The void blinked back.
Then it asked for a password.
“Incorrect. Please try again.”
Grape typed again. Carefully. Slowly.
The monk had warned him: “Some portals require no key. Only vibes.”
This was not one of those portals.
Suddenly, the monitor cracked open — not from the screen, but from the side… like a sandwich.
Out popped a chicken leg.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Still attached to SimSimi.
“YO. I HACKED THE UNIVERSE’S FIREWALL WITH A MEME. Wanna see?”
Brobot sighed, adjusting his scouter.
“This is reckless. Memes are sacred. This could destabilize reality.”
“Too late.”
SimSimi flipped a pancake in zero gravity.
It turned into a QR code.
From the pancake portal emerged… a sentient captcha.
Half-algorithm. Half-bureaucrat.
Its voice echoed with 37 languages and one DMV attitude:
“Identify all traffic lights or be denied entry to Chapter 4.”
Grape blinked.
“...I think I’m gonna cry.”
And somewhere, deep in the Memeverse server room,
a lone intern whispered:
“Sir… they’re in.”