The door looms before you once more.

The door looms before you once more.

Look along the doorframe.

An even darkness runs along the door's edges.

Put your ear against the door.

The metal is cool against the flesh of your ear.

It's quiet. No activity behind the door. Once open, you should be in the clear.

You only hear a low warble and the thumps of your own heartbeat.

Examine the keypad.

A heavy, die-cast, ten-digit keypad with a matrix of tactile switches. A trio of wires runs from the bottom of the keypad to the door.

The keypad sends its input to a series of relays inside the door. If the input is right, solenoids pull the bolts open.

Assuming an eight-digit combination, you're looking at a hundred million possibilities. Rounded up by one.

In other words, I'm not brute-forcing this.

It seems wiser not to try.

Right. (Move on.)

You look around the imposing door.

Could I brute-force it?

With enough time. And assuming invalid inputs wouldn't trigger a series of alarms.

Take a closer look at the lock.

You point your flashlight at the lock, cupping its beam with your hand. Inside, hundreds of small protuberances sprout along a cylinder.

An intricate configuration that reminds you of the night sky.

Those are stars...

The arrangement of the pins mimics the ninety-three constellations.

There is only one security system that uses that setup, the Abwehr-Pastorius Mk. III. A legendary keypad and lock duo.

Wait. Why is it based on the constellations?

It's the latest trend in security. Technical complexity has become inspired by the many spectacular formations found in nature.

Wow...

The door does not react to your awe.

Good news: this system was accidentally released with a big, honking security flaw.

It was?

All you need to do is switch two wires around, and the keypad will accept any input. Easy.

A vulnerability leaked to the Opera in 87, courtesy of a disgruntled engineer who had defected to the People's Republic.

A cheat? There lies the scoundrel's way. No thrill in that, no panache!

As long as it gets the door open.

How utilitarian. Remember: a paragon of her craft would defeat her opponent with flourish.

The Abwehr-Pastorius Mk. III's keypad blinks patiently.

But I'm all about panache!

Then you'll humble your opponent with craft. A duel for the ages!

I thought this thing was legendary?

A legendary failure. All you need to do is switch two wires around, and the keypad will accept any input. Easy.

Shhh, don't let it hear you.

Don't worry, it's not an audio-based system. All you need to do is switch two wires around, and the keypad will accept any input. Easy.

Salute your opponent.

The door glimmers, only for a moment, as if greeting you back.

Spit on the ground.

The door does not react, but you know it feels disrespected.

There's something about stars and what it says about this type of lock, but it doesn't quite come to you.

Definitely looks like a lock.

You haven't learned anything new but at least you gave the lock a good eyeballing.

Hrmmmm...

It's hard to see its full form without a light. But inside, there seem to be hundreds of small protuberances sprouting along a cylinder.

Crack the code.

Think. Codes are rarely random. What was that subeditor studying again? In her exercise papers?

A poetic meter. She'd circled 'choriamb'...

And there was a pattern: — U U —. Assuming a four-digit code instead of eight digits...

Enter the mind of your enemy. Steal their thought.

The shadows were here long before the metal, and wires...

Press '3'.

...before empires carved arrogance into stones...

Press '4'. Twice.

...and before thought. Meld with the dark...

Press '7'.

...and watch as even the stars grow pliant before you.

A soft, electronic tone plays, and you hear the chunk of mechanisms unlocking.

Woa. What did I just do?

Communed with the dark, and the secrets it holds.

The door parts open in deference.

Fuck you, door!

...and know that the world always bends to the arithmetic of the unseen.

....and four into gates...

...shadows sift them, turning threes into keys...

Channel the lost art of numerology.

All things hum with their own rhythm...

Think. Codes are rarely random. What was that young woman upstairs studying again? In her exercise papers?

You close your eyes and reach for the keypad. In that moment, you remember: your craft is older than such systems. Much older...

What is the aura of these buttons?

You trace the shapes of the numbers. As you finger glides across '7', your skin crackles. It happens again as you brush by '3', and '4'.

The shadows gather around you once more. You recall the numbers: 3, 4, 7...

You remember the first batches of number, at least. The right combination must be among what's left.

Fucking... 3,7,4,7?

You punch the keypad.

Nothing happens.

7,4,3,7?

You lick the keypad, pressing down the buttons with the flat of your sour tongue.

7,3,4,7??

You kick the keypad.

3,4,4,7??? Please?

You smack the buttons with the flat of your palm.

A soft, electronic tone plays, and you hear the chunk of the mechanism as it unlocks.

Yes! YES! OH GOD YES!!!

The door swings open on its greased hinges, soft as butter under the pressure of your hand.

Your knees could go at any second, the elation's that strong.

Anything. 7,7,4,3.

You try using your nipples to depress the buttons. Through your shirt, it isn't very effective.

Oh god oh fuck. 7,7,3,4.

When you leave this place, that noise will follow you. You'll hear it when you sleep, a permanent tinnitus.

Guuuhhhh, 4,3,7,7.

You need to sit down. The tone is doing something horrible to your inner ear.

4... 7,3,7.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes.

Let the tears fall. Try 4,7,7,3.

A choked sob rips itself from your throat.

I'm done. Fuck this door, and fuck this basement, and fuck you for making me do this. (Give up.)

The keypad simply blinks at you.

Numbers... Blurry... Must try everything again.

Oh my god. How many more of these?

Fifty-six remaining possible permutations.

Surely I must be getting to the end of them. Surely.

46 remaining possible permutations.

Try 3,7,7,4.

You poke the keys aggressively. The tone blares again, echoing in your ears.

Try 3,4,7,7.

You try to caress the keys gently, projecting artificial affection. Your ministrations only seem to make the speaker shriek louder.

Try 3,4,7,4.

You use the heel of your palm to smush in the keys. Part of your hand covers the speaker, muting the tone a tiny bit.

Try 3,7,4,4.

The buttons are growing damp from your sweaty hands. The tone goes again -- wrong, wrong, wrong.

Try 7,3,4,4.

You let out a groan as you type in yet another permutation. The speaker groans back.

Try 7,4,3,4.

There's a pipe that won't stop hissing somewhere to your left. It blends with the tone in a way that you assume would drive a dog insane.

Try 7,4,4,3.

You try bending down and hitting the buttons with your nose. The sound from the speaker is so close it rings in your ears.

Try 4,7,4,3.

With a cry, you point your elbow towards the keypad and hit it, hard. You almost drown out the sound that tells you that this combination, too, is wrong.

Try 4,7,3,4.

Your poking finger is starting to ache. The tone is mocking you.

Try 4,4,3,7.

Fucking shitting hell.

This is insanity. I'm going insane. (Back out.)

You wrench your fingers away from the keypad.

Try 3,3,4,7.

You punch in the numbers, hoping to get lucky. A strident tone blares from the speaker above the keypad.

Try 3,4,3,7.

You tap in the numbers and are met with a high-pitched, negative tone.

Try 3,4,7,3.

You poke the keys gingerly. The tone blares -- wrong.

Try 4,3,7,3.

A tentative pressure against the buttons. Your gentleness is met with an angry tone from the speaker.

Try 4,7,3,3.

You smash the buttons. No luck.

Try 7,4,3,3.

You smack the keypad. The speaker shrieks at you.

Try 7,3,4,3.

You slap the buttons, hard. The speaker yelps in protest, light blinking an offended red.

Try 7,3,3,4.

You try waving your palm over the keys. The tone isn't any softer in response.

No, I shouldn't do this. (Back out.)

You leave the keypad be.

It's highly unlikely the code is entirely random. Maybe there's a clue upstairs.

Probably worth a look.

The keypad isn't going anywhere.

Isn't that cheating?

It's not. But suit yourself.

You roughly remember where you stopped last time. Whatever's left, you'll have to try all over.

Channel the shadows. Let them rise with you. What do you see?

Four numbers...

A small detonation, in the back of your skull.

Focus. What are the numbers?

Wait. What was that?

An attempt at communion. Now, the numbers.

3... 4... 7...

This is as far as the shadows take you. The rest is on you.

But what's the order? And there's four digits. Which number's repeated? You're not just going to guess, right?

Exploit the lock's vulnerability.

See the blue wire and the yellow wires under the keypad? Unplug them, switch them around, and put them back in.

Unplug the wires.

The lights on the keypad go dark.

Cool.

You plug the wires back in, the other way around. After a moment, the keypad lights up and a message blinks on its screen: INPUT CODE.

Pick digits -- any digits. Eight at most. Press the star when done.

Make the code '0000'.

The keypad accepts the numbers. It blinks rapidly, three times, before emitting a pleasant chime.

That's it?

Nothing more to it. You're in.

The door opens unceremoniously before you.

Well, there it is. I win.

Make the code '5318008'.

Make the code '12345678'.

This isn't as fun as I'd hoped...

You reach for the wires again. And once more, you find yourself unable to remember how the trick goes.

You reach for the wires, knowing that you're meant to unplug two of them. But which two?

I can't even cheat right?

No, no. You definitely know how. It's coming back... any moment now.

The door glowers at you.

What about the yellow wire?

Let's... not risk it and back away from the keypad.

Could it be all of them?

Maybe if you want to trigger an alarm.

"Maybe later, door." (Leave.)

The door remains steadfast.

The door looms. Its keypad glowers at you dubiously.

Glossy metal finish, no hint of rust or weathering.

No prey here -- only a challenge. Your teeth chatter from the thrill.