Thirty seven years in the park service and Bob was being forced into silence by a man who couldn't even find a decent hairdresser. Not today, Bob decided.
With a little help from one of the newest rangers, Bob got himself his own twitter feed. Let that cheetoh-fingered buffoon try to stop him, Bob was going to post every science fact he could before they shut him down.
Do you know how fast the polar caps are melting? Do you know how many bison are in Yellowstone park? Bob does. Bob read encyclopedias in the bathroom, or while staying out in the park campsites by himself.
The doors crashed open, men in suits walked in yelling for everyone to get down. Bob was in the bathroom reading his encyclopedia when he heard the ruckus. Not one second of hesitation, Bob was out the back door with that book tucked under his arm. His truck was parked just behind the building, but he could make it farther on foot if he set off into the trees.
Bob grabbed his hiking pack, already stuffed full of gear and food in anticipation of this turn of events. He knew the risks, he'd been prepping for most of his time with the park service. The Cold War prepared him for this, hardening his tastebuds to MREs. Bob knew he could survive in the woods far longer than city folk could keep hunting for him. He knew the other rangers would do their best to lead them on a goose chase while he lived comfortably among the trees.
Secure in his skills, proud of his rebellion, Bob quietly pushed through the brush behind the building and set off along a deer path. Let the hunt begin.