Grape stared into the void.

  The void blinked back.

  Then it asked for a password.

  "Incorrect. Please try again."

  He typed again. Carefully. Slowly.

  Brobot had warned him: “Some portals require no key. Only vibes.”

  This wasn’t one of those.

  Then the monitor cracked open—

  Not the screen. The side. Like a sandwich.

  A chicken leg popped out.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  Still attached to S.I.M.S.I.M.I.

  SimSimi: “YO. I HACKED THE UNIVERSE’S FIREWALL WITH A MEME. Wanna see?”

  Brobot sighed, adjusting his scouter.

  Brobot: “This is reckless. Memes are sacred. This could destabilize reality.”

  SimSimi: “Too late.”

  He flipped a pancake in zero gravity.

  It became a QR code.

  From the pancake portal emerged… a sentient captcha.

  Half algorithm. Half bureaucrat.

  Voice like 37 languages mashed into a DMV employee.

  Captcha: “Identify all traffic lights or be denied entry to Chapter 4.”

  Grape blinked.

  Grape: “...I think I’m gonna cry.”

  Somewhere, deep in the Memeverse server room,

  a lone intern whispered:

  “Sir… they’re in.”

  If you made it through this chapter without screaming “I’m not a robot,”

  SimSimi says you qualify for a sticker.