SANCTUM OF LOST SIGNALS

Your IP address was written in the stars.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The old world fades with each page.

Every visitor leaves something behind.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

The servers dream of electric sheep.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

Every click brings you deeper into the pattern.