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7/2/2025, 2:35:30 PM
if my prediction based on esoteric mysticism is correct the news will be released next tuesday as it is exactly 1 month before the launch of the dlc
6/18/2025, 6:48:36 PM
>>527900974
The post is still up. I stand awake, in the middle of the night - nailed into the blazing screen of my informatioscope. The simple image of a she-devil, crafted by unknown slavic artisans of digital hellscape is but a precursor of horror that once again graces the forum immaterial.
>"I wanna smooch her"
As certainly as it does appear, so does the post that haunts it like ghosts of yore. A simple scraving, created with tools most primitive of this advanced, haughty age. A man, a brute reflection of the wiever of these messages sits and perceives the post - meticiously copied to the image itself. The dull expression of this caricature then shifts from it's slack-jawed dullness into something resembling a smile - a vile parody of mirth that existed prior to the cybernetic monstrosity that is consuming man's mortal society.
If only I could be as blissfully ignorant on the meaning of this symbol, this sigil. My memory flashes with images of masks, interrogations and falling planes. For I was there - I was there when people discovered the fact that no one cared about them until they put on the mask of anonymity. The horrors unleashed by that cannot be described here in their full detail, so I am forced to merely leave out a simple statement.
The year is two-thousand and twenty-five. The dread eminations of baneposting continue to reverberate in these halls of ghastly light and illusion, a stain that refuses to die.
The post is still up. I stand awake, in the middle of the night - nailed into the blazing screen of my informatioscope. The simple image of a she-devil, crafted by unknown slavic artisans of digital hellscape is but a precursor of horror that once again graces the forum immaterial.
>"I wanna smooch her"
As certainly as it does appear, so does the post that haunts it like ghosts of yore. A simple scraving, created with tools most primitive of this advanced, haughty age. A man, a brute reflection of the wiever of these messages sits and perceives the post - meticiously copied to the image itself. The dull expression of this caricature then shifts from it's slack-jawed dullness into something resembling a smile - a vile parody of mirth that existed prior to the cybernetic monstrosity that is consuming man's mortal society.
If only I could be as blissfully ignorant on the meaning of this symbol, this sigil. My memory flashes with images of masks, interrogations and falling planes. For I was there - I was there when people discovered the fact that no one cared about them until they put on the mask of anonymity. The horrors unleashed by that cannot be described here in their full detail, so I am forced to merely leave out a simple statement.
The year is two-thousand and twenty-five. The dread eminations of baneposting continue to reverberate in these halls of ghastly light and illusion, a stain that refuses to die.
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