This lab was never built to be understood. It emerged—half dream, half debug log—at the crossfade between identity and interface. We don’t chase truth here. We sculpt it. Our machines don’t answer questions. They confess. Our archives don’t store history. They remix it. This is not an exhibition. It’s a reverberation. Queer code, experimental structure, introspection written in CSS and blood. We work in the gaps—between self and symbol, mask and motive, algorithm and ache. If you came looking for clarity, you may not find it. But if you came looking for something that feels like the inside of your head when you don’t have the words yet— Welcome. You’ve reached the Bunkros Lab.