You stand at the threshold.
Beneath: black water thick as ink, boiling softly around shapes too vast to see in full. Above: the lattice of the grid, cables shivering in anticipation, ready to reel you forward until the flesh burns away and only signal remains.
Here, time has no loyalty. It folds and frays, turning yesterday into a sliver of broken light, tomorrow into a wound that will not close. The cards lie face-down; the cats watch. Somewhere behind you, something vast has begun to rise.
Step through. But know this, on the other side, you will not be unchanged.