I open my eyes and find myself in the familiar white room.

Hi! My name’s QWERTY, and I’m trapped in a series of chambers. Every time I open my eyes, I find myself in a white room. Glowing letters on the wall read, “Escape if you can, and you’ll be free. If not, well, you’ll see what will happen…” Of course, I know what these words mean by now: I’ll have to work out the puzzles and find the passwords to every coded lock in the room in order to get a key to the room’s final door. Once I escape, another room will be waiting for me. They never seem to end, but I want to get out, to be “free.” Numerous times I have passed out, like when I chose the wrong bottle and drank poison or when I opened the wrong box and was stung by a scorpion or when the “24:00:00” on the ceiling of the rooms turned to “00:00:00”.

Enough introductions. I’ve lost some time already. The ceiling now reads “23:58:23.”

I rush through the locks in the first nine rooms. I’ve been trapped long enough to remember the passwords by heart. They are all five-digit binary codes: “11001”, “01111”, “10101”, “10111”, “01001”, “01100”, “01100”, “01110”, “00101.” I realize that if I transform these binary numbers into decimals, they become 25, 15, 21, 23, 9, 12, 12, 14, 5. All are within 26, so I try connecting the numbers to the alphabet. Slowly, I spell out “y-o-u-w-i-l-l-n-e.” I will what? Neglect? Negotiate? The colors of the rooms are different too. The first is white, the second black, and then five white rooms, two black rooms. I wonder what this means…

I open the ninth door and step into Room 10, a white room. I scan around. A four-poster bed stands in the middle with a bedside table on either side. On the other side of the room is a desk with a computer on top. A pot of cymbidium is positioned on a white stone column in a corner, bringing a splash of color to the mostly white room. In another corner, a bookcase displays ancient books with big gothic letters printed on the spines. Soothing music plays on hidden speakers, creating a relaxed atmosphere.

Based on past experience, I head straight to the bed. Nothing in the sheet. Nothing under the mattress. Aha—here it is! A saw inside the pillow. Saw in hand, I look around. Anything I can split? My eyes rest on the bed posts—they are perfect for hiding something inside. I get right to work. When I cut open the third post, I hear something loose inside and a pencil falls out. Pocketing the pencil, I approach the computer. The screen lights up as I move the mouse, showing three squares in red, green, and blue. Below the squares, a message reads, “Please Enter Password.” Of course, I need a password. What was I thinking? I look around the room, trying to see anything related to colored squares, but find nothing. Discouraged, but also used to being stuck, I systematically search the room again. Nothing on the bedside tables, though I haven’t opened the two locks yet. Proceeding to the plant, I dip my hand into the dirt and touch an edge. Excited, I topple the pot over. It breaks with a bang and a small wooden case falls out. It’s locked. Turns out I need to find another clue. I shake my head. Finding nothing of use, I fling myself onto the bed, thinking that I should just give up and sleep through the time.

Waking up, I look to the ceiling. “14:22:54.” I sit up, stretch, and look around. That’s when I notice it. On the bookcase, three larger books stand out, one red, one green, one blue. The computer password! I jump out of bed and grab the three books. The cover of each has a number: 48, 16, 83. They must be the computer password! I run to the desk and enter them. A cheerful rhythm plays as the screen shifts into a picture.

What is this? It must be the clue to a coded lock. I muse at the picture, understanding nothing. I soon realize just looking at it won’t accomplish anything, so I try reverse thinking. I look at the lock on the small case and the two bedside tables. They all need a password of numbers, so this must be what the picture stands for. Running all the digits through my mind, I soon realize that each of the symmetrical glyphs presents a number and its mirror image. “3159.” I try the lock to the case. Nope. Then the bedside tables. Click. One lock opens. Inside, I find a piece of paper on which is written:

Code: A=12, B=13... Y=10, Z=11

Question: What is MR?

This is easy! I take out my pencil and write out all the letters and number them, starting at 12 and returning to 1 after 26. According to this logic, M is 24 and R is 29. I try out the lock on the small case. It opens, revealing a blank piece of paper inside.

What is this? I am furious. I’ve solved all those puzzles and now you give me a blank paper? What am I supposed to do with it? Make a paper airplane?

Again, I throw myself onto the bed, curl up, wrap the blanket around myself, and sleep.

When I finally wake, the ceiling shows “01:19:42.” No longer able to sleep, I pick up the pencil and draw on the blank paper to pass time. When I am shading my drawing, I notice lines that remain white. Mystified, I look at the paper closely and discover impressions that seem to form some numbers. I quickly pick up the pencil and scribble furiously on the paper. Finally, five numbers stand out in the now dark grey paper: 10110.

10110? That will be 22, the letter V. The sentence now reads “You will nev . . .”. Well, that eliminates most possibilities. A word starting with “nev” and following “you will.” I’m almost certain that it will be “never.” What will I never do?

Still pondering the question, I head toward the other bedside table and enter the password. The lock clicks open, and inside I find a silver key. I use it to open the door.

Room 11 is black. I scan the room. A row of bookcases line one wall, and on the other side a laptop sits on a large desk. Three safes are stacked in a corner, and a display case full of small sculptures stands by the door.

I look up at the ceiling. “00:00:07.”

Seconds later, I pass out.