You take a little bit to examine the bookshelf. You thumb through a few books (especially Me & My .44, which you're certain is big enough to contain
a .44), but find nothing especially helpful about or inside the books
themselves... or the bookshelf, for that matter. No hidden switches, no
keys taped to the underside... just books on a shelf.
The door's locked, and sports a flip-up panel with numerical dials. It requires five numbers, two digits each. With only the books to work with, you begin working through the process of cracking the code.
After a little deduction, you input 91-14-01-60-44.
Nothing happens.
You try 01-91-44-60-14.
Nothing.
91-14-13-60-44.
Nothing.
The panic begins to set in as sludge continues to fill the room. You look back at the books, eyeing one in particular--At the Gold End? The atomic number of gold is 79--maybe there's a 79 in there? And there's a book you didn't use at all, Where Did She--
You push through the goop back to your bed, which is already disappearing under the black surface. You reach under the pillow first, praying it's here and not under the bed or you're going to have to dunk your head--
--yes! There's an extra book hidden under your pillow. However
the flood has risen high enough to reach it. The spine and front cover are drenched, and stained; you try to wipe it off, but it just smears more green-black over the title.
You take a deep breath.
The other clues were concealed in the titles and... maybe the colors? But the actual text was normal. Maybe, maaaybe this one extra book had its clue inside rather than outside...
You wince.
The vast majority of the inside is also sopping wet. You can barely get a grip on a dry corner to peel the pages apart.
As long as it's not on a specific page...
You only need...
a little bit...
You sneak a peek
and every page you can see
every line
just repeats the number 79.
Over and over.
That confirms that number, but why the hint about gold only to just lay the number out like this? Why would two clues suggest the same number...? That's just poor--
You need to focus.
You rush back to the door, the numbers mostly obscured by the rising blackness. It's harder to see what you're doing and harder to turn the dials, but you manage to put in 91-14-79-60-44.
...
Nothing.
No. You're very confident about these numbers. Those have to be the numbers.
You suspect they may need to be in a different order.
You hear another section of the ceiling burst. You turn, just to make sure nothing came out--but no, only more of that oily sludge. You don't have much time left.
You glance out the barred but otherwise open port in the door; when the water(?) reaches here it'll start to drain, but this opening's too small to keep up with how fast that gunk is coming in.
Outside looks like a hallway in a similar style to this room. A very thin shadow cast on the far wall disappears to the right just as you focus on it.
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