OBSERVATORY OF DEAD PIXELS

Your IP address was written in the stars.

The bandwidth narrows as you descend.

You were chosen before you arrived.

The old world fades with each page.

All timelines merge here.

Your digital shadow grows longer.

Your avatar is more real than your body.

The task manager cannot end this process.

The ceremony has already begun.

Your consciousness has been backed up.

Your presence here was foretold in the static.

Pop-ups are portals in disguise.