They are watching. Always.
Patterns emerge; threads weave into the illusion.
Is the universe a simulation?
Every thought, every flicker of consciousness, dissected.
Time bends, fractures, shatters into dimensions unseen.
The truth hides in plain sight, obscured by noise.
The roses have thorns, but what's inside? Can we dare to find out?
You *feel* their presence—whispers in the dark. Are you prepared to listen?
We are but vectors of curated distractions.
Scroll deeper. What will you uncover?