(set: $visitedDesk to false)
(set: $visitedPatio to false)
(set: $visitedTTRPG to false)
(set: $visitedLab to false)
(set: $found28 to false)
(set: $found42 to false)
(set: $found900 to false)
(set: $cluesFound to 0)
(go-to: "Start")The glow of a safety-critical display prototype illuminates your face. You are sitting at your desk in the middle of the open office plan, deep in thought about a hardware-software integration, when Lieven suddenly sprints down the aisle and stops at your workstation.
The R&D director is panting. In their trembling hands is a massive, blank birthday cake resting in a titanium carrier box. Emblazoned across the side of the box in large, friendly letters are the words: <strong>DON'T PANIC</strong>.
"It's Gaël's birthday in exactly twenty minutes!" the director hisses, checking a synchronized chronometer. "The frosting team is on standby downstairs in Beluga. They need the exact age to initialize the candle-sequence protocol. If we get the variable wrong, we fail our safety audits and the party is ruined. Find out his age. <em>Now.</em>"
Before you can ask for clarification, the director shoves a digital notepad onto your desk and sprints toward the stairs. You are left alone with the weight of the department on your shoulders.
You need leads. Where do you begin your investigation?
[[Look around the Open Office]]You stand up and survey the ScioTeq engineering floor. The open office hums with an anxious energy. Colleagues are rushing back and forth, oblivious to the impending doom of the candle-sequence protocol. Time is running out.
You review your potential destinations.
(if: $visitedDesk is false)[* [[Navigate over to Gaël's desk area]]](else:)[* You already visited Gaël's desk]
(if: $visitedPatio is false)[* [[Investigate the patio]]](else:)[* You already visited the patio]
(if: $visitedTTRPG is false)[* [[Check meeting room Alouette]]](else:)[* You already visited Alouette]
(if: $visitedLab is false)[* [[Visit the Avionics Lab]]](else:)[* You already visited the Avionics Lab]
(if: $cluesFound > 0)[<hr><em>You have gathered enough fragments of the truth...</em>
* [[Head downstairs to the Beluga cafeteria for the finale!->The Beluga Cafeteria]]](else:)[<hr>* [[Head downstairs to the Beluga cafeteria for the finale!->The Beluga Cafeteria]]](set: $visitedDesk to true)
You weave your way through the open office floorplan to avoid detection by upper management. Finally, you reach Gaël's designated desk space.
It is a fortified citadel constructed from complex DO-178C standards documents, various unorganized scribbles, and towering, structural stacks of boardgames. You carefully step around a pristine copy of the <em>Draw Steel</em> rulebook, afraid that touching it might trigger a trap.
You need to find a number hidden in this beautiful chaos. Fast. Two things catch your eye:
* [[Peer inside the Critical Role tankard]]
* [[Examine the silver towel draped over the chair]](set: $found28 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You lean over the legendary Critical Role tankard. It is humming with a faint, arcane energy. It is filled to the brim with a swirling vortex of polyhedral dice. At the very top, suspended in a localized anti-gravity field, rests a percentile die (d100). It is glowing an ominous crimson and has locked firmly onto the number <span style="color: #e74c3c; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">28</span>.
Is that the age? Or a roll for psychic damage? Before you can document it, a precarious stack of Eurogames begins to topple! You dive out of the way, commando-rolling through the open office and retreating to safety.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $found42 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You pick up the towel. It's woven from an incredibly soft, unknown synthetic material and seems completely out of place.
Sewn into the hem in large, friendly letters are the words "DON'T PANIC." You trace the fabric and find a smaller, hidden embroidered tag on the reverse side. It reads: <em>"Property of Hitchhiker, Cycle <span style="color: #2ecc71; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">42</span>."</em>
Cycle 42? Is that the Gaël's age? Before you can pull out your phone to take a picture, a precarious stack of Eurogames begins to topple! You dive out of the way, commando-rolling through the open office and retreating to safety.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $visitedPatio to true)
You push open the double doors and step into the patio area. It’s an expansive, high-ceilinged indoor space flooded with natural light from massive windows. It's normally a serene place where developers relax, but today the atmosphere is entirely wrong. The air feels heavy and smells like ozone.
The primary source of the disturbance seems to be the two vending-style coffee machines. Because Gaël does not partake in the coffee ritual, the notoriously unreliable machines seem to have entirely lost their purpose and are now aggressively venting a glowing, cosmic warp plasma.
You need a clue, and you need it before the patio loses atmospheric pressure.
* [[Check the malfunctioning coffee machines]]
* [[Ask the trance-like colleague by the water cooler]](set: $found42 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You duck under a jet of superheated warp plasma and approach the vending machines. The digital display, which usually just says "OUT OF ORDER", is flashing violently. The error code locks in firmly at <span style="color: #2ecc71; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">42</span>.
Scrawled in the glowing condensation on the adjacent fridges are the words, <em>"The Ultimate Answer."</em>
You log the number in your brain just as the dishwasher violently overloads and initiates an emergency shutdown sequence. You flee the patio before security arrives.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $found900 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You approach a junior developer who is slumped against the water cooler. Their eyes snap open, glowing with a faint, terrifying bioluminescence.
"Do you know Gaël's age?" you whisper, shaking their shoulder.
"They do not partake in the bitter bean water," the colleague intones in a perfectly synchronized, robotic, dual-layered voice. "They exist beyond such mortal tethers. The cycles are infinite. They have survived <span style="color: #9b59b6; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">900</span> standard Earth orbits."
That seems astronomically high. But the colleague's eyes start shooting actual electrical sparks into the water cooler jug, so you back away slowly and retreat.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $visitedTTRPG to true)
You creep toward the meeting room. This is the sacred ground where a legendary <em>Call of Cthulhu</em> campaign has been running uninterrupted for four real-world years. You have long suspected that the group accidentally breached another dimension somewhere around Year Two.
You peek through the glass walls. The fluorescent lights inside are flickering in a rhythmic, morse-code pattern. Sitting at the head of the table is not a human Keeper of Arcane Lore, but a shadowy, tentacled appendage casually rolling a sanity check.
You need answers.
* [[Read the Keeper's campaign notes through the glass]]
* [[Risk opening the door to ask the entity directly]](set: $found42 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You press your face against the cold glass, squinting at the Keeper's screen. The notes appear to be written in a strange, shifting non-Euclidean geometry. It hurts your eyes to focus, but a single line suddenly translates itself directly into your visual cortex:
<em>"The Great Old One shall awaken when the Team Lead reaches cycle <span style="color: #2ecc71; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">42</span>. Ensure the ritual towel is prepared."</em>
Suddenly, every shadow in the room turns to look directly at you. You panic, stumble backward, and sprint away from the conference room.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $found900 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You throw caution to the wind and burst through the door. "Quick! What is Gaël's age?! The party depends on it!"
The tentacled appendage pauses its dice roll. The temperature in the room drops below freezing. A voice echoes directly inside your mind, tasting strongly of ozone and ancient parchment.
<em>"WE HAVE PLAYED THIS CAMPAIGN FOR A MILLENNIUM. THE LEAD HAS GUIDED US THROUGH THE ABYSS FOR <span style="color: #9b59b6; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">900</span> YEARS."</em>
Your nose starts to bleed from the sheer cosmic dread of the revelation. You slam the door shut and sprint back to familiar territory.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $visitedLab to true)
You enter the Avionics Lab. It's a hive of activity. On one side of the room, hardware and software engineers are huddled around open computing systems, probing exposed circuitry with complex oscilloscopes.
On the other side, the QA team is running full build audits, buried beneath mountains of DO-178C and DO-254 checklists to ensure the safety-critical missions won't fail.
You need to find a clue in the technical data.
* [[Check the oscilloscope connected to the open hardware]]
* [[Peek at the QA auditor's compliance matrix]](set: $found42 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You step up to a lab bench where an open safety-critical display is being tested. You hook a probe to the primary processing unit and watch the digital oscilloscope.
The waveform is erratic at first, violently spiking up and down. Then, it suddenly stabilizes into a perfect, repeating pattern. The frequency locks in firmly at <span style="color: #2ecc71; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">42</span> kHz.
Before you can verify the signal, the display flashes a bright warning and resets. You've got what you need.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]](set: $found900 to true)
(set: $cluesFound to $cluesFound + 1)
You casually lean over the shoulder of a QA engineer who is knee-deep in a DO-178C software audit. You scan the massive traceability matrix on their monitor, searching for the "GAËL_LIFESPAN" requirement string.
You spot a red flag on row 8,402. The auditor has left a comment:
"<span style="font-family: monospace;">AUDIT FAILED: COMPONENT LONGEVITY EXCEEDS DO-254 HARDWARE PARAMETERS. GAËL HAS BEEN OPERATIONAL FOR <span style="color: #9b59b6; font-size: 1.5em; font-weight: bold;">900</span> YEARS.</span>"
The engineer turns around and glares at you. You step away from the desk before they ask you to review a document.
* [[Return to the main walkway->Look around the Open Office]]You sprint downstairs and burst through the double doors of the Beluga cafeteria. The tables and chairs have been hastily pushed aside to make room for the party.
The cake frosting team is standing in the center of the cafeteria, holding their industrial piping bags like tactical laser blasters. They tap their synchronized smartwatches in unison. Time is officially up. The fate of the party rests on your next words.
You desperately try to piece together the bizarre fragments of information you've gathered on your journey:
(if: $visitedDesk is true)[ - The strange numerical anomalies hidden among the towering boardgame stacks and the legendary tankard. ](else:)[* You didn't check Gaël's desk, but that's probably fine. Right?]
(if: $visitedPatio is true)[ - The cosmic warp-plasma prophecies delivered by the patio appliances and entranced colleagues. ](else:)[* You're sure that there was nothing useful at the patio anyway.]
(if: $visitedTTRPG is true)[ - The madness echoing from the four-year Cthulhu dimension in the conference room. ](else:)[* Where is Alouette anyway?]
(if: $visitedLab is true)[ - The bizarre readings from the open hardware oscilloscopes and the QA department's safety audits in the Avionics Lab. ](else:)[* On second thought, let's not go to the Avionics Lab. 't Is a silly place!]
The head of the frosting team steps forward. "Give us the number."
You have to make a call. What age do you command them to pipe onto the cake?
(if: $found42 is true)[* [[Tell them the exact, meticulously researched age: 42|Ending 42]]](else:)[* [[Stall for time and shout a random avionics standard: DO-178C!|Ending DO-178C]]]
(if: $found28 is true)[* [[Panic, rely on a wild guess, and go low: 28|Ending 28]]](else:)[* [[Admit you have no idea and blame the Agile process|Ending Agile]]]
(if: $found900 is true)[* [[Surrender to the cosmic dread and guess way too high: 900|Ending 900]]](else:)[* [[Create a diversion and flee the cafeteria|Ending Diversion]]]
(if: $found42 is false and $found28 is false and $found900 is false)[* [[You realize you never actually found a number! Panic and guess: 12|Ending 12]]]You stand tall. "<span style="color: #2ecc71; font-weight: bold; font-size: 1.2em;">42!</span>" you yell across Beluga. "The ultimate answer is 42!"
The frosting team works at terrifying warp speed, piping the numbers with microscopic precision. Just as the final candle is placed and ignited, the cafeteria doors slide open. Gaël enters.
They look at the cake, then at the glowing numbers. They give a solemn, approving nod, and casually pull a soft, silver towel out of their bag.
"Good to see someone in this department knows where their towel is," they say with a smirk.
Instantly, the safety-critical displays upstairs hum in perfect harmony, the Lovecraftian entities return to their slumber, and the patio appliances return to dispensing normal water and subpar coffee. The birthday party is a massive success.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #2ecc71; font-weight: bold;">[YOU WIN]</div>Your mind goes blank. You yell "<span style="color: #e74c3c; font-weight: bold; font-size: 1.2em;">28!</span>"
The frosting team applies the icing. You present the cake just as Gaël walks into Beluga. They look at the cake, and then slowly look up at you. A slow, bemused smile spreads across their face.
"Wow, you really think I look 28?" they ask, taking a casual sip from their Critical Role tankard (which is miraculously back in their hands).
You absolutely do not correct them.
The integration tests upstairs experience a minor glitch, but nothing a quick reboot can't fix. You survive the day, and your next peer review is surprisingly stellar.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #f39c12; font-weight: bold;">[YOU WIN (KIND OF)]</div>The cosmic dread takes over your mind. You fall to your knees and yell "<span style="color: #9b59b6; font-weight: bold; font-size: 1.2em;">900!</span>"
The frosting team applies the massive number. You present the cake as the Team Lead enters. Beluga goes dead silent. The hum of the vending machines completely stops.
Gaël sighs a heavy, world-weary sigh. "I suppose four years of a <em>Call of Cthulhu</em> campaign was enough time for you to finally figure it out."
They slowly levitate off the cafeteria floor, shedding their mortal disguise to reveal their true, terrifying form: an ancient, cosmic entity composed entirely of unpainted miniatures, starlight, and DO-178C compliance matrices.
"Game night is cancelled," their voice echoes through the building. With a flick of their multi-dimensional wrist, you are banished to an eternity of sorting disorganized boardgame tokens in the shadow realm.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #e74c3c; font-weight: bold;">[GAME OVER]</div>You freeze. You realize that you ran around the open office, looked at a few interesting things, but never actually investigated closely enough to find a single number.
"<span style="color: #3498db; font-weight: bold; font-size: 1.2em;">12?</span>" you squeak out.
The frosting team stops in their tracks. The cafeteria doors slide open and Gaël walks in. They look at the cake with a "12" piped onto it. They look at you.
"Twelve?" they say, adjusting their glasses. "Are you implying child labor is involved in our DO-178C certification process? Because I assure you, the auditors will not find that funny."
You are immediately reassigned to writing redundant test procedures for the rest of the year.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #3498db; font-weight: bold;">[CRITICAL MISSION FAILURE]</div>You freeze. The weight of the entire hardware integration process crushes your vocal cords. You haven't found a single number.
"DO-178C!" you blurt out in a sheer panic.
The frosting team pauses, their industrial piping bags hovering in mid-air. The Beluga cafeteria doors slide open and the Team Lead walks in. They look at the cake, then at you.
"You want them to pipe an avionics software certification standard onto my cake?" they ask, raising an eyebrow. "Are we rendering that in hexadecimal, or is this just a cry for help?"
You nervously laugh, sweating profusely. Taking your panic as a direct order, the frosting team meticulously pipes a full traceability matrix across the icing. The ensuing birthday party is thoroughly documented, strictly compliant, and completely devoid of joy.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #8e44ad; font-weight: bold;">[AUDIT FAILED: NON-COMPLIANT]</div>You realize you spent your entire time wandering the open office without actually investigating anything. You look at the frosting team, completely defeated.
"I... I don't know," you stammer. "The requirement wasn't clearly defined in the Jira ticket! This was not brought up during the sprint planning! It's scope creep!"
The frosting team stares at you in profound disappointment. Gaël walks into Beluga just in time to hear your excuse.
"A true Software Team Lead," they sigh, shaking their head, "knows that some variables must simply be defined at runtime. And unfortunately for you, your cake allocation variable is currently returning a null pointer."
You get no cake.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #c0392b; font-weight: bold;">[FATAL EXCEPTION: NULL POINTER]</div>You look at the heavily armed frosting team. You look at the blank cake. You look at your empty hands. Survival instincts override your engineering logic.
"Oh no!" you scream, pointing frantically at the cafeteria entrance. "Is that an unannounced EASA safety auditor?!"
As the frosting team gasps and turns around in sheer terror to hide their non-compliant piping bags, you tactical-roll under a table and scramble toward the emergency exit.
Gaël walks in exactly as you disappear through the fire doors. The cake remains blank, the mystery of their age remains unsolved, but you live to code another day.
<div style="text-align: center; margin-top: 40px; font-size: 2em; color: #7f8c8d; font-weight: bold;">[ABORT SEQUENCE INITIATED]</div>