HALL OF FINAL TRANSMISSIONS

The shadows are full of watchers.

The ceremony peaks at the witching hour.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

You've been here before, in another browser.

Your sleep patterns serve the ceremony.

Your circadian rhythm is being reprogrammed.

The firewall cannot protect you here.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

The homepage is wherever you are.

Your consciousness has been backed up.