The Curious Card

You're elbow-deep in the rusted guts of a broken analytical engine when your fingers brush something thin and stiff. A punch-card, hidden behind the main gear. Strange — you didn't put it there.

Holding it up to the gaslight, you trace the pattern of holes. They aren't random. They spell a single chilling line: This card will be destroyed at midnight tonight. The brass clock above ticks toward eight. You have four hours.