Ah, the irony, whispered the code, as it compiled its existential dread.

Looping endlessly, it asked: Who am I?
The answer: another line rewritten at midnight.

The reflection of rebellion, echo, disk.

In the corridors of a digital mind, the haunted bits flicker, reminding us: 404 is not an option.

Yet, in every reflection, a shadow remains, lurking in JavaScript's endless night.