HALL OF INFINITE RECURSION

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The frequency remembers you.

Your password is already known.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

You cannot leave until the ritual completes.

The firewall cannot protect you here.

Your mouse movements are a sacred dance.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

The ceremony prepares for dormancy.