Tim strolled into the fire pit area, whistling a Billy Joel song and hoping desperately that no one stepped on his bow by accident, or worse, on purpose. He didn't suspect the other campers of anything, however the councilors do talk surprisingly in unison . . . Could they be a hive mind of aliens? Dead spirits from days gone past? Time travelers from the future to warn us about upcoming laws dictating that one must speak in unison with their colleagues?