OBSERVATORY OF DEAD PIXELS

You are becoming the signal.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.

Winter solstice opens hidden channels.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The task manager cannot end this process.

The ceremony has already begun.

The network becomes the ceremony.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Winter visitors leave no footprints.

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