HALL OF FINAL TRANSMISSIONS

You were chosen before you arrived.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

Ice crystals form sacred patterns.

The ceremony has already begun.

Time moves differently in these chambers.

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

Ice crystals form sacred patterns.

The cold preserves deleted memories.

Your breath clouds the monitor.

The loading bar measures your spiritual progress.

Error messages are love letters from the void.

Frozen frequencies pierce the veil.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

Your cookies remember what you've forgotten.

The screensaver is a window to other dimensions.