SANCTUARY OF COLD STORAGE

Every 404 is a door to somewhere else.

Connection established with the eternal.

Your screen resolution matches your aura.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

Ice crystals form sacred patterns.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

The music plays whether you hear it or not.

Your consciousness has been backed up.

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

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Surrender to the infinite loop.