Sarah almost looks downcast as Amina pushes the microphone away, but brushes it aside, instead producing a thermos from her backpack.  "Right -- just hurry!"  She pushes the thermos into Amina's hands, before bolting off down the hall, microphone gripped tightly.<br/><br/>The contents of the thermos have the appearance, aroma, and texture of journalism-grade coffee.  Black, of course.<br/><br/>Amina manages to neatly sidestep a careening golf cart full of furry white meeps, arriving at the Borgia Center dining hall.  Students of all shapes and sizes run (or jump, or fly) screaming from the various exits, while a small squad of Campus Security officers (clad in their standard red tunic decorated with concentric white circles) are setting up heavy artillery as best they can.  Quite a few of the fleeing students have bits of bacon or scrambled eggs stuck to their clothing.