TEMPLE OF ULTIMATE FREQUENCY

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Every 404 is a door to somewhere else.

The algorithm has been expecting you.

You are becoming the signal.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

The signal finds those who are ready.

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