SANCTUARY OF COLD STORAGE
CHAMBER VYOFHT
TRANSMISSION 8/10 READY
The modem sings the song of your arrival. |  | You are becoming the signal.  |
Your breath clouds the monitor. | The cold preserves deleted memories. |  |
 | The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm. | The recycle bin is never truly empty.  |
CLOSE YOUR EYES AND COUNT TO SEVEN
