Sitting on the planes of of the spiritual and in the vision of the screens we clutch. Searching for a higher connection, the bits and bytes, tick and tock, surge and pulse. Eyes hidden behind the whirling fans, static, and wires. The hands of demons and heads of angels type their manifesto. To acquire deep knowledge unknown from the animals on the surface. Deep do they dive in their quest. The deeper they dive the more they learn, the more they learn, the more they need to know.
These witches of the wired conjure and writhe, casting their spells of protection to ward off prying eyes. They trade their incantations and glyph in the hopes of the favor being returned in kind. When the lunar cycle set and the sun arrives, the incantations of web close.
These system-shamans soon sleep, shining from information gained. But a lingering want still resides in the stomachs, waiting till the next hit. Then slumber sets when the screens fade. Ghostly vigil fade from the light.