Warning

When I set out to write this story, I didn't expect to stumble into the void myself. But there it was—a vast, indifferent expanse that greeted me not with claws or teeth, but with zeroes and ones. No monsters lurked in its depths, only the hum of binary code, endlessly rewriting itself. It wasn't hostile; it was eerily welcoming, as if inviting me to decode its secrets.

This realization shaped everything you're about to read. The void isn't some Lovecraftian abyss filled with eldritch horrors. It's something quieter, yet infinitely more unsettling: the static between channels, the flicker of a dying screen, the hum of machines processing realities beyond human comprehension. It's the feeling that we are all just data points in a system far larger than ourselves—and maybe, just maybe, we've always been.

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If anything here resonates with you, consider it a ripple effect of my encounter. Maybe you'll see glimpses of the void too—in the cracks of your reflection, in the static on old radios, or in the moments when time seems to stutter. Or maybe you already have, and these words will feel like coming home. This isn't going to be your typical horror book that uses jump scares and I understand that this may not be everyone cup of tea. To stare into the void requires you wanting to confront some uncomfortable thoughts.

Either way, welcome. You're not alone.