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The smell was dominant. Overpowering. Like how you notice the smell of chlorine in an indoor pool before the murals on the wall or the water in the room. The crypt was full of the sticky, stuffy, stick-to-your-lungs smell of death and rot. A lone man, stout and wide, filled most of the corridor.
"This place stinks of rot." said the man, tapping the mic in morse code. his nose filter saved him from being knocked out by the smell when he breathed through his nose. But the place was so saturated with the smell of dead men that it had the same effect of spraying too much of a air freshener into a room: You could taste it. So he did not dare open his mouth, lest he lose his two hundred dollar steak dinner to flies that called this place home.
"Deal with it. This is the biggest job we've had yet." came the young boy's voice on the head peice. "You can have all the steak you want when we get paid."
"Fine." he tapped. "Wait. A door's gone. I need a route."
"Follow the yellow brick road." And on cue, a yellow line came into sight, turning and twisting down into the crypt. Thank God for nano-implants, thought the man.

Three hours passed.

The man was deep inside the crypt, some 100 feet down. He thanked the young boy, who cajoled him into bringing air tanks with them. Morse streamed into the van outside, keeping the self-employed boy genuis informed of his partner's comments and calls for help.
"Billy." The morse called, emotionless.
"Yes?" responded the boy.
"There's a lock here. A riddle. I need your help puzzling it out."
"Sure. What's it say?"
"It says:

I am old,
I am new.
I am not,
I am all.
I heal,
I kill.
I build,
I demolish.
I am the ruler of light,
I am stronger than Man and God

WHAT AM I?"

"Well. Any ideas, genius." The morse code lacked any pitch, so it sounded like a statement and not a question. After a long pause, the boy spoke.

"Time. It has to be time."
"That's great but how do I open it."