Times are in SLT.

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CU Hurricane Preparation Class
CU Class for Hurricane Prep
Times are in SLT.
CU Class for Hurricane Prep
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Word on the street... Night falls on Hathian, and the city’s veins thrum with fresh rumors. Word bleeds from the Butcher Shop—where a standoff with an axe-wielder spiraled into chaos, ending with tasers and shattered pride. Down the cracked pavement, sirens wailed as bullets stitched the air, leaving a trail of blood and fractured trust; whispers swirl of a gun-toting woman demanding secrets, her questions answered only with gunfire and casualties that scatter across these mean streets. In the shadows, folk mutter about a pregnant woman caged for biting an officer—her defiance scrawled in blood and hunger. As always, in Crack Den, the truth is messier than the alleyways.
Whispers in the bayou... They say in Laveau, secrets travel faster than river fog, and yesterday’s were thicker than usual. First, word slipped from the Barracuda Bar—someone in a red dress staggered out with a bloodied lip and a whispered warning about Syndicate muscle flexing their claws. At the same time, a rumor simmered in the Crooked Key’s smoky haze: a backroom jazz set was just a cover for an arms deal gone sideways, leaving a suitcase and a grudge behind. Meanwhile, near the marina, shadows saw the Sheriff exchanging envelopes with a veiled figure, hinting at a new player in town. In Laveau, trust is as thin as the mist.
Rumors on campus... Beneath Columtreal’s brooding oaks, yesterday’s sunlight revealed more than scholarly ambition. Word drifts from the Rock Hard Boba Shop, where a clandestine meeting brewed between rival societies—murmurs suggest something was exchanged, though no one saw what. Down Greek Row, subtle glances and cryptic notes hinted at a forbidden tryst blossoming across house lines, drawing the attention of legacy overseers with their own secrets to protect. Meanwhile, the sweet haze at Grinder’s Dispensary seemed to embolden a few faculty members, whose laughter lingered far too long after closing. In Columtreal’s hallowed halls, whispered tales grow more tangled as night descends.
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