I've already made a few stops to talk to people in person, but I've gotta reach a damn crowd here if I'm to get anything done. If I already caught up with you on this subject, feel free to move on, or let me know if you've got anything else to add.

We all know this place is weird. Just how weird is up in the air, but I can say for certain the weirdest place I've ever seen. We also know that some of us can't get back home. I know it isn't just me, it can't be. If you can't get home from this #@&^% city, let me know, and tell me if you know how you got here in the first place.

Now if you can get home, I want to know how too. If this is your hometown, then you can probably safely ignore this old engineers mad chats.

On a related note, I'm looking for someone with access to a rocket ship, or space pod, or what ever. That, or a whole lot of rocket fuel.

[Snake's in his personal quarters, looking about as languid as he typically has been. He's propped back in his chair. Binder's flipped open. He appears to be grading... something. Probably an essay on what everyone learned at the Box Camp. At least the people who went. Anyone who didn't and wrote an essay was probably spouting bullshit.

Good thing he can bullshit real well.]

Huh. Last time I was going to say something, I was getting hit on by a woman - and not in the good way. [It's true. Last time he was on the network, Eli was beating him down for being drunk. He's amazingly sober this time around.]

I've got some good news for my students. [He waves some loose papers back and forth.] These aren't half bad. I'm beginning to think you guys are actually listening.

[A pause.]

Bad news is. If you didn't show up to that outing and you turned something in anyway, you're not getting any credit for it. Because you weren't there. I guess your punishment is that you have to eat a panel of a box. If you have any questions about what that's like, go see Captain Falcon and Instructor Aran. I'm sure they can tell you all about it.

[He can too, but he's not going to.] Next paper's going to be on the evolution of boxes and their advancements over time. [In short, come to another class of Boxes 101 where Snake pretends to be this guy named Pliskin and spouts random crap for forty-five minutes to an hour.]

Several months ago, Itchymarbles had gotten underneath Bowser's skin. He'd taken to the occasional bomb-throwing into the annoying student's room since then, but that was losing its luster. It no longer had that fresh feeling of antagonism, the high of pure, unadulterated opposition.

So, he went trolling on the internet to see if he could dig up anything about Indiemango; what he found was surprising. So surprising that their contents cannot be revealed here, dear reader.

However, he learned enough to formulate a beautiful plan.

There is an invisible magikoopa trailing Kibbletango. Whenever Kittytaco is in a hallway alone, or in the bathroom alone, a certain someone will appear at the end of the hallway. Or peeking in over the stall. And that beautiful laughter (they've been practicing, so that their ancient, dust-covered magikoopa throats can manage it with a bit of magic to help).

It always disappears around a corner or after looking down in the stall (not creepy at all, guys) for a moment, too quickly to be caught up with. Invisiblity + teleportation is fun.

Also, because Bowser saw how poorly Krinkletable took Mondo's... well, you know... Bowser used his teleportation to pop himself into Mondo and Kindertrumpet's room during class hours to smear a couple of pounds worth of butter in Mondo's sheets, and tossed a couple of pancakes in cornhead's sock drawer, just to help create a feeling of goodwill and care. Wait, no. Paranoia and fear. That's it. Paranoia and fear.