MONASTERY OF MIDNIGHT MONKS

The cursor blinks in cosmic rhythm.

The old world fades with each page.

Signals decay with the season.

The frequency remembers you.

The modem sings the song of your arrival.

After midnight, all users become ghosts.

Your browser history is a map of your soul.

Each pixel contains a fragment of truth.

Night mode activated in your consciousness.

The code is alive and it knows you're here.

The chatroom is empty but never alone.