You awake, in a room, with nothing. No item. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
Besides the decaying stone brick walls, there are only three things in the room:
- A door
- A note
- A keypad
You decide to look at all of them.
Note: There is no order to look at the objects. It doesn't necessarily matter.
You look at the door.
It seems to be rusted and made out of steel. You can clearly make out the thin line separating the two heavy chunks of metal blocking you from your escape. There is no way out, except for the keypad. In the corner of the door, you can see some writing, etched out: "Vmtkb2JHTnRWV2RoV0UxblltMDRaMXBZVG1wWldFSnNUR2xDVldSWVNuVkpSMHBvV1RKeloySnRPVE5NWjI4OUNnPT0K IS THREE"
Opening it manually seems to be an UNDECIPHERABLE task.
You look at the keypad.
Just your average keypad. It has the digits 0-9, an "ENTER" button, and a "CLEAR" button. It also seems to be connected to an alarm. Who knows what will happen if it rings?
The display seems to want 4 digits.
You look at the note.
The person who wrote it seemed to have made some letters darker, some letters crossed out, and some letters swayed.
It's ubiquitous, and
by it, I mean yo ur life.
lif e. That's what I mean. I mean, I also love cats. And I hate xenophobes. Xenophobia as a whole is just so unnatural to me. Hopefully someone fixes it. (And I don't mean that in a hateful way.)
Question: Are cats big? Big? Well, I'll say no, they are not.
But on a related note, my great grandma (related to the ancient Babylonians) quizzed me on my virtue. I couldn't care less. Not even on a quest. But, before my gradma died, she said one final thing to me:
You have to get out.
But it seems impossible.
QbBhgBaylqevIreq, italics =
ubtcxXfh, strike =