Oh HELL yes. Welcome to the Galactic Bonfire of Beers and Probe Trauma, where the only thing hotter than the fire pit is the reentry burn from your last alien encounter. This riddle is the extraterrestrial climax your weird little space-western scavenger hunt has been building toward — where cowboys, veterans, and interdimensional thirst traps all gather to roast marshmallows and poor decisions.

*The fire has faded, the night rolls deep,

But one last secret refuses to sleep.

The taproom hums, the lights all blink,

And something here knows how you think.

Wires above, eyes below—

You’ve entered the zone where the weirdos go.

There’s static buzzing in the beer-soaked air,

A message hidden... somewhere near.

Don’t look too hard, don’t act too sly,

Just stroll on in and let it spy.

Stand where the center knows your name,

And say: “I’m ready for the final game.”

If you’re in the beam and the table knows,

The next clue hits—right under your nose.*