48

With a slight squeal, the door swings open. At once, light floods the buried hallway.

You hold your breath in anticipation of what's behind it.

But whatever you were expecting, you feel a little deflated—not to mention confused—when you see what looks like a near copy of your grandma's study back at the house.

Filing cabinets line the walls of the cramped room, with cardboard boxes stacked on top of them. Most of the remaining space is taken up by a large desk crammed with papers and books and quite a few cups half-full of old tea.

The only real difference between this study and the one in your house is that while the only computer you managed to find in your grandma's study was a dusty old laptop, this room is absolutely littered with computer parts. Pieces of metal with wires hanging out have been piled in every corner, screwdrivers and loose screws litter every surface like dust, and you count no fewer than three computer monitors (all displaying nothing but long lines of text) on the desk, all connected to some combination of the five computer towers that have been left whirring underneath.

Once you've taken in the sight in front of you, you clear your throat and say: