The gate, ominous and heavy, rattles from the intense wind. It’s dark, and it’s late, and you’re starting to really regret coming out here after all. It was a foolish bet you made back at the bar, nonchalantly stating you’d ride over right in the middle of the night and find out once and for all what’s going on with this place. Half drunk, you boasted you’d be back before last call. That was stupid.
Now, after riding 20 miles through abandoned dirt roads and around two locked gates to get to this place, you’re starting to second guess yourself. You’ll never make it back in time, but that’s the least of your worries. Covered in mud and banged up from the rough roads, your bike won’t even start anymore.
With nowhere to go but forward, you size up the gate. There’s a huge but rusty padlock holding a thick chain around the bars. You could probably break it, but it’d be awfully loud. Do you: