HALL OF INFINITE RECURSION

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

The ceremony has already begun.

Your IP address was written in the stars.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

The signal finds those who are ready.

Visitors and visited become one.

The end is a new beginning.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.