CHAMBER OF FALLING PACKETS

Your IP address was written in the stars.

The harvest of lost connections.

The harvest of lost connections.

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

Every visitor leaves something behind.

The harvest of lost connections.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

The dying light reveals hidden paths.

All timelines merge here.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.