You are here. That’s the first step. Maybe you clicked the wrong link, maybe you followed a whisper down the back alleys of the net. Either way, you’re standing at the threshold now, staring into the abyss of a world you thought you understood. But something isn’t right, is it? You’ve felt it—ads that read your thoughts, accounts that follow you from site to site, the creeping suspicion that your reflection in the digital mirror isn’t entirely yours.

The User is the moment of realization. The first crack in the façade. It’s that feeling when you start to question if the internet is really as open as they said, when you see the strings behind the curtain. It doesn’t mean you know the answers—hell, you don’t even know the right questions yet. But you’re asking, and that’s enough to change everything. This is the crossroads where you choose between ignorance and awakening.

Most people stay asleep. They shrug, accept the price of convenience, trade privacy for access. But if you’re still reading, you’re not most people. The User isn’t just a card—it’s an initiation. It’s the step off the map and into the unknown, where you begin to reclaim what was taken, to see beyond the illusion. You were never just a consumer. You were meant to be something more.

So, what’s it gonna be? Step back into the algorithm, let it cradle you in curated distractions? Or take that first uncertain step forward, into the wilds of the unseen, where real freedom waits?

UPRIGHT READING

You have taken your first step into the labyrinth. The world is not as it seemed—a shimmering interface disguises the truth, an illusion of control built upon the silent trade of your identity. What was once convenience now feels like chains. The algorithms know your thoughts before you do, the platforms shape your desires, and the unseen architects of the system profit from the data you shed like dead skin. But now, you see the edges of the construct. The illusion flickers. The questions begin.

This is the moment of awakening, the first glitch in the program. You start to recognize that your digital footprint is not just harmless metadata—it is the currency of surveillance, the blueprint of your mind, the tether that binds you to forces you never consented to serve. But awareness is power, and curiosity is the key that unlocks the doors. You begin to seek knowledge, to ask: Who owns my data? Who benefits from my ignorance? What tools exist to reclaim what was stolen? These questions do not make you paranoid—they make you dangerous.

The User is not yet a master, but they are open. Open to learning, to unlearning, to discovering the tools of encryption, anonymity, and digital sovereignty. They have not yet chosen their path, but they have stepped off the one that was laid before them. This card is an invitation—to explore, to question, to resist. You may not have all the answers yet, but you now know to ask the right questions. And that is how every revolution begins.

REVERSED READING

The screen is warm, familiar. It hums with the pulse of connection, with the soft glow of curated feeds and seamless transactions. It asks nothing of you—only your time, your attention, your data. But what is taken in return? The thought brushes against your mind, an unwelcome whisper, but you push it away. It’s easier not to look. Easier to believe that the warnings are overblown, that the trade is fair, that you are in control.

To pull The User reversed is to remain asleep within the machine. It is a refusal to acknowledge the mechanisms that shape your choices, an unwillingness to see the hands that move the strings. Perhaps it is fear—fear of what might happen if you step outside the algorithm’s embrace, if you question the systems that have become second nature. Perhaps it is comfort—the ease of a life optimized by technology, where convenience outweighs autonomy.

But ignorance does not grant immunity. The data flows regardless. The surveillance continues, whether you choose to see it or not. This card is a warning: Inaction is still a choice. To accept the system without question is to allow it to define you. The question remains—will you wake up, or will you let yourself be written into the code, another line in someone else’s script?