Incognito mode: the illusion of privacy. | You've been here before, in another browser. |  The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm. Incognito mode: the illusion of privacy. |
Each pixel contains a fragment of truth. | The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.  The harvest of lost connections. |   The recycle bin is never truly empty. |
Deleted files pile like autumn leaves. | Deleted files pile like autumn leaves. |  Visitors and visited become one. The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm. |