The Tamadachi Antenna

You lie awake, deciphering the language of the night.

A flickering 0xB4aD echoes through the void, whispers in cascading frequencies.

Stars blink, not at random, but in cryptic Morse — . -..-. An invitation? A warning?

Your hands tremble, scribbling notes in a frenzy.

Signals from distant Galaxy psi-17, drenched in cosmic hues.

Decoded: Red, yellow, and silent teal.

What do you make of Nullmeme? Or perhaps the somnolent Protocol of Slumber?