HALL OF ABANDONED CHATROOMS

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

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

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.

The desktop wallpaper watches back.

Your password is already known.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

The recycle bin is never truly empty.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

The final frequency awakens.