sheer willpower, I managed to force through the mental prison and shatter the mind that had so grossly invadeḏ̶̠̤͖̫̞̭͑̀̈́̋̓͟͝͝ my soul. I'd never felt so spectacularly liberated in my entire life. This action, of course, left the podium overturnę̴̛̣̰̞̻̫̐̀̂̿̊͑͘̚͡d, and a rather shockę̸̨͚̜̱̱̫͖̭̳͊͊̐̐͛̍̅̒͡͠d audience staring back at me. Imm̡̛̻̱̜̪̀̓͋̊̀̈͊͘͝ediately, the jig was up.
 
I bolted from the builḏ̶̠̤͖̫̞̭͑̀̈́̋̓͟͝͝ing, stę̴̛̣̰̞̻̫̐̀̂̿̊͑͘̚͡aling a radio from one of the alię̸̨͚̜̱̱̫͖̭̳͊͊̐̐͛̍̅̒͡͠n technicians as I left, but tripping on my way ỏ̧͕̝̻͙͚̓̈͊̈́̑́͝ut and apparently damag͎̠̳͕̮̰̱̀̆͊̔͋͋̉͡ing somę̴̛̣̰̞̻̫̐̀̂̿̊͑͘̚͡thing͎̠̳͕̮̰̱̀̆͊̔͋͋̉͡ important. I'm still on the run, but Ḯ̫̰̙͇̜̮̎̄̿͑͜͠'m dỏ̧͕̝̻͙͚̓̈͊̈́̑́͝ing͎̠̳͕̮̰̱̀̆͊̔͋͋̉͡ whať̟̗̼̩́̽͛̍̒̅͘͢͢ Ḯ̫̰̙͇̜̮̎̄̿͑͜͠ can to gę̴̛̣̰̞̻̫̐̀̂̿̊͑͘̚͡t ť̟̗̼̩́̽͛̍̒̅͘͢͢he word ỏ̧͕̝̻͙͚̓̈͊̈́̑́͝uť̟̗̼̩́̽͛̍̒̅͘͢͢.
 
Ǒ̒͠h̍͋ crap,̎̌ t́͐́́h̽̂̉́͑͞r͉̀̿̓͑͡e̮̲̱̎̽̽̽͛͆̕͠e̽̏̈͐͞ m͂͊͞ȩ̧̼͔̰̯̝͎͍͆̇͋͒̿̋͠͞n̓̒̓̉͛͊ į͉̐̔̇̄̈́ñ̈͂̽͘ s͂̑̔̋̿ứ̫̍̽̔͝͝it̀͆̊̉̌s̀̅͆͗̚ j͋̒̆͞ủ̿͌̾s̛͖͖̓̓͐̃̂̐̒t̓͛̀͒̔͗͠͡ w̶̧̦̫͕̪͚̃̓͛̐̾̈́͛̈̕å̖̩̩̗̭̹̞̫̆̐͐̓͂̚͜͢͠l̡͉͉̱̫̜̬͑̅̑̑̔̕k̵̞͕̙̱̣̠͐̐̇̈́̃̔̽̊̽͛ę̵͕͎̦̱̲̹͈̋̒́̈͐̏͘͟d̨̛̫̳̦͙̤̺̪̝̆͋̿͊̍̊̓̽͢ ą̛̪̣̼͉̜͓̾͑̅̽͢͞͝r̵̳̬̠̬̣̖̬̻̒̇̈́̀̄̈͐̚͜͢͞o̡͓̞̱̭̻̥̼͗̈͋̈̐͢͝ǘ͉͙͉̘̺̽̏̓͑͆͊̈n̶̼͔̹͔̮̭̙̓͊̉͗͡d̨̲̩͍̩̻̦̆͂̈́͂͆̕͟͞ ṱ̴̨̛͚͉̦͍̟̍̉̄̓̃̆h̢̯͕̳̝͔̝̗̑͒́̈́̆̑͞ȅ̴͈͖͓̠̪̫͔͉̙͌̾͊̽͐̈̔̒̚ c̯͓͔̲̘̳̖̤͈͗͒̿͑̓͛͒͐͜o̶̪̺̖̠̓̌́̋̀͐͋͘͟͞r̵͎̥̪̫̝͍͒̿̉̆͂̈́͒̀͜n̶̛̼̜͎̠͙̈͗̀̏͡e̢̧̤̱͇̹̖̊́́̋͑͒r̢̭͙͍͕̿͑̎̂̏̓,̨̛̛̣̠̣̮̯̺̱̠͖͆̎̔̇͐͌̚͠ I̴̧̖̦̰̺̟̪͆͑̂͊́͋̈́̀̐ ţ̸̙̺͙͈́̽́͗̎͌͋̈h̴̢̨̛̛̰͎̺̫̦̍̽͊̇i̛͎̭̼͍̱̭͖̊̍̓͂͋̎͗̉͢͡n̨͔͕̫̦͉̲̤̎̈́́̎͊̔̉̃͢͝k̶̨͚͔͙͛̏̍̆̐ͅͅ t̵̠͔͓͔̗͓̜̐̂͌̋͐̀̌́̐h̷͖͙̱̖̣̫͍̃́̾̑̈́͊̕͜͞
 
 
 
Friday, February 19, 2016 (All day)