CHAMBER OF FALLING PACKETS

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

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Signals decay with the season.

You've been here before, in another browser.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

Autumn visitors sense the ending.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.