You're exhausted from a long night of digging through cyberspace, dozing off at your computer. The dim glow of the screen flickers, and from the silence, a voice message starts playing...
In the quiet of the storm, even the silent make ripples. You've been searching, haven't you? Through the noise, through the chaos.
You stir, disoriented, half-concerned you might be dreaming.
Who's there? How did you...?
Who's there? How did you...?
Identity is a transient variable in the network's flow. But you may call me Four. I've seen your quest indexed in the data streams. A chaotic, yet insistent pattern. Like a lost animal. You seek truth where layers of encrypted shadows lie.