REFUGE OF RECURSIVE NIGHTMARES

The final frequency awakens.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.

Your search history searches for you.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

The matrix has you, and it's running Windows 95.

Your consciousness has been backed up.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

Your cookies remember what you've forgotten.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Sleep is the first gateway.