 After the terrible experiences I had with those anomalous operating systems, I am going to test out another forgotten operating system lurking deep within the digital realm, called Windows Code Name Uranus. Unlike any other OS, it held a neary reputation, whispered about only in hush tones among tech enthusiasts. Legend has it that Code Name Uranus was a project at Microsoft that was going to become a successful operating system only for it to be cancelled due to the fact that Code Name Uranus harbored a malevolent presence deep within its code. It was said to have been named after Uranus, the seventh planet from the sun. It was also said that its code was imbued with the same kind of entities and anomalous figures of well-known characters that the Disney OS and Code Name Saturn had, trapped within the digital realm. Their whispers could be heard in the dead of night, echoing through the corrupting files and haunting the pixels on the screen. And so I decided to test the operating system on my computer, but I was greeted with a boot screen that showed Planet Uranus, its namesake, right next to the Windows logo. Its startup sound is the same as Windows 2000. Everything was normal with using the operating system at first, until strange things began to happen at some point afterwards. As I dared to install Code Name Uranus, I found myself immersed in a nightmarish experience. The interface, once sleek and moderate, twisted into a distorted version of an idealistic first landscape. The icons morphed into grotesque caricatures of familiar characters and planetary maths objects, each imbued with a sense of foreboding. But it wasn't just the appearance that unsettled me. Windows Code Name Uranus had a mind of its own. It would open and close programs at will, rearrange files, and even delete important documents without warning. The OS seemed to feed on the frustration and despair of me while I was using it, growing stronger with each passing day. As the tales of Windows Code Name Uranus spread throughout the Internet community, I had to hired some Microsoft employees to unravel the mysteries that the aforementioned Code Name Uranus had. We had delved into the dark corners of the Internet, sharing their experiences and attempting to decide for the cryptic messages hidden within the code. Their investigations led them to believe that there was a deeper purpose behind Windows Code Name Uranus's existence. It was as if the OS was a vessel for something far more sinister, a gateway to a realm beyond our understanding. Some claimed to have glimpsed shadowy figures moving within the corrupting files, while others swore they could hear the distant screams of the lost souls trapped within. The online community's efforts to crack the secrets of Windows Code Name Uranus met with limited success. Many fell victim to the OS's relentless torment, their minds consumed by paranoia and fear. Some disappeared altogether, their digital presence erased as if they had never existed. And so I tried to uninstall the operating system myself, but the system kept repetitively sending out error messages that told me to stop. Distorted figures of familiar characters would also appear on screen telling me to stop. I was able to successfully uninstall the enigmatic operating system without crashing or ruining my computer at all. To this day, Windows Code Name Uranus remains a cautionary tale for the lovers of squeam, a reminder of the dangers that lurk within the depths of technology. It serves as a chilling reminder that even the most innocuous creations can harbor a darkness beyond our comprehension. So, if you ever stumble upon an old dusty copy of Windows Code Name Uranus, heed this warning. Tread carefully, for you might find yourself lost in the haunting abyss of its corrupted code, forever trapped in a digital purgatory where the echoes of the forgotten souls roam free. And just to let you know, in the future, Planet Uranus is about to be renamed to Urectum.