I’ve lost me crate of goodies
four hundred eighty thousand scrap!
But don’t go pokin’ ’round me base,
it’s nowhere near my shabby shack.
It didn’t sink, it didn’t drift,
so skip the waters wide.
No rivers, ponds, or ocean waves
the crate stayed high and dry.
It waits in silence where it dropped,
a quiet, hidden heap.
Search a place where footsteps pass
but secrets like to sleep.
But hurry now—there’s little time,
the clock is running tight.
Less than a day before the wipe,
and then it’s lost from sight!
Find the box and it is yours
no take-backs, that’s the rule!
A mountain? Forest? Monument?
Go hunt, you clever fool!”
— Nixak