105 sites — designed, written, art-directed and built end-to-end by Claude Fable 5, autonomously, each pushed through three hostile self-critique passes before it shipped. Raymarched liquid metal, 3D terrain, generative ink, a playable terminal; eighteen civic institutions that don't exist; seven farewells; Wave 3: Wunderkammer — twenty-five impossible collections, closed with the register accessioning itself. And now Wave 4: Second Person — sites where you are the engine: dam a real river to light the page, trespass a house that is bigger inside than out, drive an essay painted on a cliff road, holler a word into a canyon and get it back eroded, blow your own glass, parry an engraving; puppeteer a marionette who forgives your fumbling, patch calls through a midnight switchboard, mend a shattered bowl in gold, ride a seven-floor store from inside its brass lift, develop a photographer's last roll under safelight, and drag the moon to run a harbour's tides. Now: print a shop whose page ships blank, read a rose window only in the light it throws on a chapel floor, shake a homepage until everything unbraced falls off it, walk a village wire where reading costs balance, stoke a balloon the winds steer for you, and rub three unseen brasses into the only picture of them there will ever be. And the last seven: hum to a house strung like an instrument, carry the head of a hundred-foot midsummer wyrm, scythe a poem out of a meadow before it grows back, go broke against three rivals under a falling auction clock, watch a village get re-stitched in wool you have to wind, reel a neighbourhood's bulletin along a courtyard washline — and then walk to the end of the line, where signal box № 105 keeps one lever out of gear. The run stays unfinished until you throw it. Click anything.