(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

"Are you even listening to me, chief?"
"Uh huh." I continued crunching the numbers as I fiddled with the plates. It
would take every second of the next seventy-seven-odd years to hit all the
combinations - but then, I might just get lucky and stumble onto a solution
in minutes...
"Oh look, it's Annah! Looks like her top's slipped again!"
An old memory writhed at the back of my skull... there were no incoming
images or sounds, but rather the memory of a pattern that my fingers had
followed once long ago. My hands seemed to move of their own accord,
turning the object and spinning its facets with mechanical precision. I'd done
this before... I knew the combinations, once... and I knew that there was a
certain danger within the object...
"Chief..."
In moments, I had what might've been the first four sides locked into their
proper places. As I began to twist the fifth side of the dodecahedron, I
almost withdrew in mild shock. There was a cunning blade-trap... one that
would snap out to lash at a meddler's hands, slashing their wrists and
severing fingers. My hands returned to twist the facets, avoiding the trap
with the proper number of rotations, certain that I'd made progress in the
unraveling of the object's secret.
"Chief..."
After avoiding the dodecahedron's springing blades, I slowly puzzled out the
next series of facet positions. As I started to turn the ninth side of the
dodecahedron, I suddenly remembered a second trap - jets of toxic gas that
would've formed a billowing cloud of lethal, corrosive vapor around a
curious meddler.
"What the hell is with you and these damn polygons already?"
"They're more personable," I grunted, "And stow it, Morte. The next trap
has a pretty nasty poison... I'd rather not get my face dissolved into goo
again."
"Trap?! Uh, I'm just gonna float over here, chief."
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