Written By: Jake Janus
The day was dark and dreary, the sort of day where there’s no distinction from one cloud to the next. The sky began to open its floodgates. The rain loomed over the quaint college town. Its streets, usually bustling with students rushing to and fro, were now desolate. They had all disappeared without a trace, as quickly as the comings and goings of the tide. The droplets splattered down onto the empty streets. Water streamed out of gutters, forming streams on the streets. Lights broke through the downpour. A sign of life in the ghost town. It was a sleek black 1961 Jaguar E-Type. A legend of its time, known for its swooping and mysterious elegance. It cruised slowly into the town before coming to a stop. The lights shut off. Out stepped a tall and shadowy figure. The already inky gloom seemed to darken. He was covered from head to toe in a jet-black trench coat. He wore a jet-black fedora to match. Beads of water dripped down its brim and down his gruff face. His eyes stood out from the darkness, twinkling like twin jewels. His name was Sherloaf Scones; he was a food detective.
This wasn’t his first university case. He was a veteran in the food detective game, the only one in the game. He was here to confirm his suspicions. College towns don’t empty themselves without a reason. He slunk his way to the cafeteria building, almost invisible in the murky black. He arrived there, carefully creaking open the door. A rancid smell wafted by—a telling sign.
Stainless steel bars were in place, made to direct students in droves down a long line of vats filled with sludgy brown gravy and viscous mashed potatoes. Next to the vats were empty pans where mystery meats and cold powdered eggs used to rest. Scones brushed his finger across the vats and licked his finger. He then eyed them closely, pulling a magnifying glass from the folds of his coat. He scanned every inch. He moved to the pans, repeating the same ritual. It was as he suspected. A tragedy indeed.
“Food poisoning,” he mumbled knowingly under his breath. This wasn't the first time he’d discovered such on a college campus, nor the last. He produced a phone out of thin air and dialed in a confidential number. “It’s as we thought; the food got them again,” Scones said with a slight smirk.
“Only 500 more to go until the population is in check; good work, Scones,” a gravelly voice retorted back. “Your next assignment will begin next week; get some rest, detective; I’ll need you to take down an Ivy League,” the voice deviously stated. “I’ve heard powdered eggs are a killer laxative.”
You see, Sherloaf Scones is only a food detective in disguise. He has sinister intentions beneath his sleuth facade—intentions to take over the world. As the only “food detective” in the world, he can fake a report as easy as taking candy from a baby. He and his partner devised a plan to take down the world’s leading institutions with food one at a time until there were no minds bright enough to stop them.
So, next time you're feeling sick after powdered eggs and cold pizza, beware, and remember—your life could be at stake.
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