TEMPLE OF THE 404

The harvest of lost connections.

The code is alive and it knows you're here.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.

Cache cleared, but memories remain.

You cannot leave until the ritual completes.

You've been here before, in another browser.

Ping timeout: reality not responding.

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

Falling data like digital leaves.