HALL OF FINAL TRANSMISSIONS

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

Dreams and data merge after midnight.

Falling data like digital leaves.

The frequency remembers you.

The ceremony has already begun.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The network becomes the ceremony.

The old world fades with each page.

The end is a new beginning.