REFUGE OF RECURSIVE NIGHTMARES

The portal chose you, not the other way around.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.

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

The old world fades with each page.

Prepare for the coming darkness.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

The ceremony prepares for dormancy.

Falling data like digital leaves.

Prophecies fulfill themselves.