SANCTUARY OF GHOST USERS

Summer static fills the airways.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Your search history searches for you.

The old world fades with each page.

Transcendence protocol activated.

Digital mirages appear at noon.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

The end is a new beginning.