The sun was shining as a group of README writers took their places along the sidewalk of Forbes Avenue. Pushing aside Jehovah’s Witnesses, the group raised their signs and began to chant: “Eshaan works us ‘till we’re dust, and he won’t fucking pay us”. Weeks of worker tensions had finally boiled over into an all-out README strike, and Carnegie Mellon’s most middlingly competent authors were taking to the streets in protest.
As the strike went on, Eshaan Joshi was seemingly unperturbed by the calls for his beheading. Sitting on his throne of solid gold README copies, he wore a crisp pinstripe suit and held a cane adorned with a bloodied pen. Upon his lap was a snow white cat which he stroked, not noticing the white fur slowly covering his lap. When asked about the strike Joshi shrugged, stating that he would “rather cut off both his arms than negotiate with those peasants.” Yet despite his confidence in the gullibility of CMU’s student body, the pitch meeting remained empty, minus a freshman who mistakenly thought it was TA office hours for Reasoning with Data. Slowly Joshi realized he would be forced to negotiate with the striking writers. “Fine,” he huffed, rising from his throne. “I’ll do it their way.”
Tensions were high as Joshi approached the picket line. Several demonstrators began sharpening a guillotine that had seemingly been constructed next to Walking to the Sky. “Relax” Joshi called out, “I’m not here to fire you all, I promise.” The strikers remained silent, pausing their chanting to see what their Editor-in-Chief would do next. “I’m actually here to help you guys! I’m joining the strike!” Joshi continued. “I’m all for worker rights or whatever you want.” Gasps rippled through the crowd. Several strike leaders gathered around, muttering amongst themselves and eyeing Joshi suspiciously. After careful deliberation Tali Kirschenbaum, head editor for README, carefully held out a sign for Joshi to take. Unfortunately for Kirschenbaum, she had failed to realize that there were exactly twenty-four writers on strike, and under the new CMU policy Eshaan would become the dreaded twenty-fifth demonstrator. The strike could now be classified as a disruptive political protest, and as such Carnegie Mellon had the right to crush the peaceful demonstrators using any force necessary.
As soon as Joshi picked up a sign, police clad in tactical riot gear swarmed down on the protestors from nearby bushes. The leader, holding a megaphone, commanded the students to surrender. “THIS IS AN UNLAWFUL GATHERING OF TWENTY-FIVE PEOPLE, PLACE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD AND GET ON THE GROUND!” Before the bewildered README staff could react, canisters of tear gas were fired into the crowd. Screams could be heard all the way to Hamerschlag, and when the cloud of smoke finally lifted all twenty-four writers were bloody and bruised. Policemen lined up the protestors and blindfolded them as Joshi watched from the shadows, having slipped away in the chaos. Up in his office atop Warner Hall, Farnam Jahanian watched from the window. Officers began to raise their guns as Jahanian raised a radio to his lips. “Fire.” Shots rang out as the staff of README fell down, dead.
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