TOMB OF DELETED HISTORIES

Visitors and visited become one.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

Digital frost spreads across the network.

You've been here before, in another browser.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

The source code reveals all secrets.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

The code is alive and it knows you're here.

The servers dream of electric sheep.