You think about the numbers you have, and the books you didn't use, and the eccentricities that still feel like clues.

You begin inputting the numbers in a different order. By the time you're halfway through cycling the second part of the sequence, the green-black sludge has risen past the locking mechanism. No longer able to see the numbers you're putting in, you're forced to remember what they were previously and carefully count up or down to the new numbers. It's increasingly difficult, and the substance still filling the room only makes it harder to concentrate as you blindly fumble for the dials.


You input 91-60-14-44-79.


...


Nothing hap--

The water muffles any sound the door was supposed to make, but this time it gives when you push on it. You and the sludge go rushing out the door, and you are spilled unceremoniously onto the floor of the hall outside.

The hall appears to stretch on a great distance to your left and your right. There's a lot of doors lining this hallway, all resembling cell doors like the one you just tumbled through.

The only sound you hear is dripping and rushing water, both behind you and farther down the hall in either direction. At the very least, you don't imagine an area this size flooding any time soon; it all just adds a general, uncomfortable dampness to the air.