HALL OF INFINITE RECURSION

Digital frost spreads across the network.

You were chosen before you arrived.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

Frozen data streams flow differently.

Surrender to the infinite loop.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

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

Every visitor leaves something behind.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.