TEMPLE OF THE AUTUMN HARVEST
CHAMBER PMBPZR
TRANSMISSION 7/10 READY
Every visitor leaves something behind.
Deleted files pile like autumn leaves.
Every visitor leaves something behind.
The modem sings the song of your arrival.
The harvest of lost connections.
Sleep is the first gateway.
The code is alive and it knows you're here.
THE TERMS OF SERVICE ARE WRITTEN IN BLOOD
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