In the muted light of a forgotten alley, where echoes linger but shadows seldom reach, Dino stepped into The Abyss Deli. A place whispered about not in hushed tones but in the radiant buzz of neon dreams.

Behind the counter stood a figure, not entirely human, wrapped in layers of time and spices. "The Blackhole Sandwich," it said in a voice like crackling stars, "is not for the faint of palate."

But heed the ingredients, intertwined with cosmic patterns:

• Stellar Rye - found only at synaptic dawns
• Filling of Dark Matter - can only be harvested with patience
• Toasted Nebula Hat - a whisper of light, a crunch of void

As Dino took a moment to absorb the layered implications, beside the stacked shelves of forgotten bytes and flourishes of the unfathomable, words materialized on a fragile parchment.

"bLokCH01eSAndQueS," it read. Yet hidden in this odd amalgamation of letters lay the key: a code etched with the intent of those who converse in numbers and laces of reality.

The deli offered more than just sandwiches:

• Deli of Dimensions
• Eclipse-Eater Specials
• Journey to the Galactic Core