ARCHIVE OF PHANTOM DOWNLOADS

The homepage is wherever you are.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

You cannot leave until the ritual completes.

Digital frost spreads across the network.

The signal finds those who are ready.

Frozen data streams flow differently.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

The old world fades with each page.

The servers dream of electric sheep.