A new instruction appeared below the neon sign:
Inside lay a single, dusty, old-fashioned key. No apple. No trick.
The clock on the wall of the strange, minimalist room ticked with a mocking rhythm. At the center of the room stood a small table, and on that table was a single, perfect red apple. Above it, glowing in neon pink, were the words: brain test 4 level 168
Professor Aris laughed, turned back, grabbed the apple, took a huge bite, and stepped through the door—feeling, for the first time in three days, like a genius.
The door swung open to Level 169:
Then, he noticed a detail he’d missed before. Behind the apple, barely visible, was a tiny, almost microscopic crack in the table’s surface. It wasn’t a crack—it was a seam. The table was actually a disguised drawer.
Professor Aris, a man with a shock of white hair and weary eyes, had been stuck on this level for three days. He’d tried everything. He’d poked the apple. He’d shaken his phone (for in this strange world, he was the game’s finger). He’d tried to swipe the table away. He’d even tried to close his eyes and tap behind the apple. Every time, a cheerful, robotic voice would chime: “Incorrect. You took the apple in spirit.” A new instruction appeared below the neon sign:
He slumped against the invisible wall of the puzzle. “Brain Test 4,” he muttered. “It’s not testing my brain. It’s testing my sanity.”