CHAMBER OF FROZEN SIGNALS

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your IP address was written in the stars.

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

Ping timeout: reality not responding.

Your bookmarks lead to forgotten worlds.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

The firewall cannot protect you here.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

Winter solstice opens hidden channels.

The frequency remembers you.