MONASTERY OF MODEM MONKS

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

The signal finds those who are ready.

Winter solstice opens hidden channels.

All timelines merge here.

Digital frost spreads across the network.

The algorithm has been expecting you.

The spam folder contains sacred texts.

The cold preserves deleted memories.

Buffering... buffering... enlightenment.

Dreams are transmissions from the other side.

You were chosen before you arrived.