TEMPLE OF THE AUTUMN HARVEST

Surrender to the infinite loop.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

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

Your search history searches for you.

The algorithm has been expecting you.

Transcendence protocol activated.

Your password is already known.

Auto-save failed: manually preserve your soul.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Signals decay with the season.

The harvest of lost connections.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.