The light in the room was dim, like the way you'd set your ceiling lights low for a cozy movie night, but there was no trace of coziness here.

"Let me go, you damn lunatics!" Billy yelled.

Next to him lay an old Stranded, writhing in pain. He was muttering curses in his own language, clutching his hands over his stomach. Billy tried to push himself off the rolling patient bed, but he was quickly forced back down, and a needle jabbed into his arm.

"You're our patient now."

"I’m supposed to…?"

"It's the only way we’ll get to the elevator. So just play along," said Nicholas Curtis.

"Couldn’t you have warned me first?"

"Like you did when you knocked that guy's cooler out of his hand?"

Billy calmed down. Lying there, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Now he understood why Nicholas Curtis had disappeared—he'd stolen some doctor’s clothes from a changing room nearby. Isaac, in a white coat and face mask, looked totally different, his expression serious enough to make him seem like a real doctor—if you could ignore the black eye.

"Where's my coat?" Billy asked.

"When people look at you, they won’t doubt for a second that you're an emergency case."

"Which is also pretty accurate," Nicholas Curtis added. Using the bed's grip rails instead of his crutch, he started wheeling Billy past the waiting area at a brisk pace, one fast enough to show they were in a hurry but not enough to break any bones. Isaac kept pace, pretending to adjust the saline bag hanging above the bed. He flicked the tube with his finger where two small air bubbles had gotten trapped, sending them slipping down into Billy's vein.

In the large waiting area, kids were picking the bright green leaves off the potted plants, while homeless people and factory workers shared the worn-out leather couch. Every seat and empty space was taken. The three stressed nurses at the reception desk were endlessly busy. As soon as they checked in one patient, the next was waiting, and the Sisyphean task would continue until the end of the shift. Day after day, week after week, month after month—until one day, they’d burn out and retire early. The doctor’s coats Isaac and Nicholas Curtis wore were apparently all the ID they needed. The nurses passing by greeted them warmly, and even the worn-out souls at the reception desk, drowning in a never-ending stream of patient data entry and phone calls, managed a smile for the faux doctors.

Nicholas Curtis marched purposefully through the sterile corridors, like a human GPS heading for the elevators. His memory must still be pretty sharp, Billy thought, or else he came here regularly. They moved through every part of the ground floor clinic: cosmetic surgery, a women’s health center with a maternity ward, a gynecology unit with a breast center, and the adjacent oncology center.

It took quite a while before they reached an unremarkable-looking elevator, and even longer before they found a moment when no one else was nearby.

"Get up," said Curtis. "Move it!"

Billy rolled to the side and slid off the patient bed. His knees shook as his feet touched the ground. Isaac quickly pulled the needle out of his arm.

"Ow!" Billy muttered, turning to Isaac, only to have Curtis toss him a white coat, which he caught just in time.

"Put it on, fast!"

"I thought I didn’t need one."

"Just do it."

Billy fastened two buttons to hide the dirty street clothes underneath, then grabbed a cap and face mask, pulling them on. Half-masked like this, he was barely recognizable, which was a good thing, he thought. Now, the hospital staff would only recognize him by his strange colorless eyes or the papery, veined skin of his hands.

"Get in, now!" Nicholas Curtis held a foot in the elevator door and waved his hand emphatically. The urgency in his tone suddenly felt justified, just as Billy had started to dismiss it as needless rush. As each of them jumped into the elevator, they spotted a pair of nurses and security guards hurrying down the corridor after them.

"Those are the two doctors!" Billy heard them say, then, "Stop right there!"

On the touch panel used to select floors (and if necessary, to call emergency services) Nicholas Curtis tapped 3 with a tense expression, while holding down the Door Open and Door Close buttons at the same time.

The silver aluminum doors slid shut with a warning beep, just as the guards reached them, and the elevator began its upward climb.

First floor... silence…

Second floor… silence…

"What’s the plan now?" Billy asked.

"Just watch and learn," the old man replied, focused.

Right before the elevator reached its destination, he hastily flipped the stop switch. The drum brakes at the top of the shaft kicked in immediately, halting the elevator just below the third floor. The lights flickered out for a moment, then blinked back on.

Billy and Isaac exchanged nervous glances.

"Now things get... interesting," Nicholas Curtis said, patting Isaac’s chest, his eyes never leaving the elevator control panel. "Come on, give me the researcher’s ID badge."

Once he grabbed it, he swiped the magnetic strip through the technician slot. A faint electronic whir buzzed, and then the screen, which had previously shown only the time and floor number in a simple digital display, flashed the elaborate Thandros Corporation logo. A new set of floor options appeared on the touch panel.

"All this time, I kept thinking you might be scamming us, maybe trying something else," Billy admitted. "But now... I believe you. You really will get us behind the Paradise Walls."

"It’s been a long time…"

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"What has?" Billy asked.

"Since I entered the correct code," Nicholas Curtis replied.

Only now did Billy notice that the computer was prompting for a multi-digit security code, which could be selected by pressing numbers on the panel. In other words, they’d hit a dead end if the old man couldn’t recall the right sequence.

"Back then, we only had three tries before the alarm would go off. No unauthorized person could access the research facility. If anyone set off the alarm accidentally, they’d face a long disciplinary hearing. So we had to memorize the combination, drilling it into our heads until we could recite it in our sleep. I dreamed about it so many times that, upon waking, I’d rattle off sixteen digits to my wife instead of saying good morning."

"That’s why you kept saying numbers to me!! It was the code for the elevator," Billy realized. "So when you ambushed me back on the factory grounds, you could just rattle off all those numbers without even a pause!"

"What are you talking about?" Nicholas Curtis asked, eyebrows raised.

"That was the password! That’s why you said it to me."

Nicholas shook his head slowly. "Kid, I’ve never seen you before in my life," he said. "At least not in ages." He ran his age-spotted hand carefully across each number, mouthing the sequence silently, his lips moving as he mentally reviewed each one. "Whoever you met back there," he continued, "it wasn’t me."

Then he pressed the confirmation button.

Before the terminal screen could flash red, they heard a loud noise behind them, like several heavy bolts locking into place. Instinctively, Billy turned around—was the elevator door being sealed?

A computer voice suddenly announced, "Warning: Incorrect PIN. Security systems engaged. You have TWO more attempts to confirm Brotherhood membership."

Without thinking, Billy reached for a switch to open the elevator doors but quickly realized that the airtight seal—into which the elevator had now transformed—wouldn’t open until they entered the correct code.

"Try again," Isaac urged the old man.

And so he did.

Once more, he carefully reviewed the digits, then pressed the green confirmation button.

"This is exactly how I remember the sequence."

A red warning light flashed through the narrow elevator, and immediately, small nozzles extended from several openings in the ceiling. Billy looked up, staring at them in disbelief, his mouth open. At first, he thought they were part of a sprinkler system. Or maybe a decontamination chamber, like the one at the solar cell factory? The nozzles looked exactly the same.

But then, the computer’s voice announced, "Danger protocol activated. Initiating gas release. Sarin gas exposure in contamination chamber in T minus two minutes."

What the…?

"What? Repeat that!" Nicholas Curtis rasped, his old voice cracking with a mix of outrage and fear.

But there was no response.

The three of them stood motionless in front of the computer terminal. Billy’s chest heaved. His body screamed for escape, even though it was useless now—they were already trapped. He was seconds away from hurling himself headfirst into the sealed elevator doors. His stomach churned.

"What kind of sick joke is this?" he shouted.

"Exposure to sarin results in the inevitable death of the human organism," the computer’s cold, factual voice replied. "Symptoms include difficulty breathing, seizures, vomiting."

"Yeah, well then just turn it off," Isaac shot back.

"Negative. Deactivation is impossible without correct code entry. Note: The nerve agent sarin, alongside other chemical warfare agents tabun and soman, was developed in the twentieth century and gained popularity with various chemical corporations, who could sell the nerve gas’s components to warmongers and dictators around the globe. The installation of this security measure was mandated by Prof. Dr. Henry Thandros."

"Oh, shut up already!" Isaac yelled, then turned to Billy, exasperated. "Are we really arguing with a damn AI?"

It wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened to Billy in recent days. He tried to focus.

Isaac was clenching his hands above his head. "Damn it," he muttered into his palms. "Just one more attempt. And we have no idea what the code is. This is a fucking disaster."

"Well," Nicholas Curtis said grimly, "I imagine they’ve changed the elevator code over the past twenty-five years."

"Now what?" Isaac’s eyes darted to Billy, who, like the old man before him, now mouthed silently to himself, lost in thought. He could only think of one thing: the stranger back at the harbor, who had reeled off a string of numbers before disappearing into the black helicopter. A mysterious ally. Was that the code for the elevator? Had the stranger somehow known they’d end up here?

Billy took a step toward the terminal but froze, paralyzed by fear.

"Hypothesis," the computer chimed in. "The leader of the Thandros Empire draws inspiration from humanity’s cruelest crimes. He does not wish to create peace in Central Park but rather to restore the Old Earth’s order. Correction: not order. His goal is to be worshipped."

"Shut up. I’m trying to think, damn it," Billy snapped.

"Warning: Gas release in 59 seconds."

"We still have one more try!" Billy placed both hands on the terminal, took a deep breath, and stared intently at the screen. "Give us more time. Just a little more."

The display flashed with another warning.

Damn it. This is an execution room. A fucking gas chamber!

"Friendly note: Immediate inhalation of the sarin gas is recommended to induce unconsciousness as quickly as possible. Otherwise, a painful death is imminent."

Billy’s breath came in short, panicked gasps, as though he’d just finished a sprint. His heart was racing wildly, skipping beats here and there. His hands shook, cold as ice. His thoughts kept circling back to four words:

We. Are. So. Screwed.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the endless sequence of zeroes on the screen:

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

With his index finger, he changed the first zero.

9 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Then he swiped the nine up twice.

1 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

He licked his lips nervously. Under the screen’s glow, he nodded, as if trying to encourage himself.

"Okay," he muttered. "Just numbers from zero to nine. Should be easy, right? Only about a billion-to-one chance I guess the right combination on the first try."

"Thirty seconds remaining."

"This is it?" Isaac demanded. "We came all this way, and now it’s over? This is where we’re going to die?!"

"Looks like it," the old man replied, just as Isaac slammed his hand against the aluminum wall of the elevator with a loud thud.

"Twenty seconds remaining."

Billy tried desperately to recall the long string of numbers, but it was impossible to pull such a complex code from memory—it had only been said to him once and never stored in his mind. Why had his mysterious pursuer at the harbor been so careless?

Why hadn’t he written the code down?

Then, suddenly, Billy snapped his fingers; the sound was like a gunshot in the confined space. He patted his back pocket frantically, pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and rifled through the cash compartment. Among a few crumpled five-dollar bills, he found a long receipt from a fortune-telling machine that had charged him ten bucks for a cheap fortune-cookie prophecy.

It’ll be worth it, the machine had told him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Isaac yelled. "Why are you holding a damn receipt?"

Billy’s hands were shaking so badly that he could barely make out the numbers printed on the slip.

"Nine seconds remaining."

Eight.

Seven.

Without looking at the timer, Billy entered the numbers from the receipt into the elevator’s keypad as quickly as he could.

Three.

Two.

2 – 7 – 6 – 3 – 2 – 5 – 4 – 9 – 8 – 0 – 7 – 6 – 3 – 5 – 6 – 0

He punched in the last digit.

One.

There was no time to check his entry. He slammed his hand onto the confirmation button at the last possible second.

Then he closed his eyes.

Breathed deeply.

Tried to clear his mind.

For a moment, nothing happened, as if the terminal itself was stunned. Or maybe it just felt that way to him. Then, finally, the screen lit up green, the gas nozzles retracted into the walls, the lockdown hatch slid back into the floor, and the locks on the elevator doors clicked open.

All three of them let out a long, collective sigh of relief.

Did that really just work?

Billy Jones stood in front of the keypad, still half-expecting he’d wake up from a nightmare at any moment.

"You actually paid ten bucks for your fortune from a vending machine?" Isaac asked.

Without even noticing, Billy had let Isaac take the receipt from his hand. Isaac examined it for a moment before looking up at him.

"And the machine knew the code for the elevator... What the hell is going on, Billyboy?"

"I fucking don't know."

Billy let out a long, relieved sigh.