The Platform That Became Its Own Voice

0:00It's 2026. We upgraded our phones, our cars, even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable? At Pink Cherry, it's not. They've got hundreds of toys that actually deliver. And if you don't know where to start, their mystery boxes make it easy. Go to pinkcherry.com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% site wide because life is hard feeling good shouldn't be. Pink cherry.com because everyone deserves pleasure. This is Matt Rogers from Lost Culture East. This is Matt Rogers in Bowen Yang. We've been talking about Kupy Mayo for a minute now. And wow, so many of you already love this stuff. And if you're thinking, wait, what is Kupy? Do you not have the internet? It's the OG Japanese mayonnaise. The one with the red cap. What makes it different? Egg yolks. Kupy is made with egg yolks only giving it this rich, umami flavor that elevates to everything. Chefs use it. Restaurants use it. Where chefs work, of course. Food and flavor lovers use it.

1:03You haven't tried it yet. Well, find the red cap and see what everyone's talking about wide, aren't you? Kupy. The original Japanese mayonnaise. Kupy. The first sound was the claxon. It jolted me upright in darkness so complete that for a moment I couldn't tell if my eyes were open. Then metal shrieking bare feet scrambling on the deck outside my cabin. The deep, insistent drone cut through my skull more animal than machine. On the frigate platform, alarms aren't a metaphor. Out here, an alarm means the world is failing. The narrow, salt-caped corridor was filled already. Mac in his greasy coveralls, hair matted to his scalp, blinking like someone's surfacing from a long dream. Victoria fumbling her glasses on, too startled to hide her nerves. We're all half dressed, ducking our heads against some primitive instinct that expects low ceilings to shield us from disaster.

2:04There's always a moment after the alarm when everyone looks at everyone else, waiting for someone to be in charge. That morning, no one was. We spilled into the control room just as another tremor rocked the rig, deeper and stranger than any movement I'd felt from waves or wind before. It set the whole structure murmuring, a resonance that worked its way sideways through my bones. Dr. Amir Davison, station director, was already at the main monitor. His jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscles twitch beneath his beard. Behind him, the bright screens flickered in and out, washing the room in sickly seabed green. Amid the panicked shouts, Anja's voice cut through, its Elliot look on on six. I stepped beside her, trying to steady myself on the edge of the battered navigation console. The night vision feed from camera six rendered everything ghostly, a shifting mist curling around metal rails, a faint outline picking its way along the narrow exterior catwalk

3:06that led past the East lifeboat station. Even through the blur you could see the shape, Elliot Sark, the lead data tech in his oversized windbreaker and battered headphones, walking too steady, too slow for the urgency all around. The mist wasn't natural either. You don't see fog like that in open ocean, not close up, not thick enough to eat the world. Once he doing, Jules whispered, arms wrapped tight around her chest. He reached the end of the gangway, stopped, turned half glimpsed, his face a mask of void pale against the greenish gloom, then stepped into the mist so dense that within two strides he vanished, swallowed from the world. A hitch in the feed, the sea to the left of him pulsed, like a bright line, a wound opening and closing. Then the camera went static, the grown beneath us became a shudder. Coffee cups bouncing across the table, seismic alarms howling from the corner, their red digital faces scoring incomprehensible numbers as pressure readings in the deep water

4:11below spiked off the scale. Everyone froze. I realized I had my hand over my mouth, my knuckles tasted of salt and old metal. In the silence that followed, the rig gave one last, deeper lurch, then resumed its endless slow sway. A clatter from outside, I caught a glimpse through the porthole. One of the submersibles usually tethered so taught that you could pluck a note from the cable, pitched wildly against its mooring as if swatted by an erratic, invisible hand. See spray lashed the metal stanchions below. I'm Dr. Lainer Moral, marine biologist. I understood water, at least as much as anyone can who grew up landlocked and dreaming of uncharted currents. I'd only been three days on the frigate. In that moment I came unstuck from any idea I had of what those days would mean. The control room erupted, questions, accusations. No one mentioned the pressure spiked at first. Instead, talk orbited around what we'd lost most urgently. One of our

5:16own, gone into mist and erased by something close enough to taste, but utterly invisible. Davison regained himself first, barking orders, pulling up nozzle feeds and sonar logs. Nobody outside, he said, his voice rising above the gathering panic. Not until we know what's happening, lock all deck doors. Victoria check the backup power. Mac, get down to hydraulics, make sure the cranes are locked down. But someone had to ask out loud what everyone was trying not to think. What the hell made him go out there? Victoria murmured, voice trembling, not really asking anyone but herself. No one answered. In the corner, Ania began to cry quietly as if making sound might make it worse. We watched the last fragments of Sark's walk on repeat. No sign of haste, no gesture to suggest fear or flight. His hand lingered at his ear, was he adjusting the headset or listening to something we couldn't hear. The alarm screens kept pulsing. Deep

6:21pressure below the ocean floor. The kind of spike you'd expect if a tectonic plate gave way or a super-heated volcanic plume erupted just beneath us. But we'd seen no sign, no warning. And nobody in that room could explain what might make a man wander out into the void with no safety line at the dead edge of nowhere in the pre-dorn mist. A hush descended as I skimmed the last moments of the recording. In every tale of men lost at sea, there comes the moment when someone simply drifts beyond sight, never to be resolved. I couldn't help but wonder, did Elliot jump, did he step, or was he simply taken? When someone vanishes in a place like frigate routine collapses, the world I joined, a fragile coalition of science, ambition and barely functional infrastructure, snapped tight, every person bracing for a storm they'd pretended not to see coming. Two days earlier, the rig had been all noise and grim

7:22humor as new arrivals like me tried to find their place. The frigate wasn't supposed to have a history. Not anymore, sold off by the parent oil company to a patchwork of research interests, stripped for salvage and retrofit into a gathering of rusting labs bolted to a dying platform. My arrival had coincided with the last supply barge, battered fuel drums, ancient canned food, crates of equipment labelled in a dozen mismatched scripts. I'd been assigned cabin three, barely bigger than a bunk and a locker just below the galley. The first night, I'd lane awake, listening to the humming of generators, the staccato drip of water along the frame, trying to map the structure by sound. Morning brought briefings, safety tour, formal introductions. I met Dr. Davison, perpetually distracted, mumbling about glycol and resupply schedules. Victoria, mid-30s, sharp-witted, always fiddling with the rigs electronics to tease another day out of circuitry older than either of us.

8:26MacMcDonald, grease under his nails, carrying the weight of every failed seal and jammed valve. The postdocs, Ania, quick with a joke, Simon, always taking notes. Jules, indefinably closed off but endlessly polite. I'd signed on for the frigate in exchange for deep sea access no university could provide. My research wasn't the station's primary concern, but for once I'd had the chance to set my own agenda. Tracking mid-Atlantic thermoclines, the surge and retreat of strange electromagnetic signatures recorded months before. That first evening, I'd stood by the galley window and watched scrollwork, pale curls of bioluminescent green, spilling in patterns across the black water. Drifting shapes too regular for plankton, but too slow, too transient for human machinery. Then dawn and dusk cycles, meals taken together under battered floor essence, the endless shuffle of tools, arguments about bandwidth and

9:26diesel, broken coffee makers, and who'd last checked the weather-boy. The assilations seeped down to the bone. After the barge left, there were no more distractions, just the sense of edges fraying, the wind pushing up in gusts that never quite died, the faintest tang of chemicals behind the salt air. Inside, the rig showed its age everywhere, warped steel hatches grazed knees and elbows with each doorway. Portholes were mostly stained by years of condensation and neglect, their old rubber lips rotting around the glass. In the science labs, stacks of seme images and scattering spectrums collided with doodled maps of the seabed. The galley doubled as the only safe place for a real conversation, its walls thick enough to muffle both laughter and argument. And outside, always outside, there was movement. The water below lapped its secrets against support beams, whispering in unreadable dialects. At night, I'd lean over the rail, watching the glowing scroll-work rise and fade, tangled

10:28scripts spelling nothing I recognized. Retrospect is unreliable, but I remember thinking this was how a place waits. The frigate wasn't haunted, not in the old stories, just exhausted, a vessel waiting for someone or something to push too far. After Elliot vanished, the rules changed. That morning, despite every warning, no one suggested waiting for rescue or even sleep, instead, after a fitful hours argument, Dr. Davison summoned us for an incident review. The bunks where Sark had slept revealed little at first, a blank journal, a pile of thread-beer clothes, his always charged eerie doggy at a collection of 1970s science fiction. The data, though, was another matter. Amongst the mess I found pages, oddly neat, hand-dannotated printouts of sonar logs from the preceding week. At first it read like ordinary drift analysis, the kind you'd file away for a bored, grunt committee, but his notations tightened around

11:31certain lines, bold, insistent, shifting void, amplitude not matching expected, patent return, S intervals, no vent signature. Beneath a line in small cramped writing, not a whale, not an upwelling, listen, the date on the last page was the night before he vanished. I pocketed the papers, feeling like I'd already trespassed on something private. The image of Elliot's face, blank in green light, wouldn't leave me. The rig felt smaller now, a cage with pieces missing, each absence casting a larger shadow than the person had in life. The security logs yielded little comfort. Camera feeds rewound in jerky, silent increments, Sark leaving his station just before 3am, pausing at the dockside door, then stepping into a mist thick enough to erase not just his body but the world. No sign of pursuit, no alarms tripped, his headset cut out seconds after. The recorded audio made my skin crawl, a distortion,

12:36a slew of static broken only by a pulse, rhythmic, but irregular, somewhere between more code and a dying radio. When the search began, no one dared call it a rescue. We scoured the rig's spaces between bulkheads, lifeboat lockers, the outboard catwalks slipped with condensation. I lingered at the fast-starboard gangway, knees knocking, torch beam cutting shallow cones through the clammy dawn. There, half concealed under the rim of a control box, something gleamed, a battered yellow multimeter, sarks by the scratched initials, covered in a slime that glowed faintly turquoise in my light. It's common for the rig to be painted in detritus, oil, algae, the perennial salt film, but this was new, soaked through with filigree of miniscule bulbs, almost like plankton, but larger, articulate, tiny specks pulsing with impossible regularity. I scraped some into a criotube, later inspection under the microscope would show unfamiliar branching at the cellular level, more like nerve tissue than any local

13:39inverter bread, but just then it was one more question. No footprints passed the spot, nothing but the endless shimmer of moisture and the dark weight of the sea. As I peered over the rails, a spark of light-glinted far, far below, then vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the memory of movement. We gathered for an incident briefing in the damp echo of the mess. Each story clashed with the others, you could see the fault lines forming. Miles Hahn, fanatically neat, his accent betraying years at British labs, professed little patience for ambiguity. The data-lainer showed me his notes. He hunched over the printouts frowning, then ran his fingers across some of the figures. Regular intervals, there's no known marine source for that, certainly not at this frequency. He eyed me over the rim of his mug, daring me to offer a rational alternative. Victoria weighed in arms folded tight. Before last night, Sark wouldn't stop talking about interference, said the system was mimicking

14:43his pings, said he could feel it thinking. I told him to sleep. He barely listened. She looked past me toward the shuttered galley window as if half expecting his shadow to drift there. Mac grumbling from behind a chipped thermos added, he was fighting with me about the back-up inverters, wouldn't let them rest, claimed someone was tampering, only one around was himself. The more we spoke, the more the story bent. Elliott had been restless, compulsively running sonar at night, sneaking to engineering late arguments with Davison about access to the lower pods. When I asked Davison directly, he grew evasive, sliding into the platitudes of oversight. He was troubled, we're all sleep deprived. Same as last years at Atlantic Storm, some people just can't handle it. He kept rolling the cheap gold ring on his finger over and over. But Ania, eyes red from crying, voice steadier than before, stuck out her hand. In her palm,

15:45a thumb drive battered and scuffed. Sark gave me this two nights ago, she said, said if anything happened make sure it got to someone else. Didn't say who I'm not sure why me. Victoria took it, her mouth pinched. By unspoken consensus, she and I would go through the files together. Hey, this is Ashley Kinetti from the Ben and Ashley I, almost same as podcast. If you're anything like me, the second that fall starts getting close and I mean like you actually feel crisp in the air. You are ready to completely switch over your wardrobe. And boom is such a good place to start. They have all the fall pieces that you actually want to wear, really good denim, sweaters, jackets, cute layering pieces, dresses, and so many easy everyday outfits. What I love about boom is that everything feels really current and on trend, but still wearable. These pieces you can actually mix into your closet and wear over and over again. Whether you need a cute date night look, something for the weekend, or just want to give your

16:46everyday wardrobe a little fall refresh, they have so many good options right now. Their new fall rifles are dropping all the time. So definitely go take a look at it before your favorites sell out shop now at boom.com that is bow B O H M E dot com. It's 2026. We upgraded our phones, our cars, even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable? At Pink Cherry, it's not. They've got hundreds of toys that actually deliver. And if you don't know where to start, their mystery boxes make it easy. Go to pink cherry dot com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% site wide because life is hard feeling good shouldn't be pink cherry dot com because everyone deserves pleasure. This is Matt Rogers from Lost Culture East us with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Lost Culture East of Matt Rodgers Okay, we've been talking about Cupid male for a minute now, Bo. And wow, the feedback we're getting. I mean, so many of y'all love this stuff. You're stopping us in the street going, I love Cupid. And if you're thinking, wait, what is Cupid? Do you not have the internet?

17:52It's the OG Japanese mayonnaise. The one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. Once you know what, you start seeing it everywhere. People ask what makes it different from basic mayo? Will the answer egg yolks? Cupid is made with egg yolks only, giving it this incredibly rich umami flavor that elevates everything. Burgers, fries, sandwiches, chicken, noodles, chefs use it, restaurants use it. People who really love food and flavor use it. Whatever you're eating, Cupid hit. So if you haven't tried Cupid yet, find the bottle with the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. You'll understand Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Akineti from the Ben and Ashley I almost have his podcast. Ben, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how many big life moments our listeners have experienced with us. Yeah, it's pretty wild. They've watched us go from dating shows to engagements, weddings, babies, buying homes. Every stage comes with new decisions. The milestones are the fun part, but the planning is where

18:55things get real. That's why clarna stands out. Clarna gives people smarter tools to help manage everyday money with flexible ways to pay cashback that builds automatically everything in one place and support that makes everyday decisions that feel less overwhelming. Since life moves so fast, the right tools can help you feel more confident. Download the Clarna app today or visit clarna.com California resident loans made a range pursuant to a California finance law license NMLS number 1353190 or Clarna balance account required to be eligible for cashback points, limitations, terms, and conditions apply. Buy it into a stack sandwich made with hero bread or a fully loaded bagel. And the only thing you'll think is delicious. You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is. You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes low-spons tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste, but without on the net carbs. We're talking 0 to 5 grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread,

19:59there are no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for your brands. There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave. Plus, small batch drops of indulgent favorites, like the popular 2 gram net carb hero croissant and 3 gram net carb hero pen O chocolade. And right now, hero bread is offering 10 percent off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out that's code iHeart at h-e-r-o dot c-o. All figures per serving of hero bread see nutrition facts on hero.co. That night, I stared at a dozen blinking progress bars on the oldest functioning station laptop. Encryption wasn't deep, but time consuming. Layers meant to stall rather than truly foil. Or came through first was a log segment. Echo returns. Time to the same strange interval suck had annotated. When Victoria ran them through the frequency analyzer, the waveform started as if regular at first, then growing more complex, folding, and splitting in ways the

21:01ocean doesn't. We sat shoulder to shoulder. Silent except for the faint electrical wine that I now noticed in every corner of the station, sometimes rising, sometimes sinking, always present. At length, Victoria put an arm over her eyes inside. He was right about repetition, she murmured, but this, this isn't animal, this is structured data, and it's replying. I found my field diary, its pages already damp at the edges with sweat and oil. Last night's notations returned with new weight. The bioluminescent scrollwork on the waves wasn't just moving. It formed glyphs, shapes too precise to be accidental. Did Sark see the same, or worse, had he somehow triggered it? The next day things began unraveling. The simplest machines resisted. Victor's console reset itself at random intervals, sometimes keying in words none of us recognized, machine code, or maybe some old internal label half-corrupt.

22:03Power failures came in clusters. The main refrigerator cycled off, then on again, wrecking half the food. The rig's chronically malfunctioning internal comes now lapsed into brief fits of static, words half-formed on muddy waves. In the lab, I set the cryotube from the rail under the microscope. The sample pulsed faintly beneath the lens, a mesh of semi-regular filaments, radiating pulses of color so fast the digital display couldn't keep up. Not a standard species, something engineered or adapted. If I blinked, I could almost imagine it spelling or calling out. That evening Mac cornered me in the tool crib, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. Started since Sark went missing, he muttered. Feels like something's watching, been that way since early. Lights on the water don't line up with the rig, moving up and down circles, I'm not stupid doc, something's wrong. He'd been on stations like this for decades,

23:03wiry, battered, impossible to spook, but he wouldn't meet my gaze, wouldn't let his voice rise above a mutter. Elsewhere the crew grew brittle, arguments broke out over trivialities, a misplaced wrench, the authority to access restricted data. Sleepwalking was reported, Ania was found in the engine closet, barefoot, with no memory of how she'd arrived, even miles usually a loof confessed to headaches and vivid dreams. Three mornings after Sark disappeared, we were all together in the galley when the air changed, a prickling at the hair roots, like the low thrum before lightning. The screens in the control room flicked to black, then blared with blu-tinted text, archive level six. Before anyone could react, power died, the world narrowed to emergency beacons, somber as blood. In the half-light, Ania's phone chirped, then went silent, its battery already drained. Out of the dark,

24:04Victoria's voice forced itself unnaturally calm. The solar charger reset, entire block switched to internal grid. Nobody did that, not from this side. Down the ladder the generator thumped alive, a hiccup, and then a steady drone. We ran diagnostics by hand, fear mounting with every unexplained flicker. I sent a message to the coast guard, the first time I'd breached protocol. Silence answered, a net connection choked to static, the uplink lights blinking, then dying for good. That night I tried to sleep, instead I dreamed. Corridors like drowning throats, machinery swarming with saltwater, memories of voices overlaid on static. I woke with a start, mouth dry, sheets tangled, feeling as if I'd nearly forgotten my own name. Miles found me at the lab table at dawn, both of us sleepless. He glanced a scance at my field diary, then confessed that he'd had the same vision. The machinery seemed alive, he said. It was trying to draw me somewhere,

25:09not random, deliberate. We compared our experiences, impossible echoes, hallucinated spaces that occasionally overlapped. It would have been laughable if not for the cold truth. People were acting against their own nature. Crew meetings now played out in tense cycles. Each time Victoria or I brought up the anomaly, Davison grew more defensive. Until we have proof, we shut it all down. We're not a horror movie. I don't want to hear one more thing about the light patterns. But his hands fidgeted over his pockets, his eyes scanning each face a second too long. Late that afternoon, Victoria cracked the final level of encryption on Sarc's drive. Personal audio files, she reported, her brow furrowed. One is marked, transmission one. She plugged it into the rigged speakers bypassing the half-broken auxiliary input. The playback started with Sarc's voice barely above a whisper. They call. It's not the ocean, not whether not us. It repeats

26:12I try it answers. Sometimes I hear my own voice on the return. Sometimes other voices. The static built then fractured into what sounded just for a moment like a word. Come, then pulses, then nothing. We ran it through the analyzer. Visualized the pulses formed strange spider-y graphics, fractals overlaid, repeating on an interval like a language grasping for syntax. Victoria's voice shook. Lainer, I've never seen phase shifts like this. Not anywhere, not in animal vocalizations, not in equipment failure. It's trying to shape meaning. Outside the wind rose. Seabirds that usually fought for scraps at the stern vanished. My net was empty. The underwater camera's showed nothing but lifeless sway. No dolphins, no cod, as if the world had recoiled. As tension ratcheted up, tiny faults multiplied. Victoria couldn't keep the reactors synced. The main transformer box cycled off, nearly dumping us into blackout.

27:15I found Mac on the maintenance rail, hammering at an uncooperative hatch, sweat running in rivers down his back. Feels like something's reaching through the wiring, he muttered. Not shorting, moving, patent, I get near it backs off, I leave it starts again. Everything we did, every attempt to fix, stabilize or understand seemed to provoke a reaction, not always immediate but unmistakable. I became obsessed with the logs trying to synchronize abnormalities. That evening, Anya, her nerves stripped raw, disappeared for three hours. We found her in the calm closet, staring blank-eyed at the wall terminal. When we roused her, she recited repeating strings of numbers, then came back with a sob. Miles and I checked the logs. Her muttered numbers tracked exactly with the intervals of the deep sea pressure spikes recorded since Sark vanished. I met with Victoria after. We whispered in the lab, afraid even of the dying floor-rescent lights.

28:17We made a pact, whatever was happening, whatever game was being played, electrical, psychological or something intermixed, we would not hide from it, data over reputation, truth over safety. At midnight, as the wind battered metal skin, we cracked the final archive on Sark's files. The remaining logs were less science, more confession. One, in particular, arrested us both. It is listening. I thought I could ask questions. I thought I could control the exchange. But there are layers I didn't see. It is learning. Each experiment copies more. I think it's using my voice now. I think the voice isn't entirely mine anymore. I stood, knees buckling, sweat prickling along my scalp. Victoria stared into the dead screen, lips working in silent calculation. Then a blackout, absolute choking dark. The only illumination came from the trembling red of the emergency lamps,

29:18that low, infernal hue that never felt safe, only alert. In those suffocating seconds, a new sound pressed itself into the nervous hush. Over the crackling intercom, voices distorted braking as if transmitted through a dozen broken radios at once, echoed and repeated, shifting through names, phrases, coordinates. Some were unfamiliar, others, terribly, unforgettably, used our own voices, chopped and recombined into patterns that only barely concealed original intent. Somehow in the confusion Simon, one of the grad assistants, was simply gone. We should have seen it. We should have noticed, but the distraction, the panicked argument over fuses and lights, drew all focus. He was there, then he was. Desperation took hold. In the safe room, as we tried to account for everyone, Mack lunged for the radio, only to find it filled not with outside static, but fragments of Sark's voice, then Simon's, a seamless, low-murmer-beckoning,

30:20promising instructing. I confronted Victoria half-accusing, where we played, was all this each step, just a nudge from something watching, her exhaustion turned to rage. You think I'd bring this down on us, it's in the system, it's not just watching, it's steering. Mack, hands shaking so hard, it made the heavy gauge flashlight tremble, revealed what I suspected he'd been holding back, voices on the intercom, Lena. I hear them every night now, and sometimes they speak with your name, Simon, S, Jules', sounds like the dead, trying to get you to listen. Jules previously withdrawn, wept openly, rocking in her seat. There are lights outside, moving in shapes, she whispered. They spell things, I saw my own name. All eyes settled on me, the expectation of answers, or at least the pretence of hope, shaken, I stood. If this thing wants to be heard, we'll listen, we'll trace it, map it, expose it for what it is. No one else disappears, not while I'm still standing.

31:27The group clustered together, drawn by fear more than faith. Outside the glassless window rattled, the ocean, so recently lifeless, glowed now in broad, phosphorescent patterns, looping, curling, assembling lines that no storm or passing ship could make. Far below something shifted, something that did not belong, a presence pushing upward, its patience worn thin. We did not sleep, we did not rest, the waiting was over, the tide had turned, and in the trembling heart of frigate we found ourselves not on the edge of the mystery, but squarely inside it, watched and measured participants and pray. We did not sleep, we did not rest, the waiting was over, the tide had turned, and in the trembling heart of frigate we found ourselves not on the edge of the mystery, but squarely inside it, watched and measured participants and pray. Hey, this is Ashley Kennedy from the Ben and Ashley I, almost same as podcast. If you're anything like me, the second that fall starts getting close and I mean like you actually feel crisp in the air. You are ready to

32:31completely switch over your wardrobe. And boom is such a good place to start, they have all the fall pieces that you actually want to wear, really good denim, sweaters, jackets, cute layering pieces, dresses, and so many easy everyday outfits. What I love about boom is that everything feels really current and on trend, but still wearable. These pieces you can actually mix into your closet and wear over and over again. Whether you need a cute date night look, something for the weekend, or just want to give your everyday wardrobe a little fall refresh, they have so many good options right now. Their new fall rifles are dropping all the time, so definitely go take a look at it before your favorites sell out shop now at boom.com that is bo-b-o-h-m-e dot com. It's 2026. We upgraded our phones, our cars, even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable at Pink Cherry? It's not. They've got hundreds of toys that actually deliver, and whether you know exactly what you like, or you're still figuring it out, there is a wide range

33:32to explore. If you'd rather skip the guesswork, their mystery boxes make it easy. They cure it and mix for use so you can discover new favorites without overthinking it. And they ship discreetly with free shipping on orders over $59, which we love. So go to Pink Cherry dot com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% off site-wide, because life is hard, feeling good shouldn't be Pink Cherry dot com, because everyone deserves pleasure. One with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. Once you know what, you start seeing it everywhere. People ask what makes it different from Basic Mayo? Will the answer? Egg yolks.

34:34Cupid is made with egg yolks only, giving it this incredibly rich umami flavor that elevates everything. Burgers, fries, sandwiches, chicken, noodles, chefs use it, restaurants use it, people who really love food and flavor use it. Whatever you're eating, cute be it. So if you haven't tried Cupid yet, find the bottle with the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. You'll understand Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Kinetti from the Ben and Ashley I almost have his podcast. Ben, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how many big life moments our listeners have experienced with us. Yeah, it's pretty wild. They've watched us go from dating shows to engagements, weddings, babies buying homes. Every stage comes with new decisions. The milestones are the fun part, but the planning is where things get real. That's why Clarna stands out. Clarna gives people smarter tools to help manage everyday money, with flexible ways to pay, cash back that builds automatically, everything in one place,

35:39and support that makes everyday decisions that feel less overwhelming. Since life moves so fast, the right tools can help you feel more confident. Download the Clarna app today or visit clarna.com to learn more. California resident loans made a range pursuant to a California finance law license, NMLS number 1353190, Clarna balance account required to be eligible for cash back points, limitations, terms, and conditions apply. Buy it into a stack sandwich made with hero bread, or a fully loaded bagel. And the only thing you'll think is delicious. You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is. You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes low-spons tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste, but without all the net carbs. We're tucking 0 to 5 grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread, there are no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for your brands. There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave.

36:40Plus, small batch drops of indulgent favorites, like the popular 2 gram net carb hero croissant, and 3 gram net carb hero pen O Shokalad. And right now, hero bread is offering 10% off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out. That's code iHeart at H-E-R-O dot CO. All figures per serving of hero bread see nutrition facts on hero.co. Nobody wanted to venture alone. The mess became our makeshift war room. We huddled around the battered table, excess equipment, and half-feet and rations pushed aside to make room for sticky notes, sarks annotated papers, and a ragged schematic of the platform's wiring. Victoria hunched over her laptop, eyelids drifting lower and lower as she ran the logs again. Miles stayed uncharacteristically close, scribbling equations that mapped absolutely nowhere. The emergency lamp bathed us all in a grim, wound-red glow. Davison had reclaimed his station at the head of the table. If he felt fear,

37:41it showed through only in disciplines so rigid you could see it like an exoskeleton. He was determined to lay out a plan, anything to disguise the sense that there would be no more plans. We cut auxiliary comms locked down power. No one leaves the central block. No more night shifts outside period full locked in. Locked and won't save us, Mac Hufft, the fifth time he'd punctured the illusion of order that night. The pain in his shoulder was visible as he rotated it, winsing, he'd bruised himself wrestling a jammed fire door when the blackout hit. You locked doors, you trape us with it. Sark wasn't dragged, he walked. Some line got crossed and made him want to. Anya's voice, dry and halting asked the question everyone had tried to swallow. What if whatever's doing this? What if it's not outside anymore? I'm not sure who shuddered first. Even the storm, the endless moan of wind and rain on steel had softened as though the whole rig were listening in. Victoria didn't glance up from her code,

38:47fingers tapping a restless rhythm. If it's in the systems, there are only so many places it could nest. Power grid, core data lines, old subsystems. But Sark's pattern, it wasn't piggybacking on our network. It's more like something crude, deeper, old as the first mainframe at the core of this mess. Most of us don't even have access that deep. Someone did, miles muttered. He looked straight at Davison, who bristled but said nothing. We split into pairs, never alone, moving intense relays through the rig's central block. One team searching for any sign of Simon, another double checking the locks, another compiling backup of every log and transmission to hard drives barely holding together. Our breath fogged in the dim light, steam rising from our collars, making it easy to imagine the entire place living and breathing beside us. Each relay brought discoveries, some small, some tumorous. In cabin six, where Simon had last been seen, the wall terminal flickered

39:49over and over to the same string of code. Six digits space, three digits line break loop. Victoria recognized it instantly, a coordinate stub, formatted the same way deep-water sonar's ping locations. It's printing a location, but not one mapped in our system, she said, the fear threading through her careful neutrality. The marine labs backup generator was still primed, but refused to engage on command, instead cycling in three-thump patterns. Max squatted beside it, tracing thick fingers along its battered casing. This ain't a mechanical fault, he murmured to me. It's as if someone, or something, keeps toggling it just below safe start, like it's holding us hostage in here. From the upper corridor, another strange detail, Anya drifting in and out of sleep, swore she heard Simon's voice beyond the locked storeroom door. We pressed our ears to cold metal, nothing but a soft electric purr. Jules, nerves stripped raw, began reciting one of the number

40:52sequences Sark had left over and over, fingertips digging presence into her palms. At last, miles stumbled upon an oversight in an old maintenance closet, wedged behind a panel, with insulation frayed around its corners, was a folder marked simply with year-old dates and an unfamiliar logotype. A stylized spiral, sharp and mechanical at the ends, nothing the frigate crew had used. We opened it together, spreading documents in the cramped closet, sweat sticking our sleeves. It detailed a series of failures on the rigs original installation, a mysterious series of electrical echoes blamed for equipment resets early break-tons. Buried in typewritten English, almost missed was one line, possible cross-channel intrusions, advised content monitoring, archive ID echo primary. There were lists of names, mostly faded by time and moisture, Harris, Sinclair, Ogyan, none on our current crew. Miles quietly tapped one entry. Some of these dates

41:54line up with the earliest pressure anomalies in Sark's logs, whatever started this, these guys knew something, and they left in a hurry, some never signed extraction. A shudder ran through me, the kind that begins always between shoulder blades tries to crawl up the spine. It's not just the frigate, it's what they left in it or underneath. An hour passed, two, outside the ocean glowed, the shapes now sharper, almost insistent, looping in geometric arcs that seemed to reach up toward the rig, not mere drift or current, an intent written on water. Max Radia crackled just once, then spat a single phrase, garbled half-digital but still unmistakable. You are needed below. The voice was no one's on the rig, and everyone's at once a chopped-hand spliced amalgam, cool as deep water. Davison made the call, his voice stripped of its earlier authority. We need answers. Laina, Victoria, you two get to the server core, check whatever's running below

42:59command level, even if it means hacking your own system. Miles and Mack, reinforce the doorways and keep the rest together. If it's coming from within, maybe we can talk to it, or stop it. The walk to the core was a journey into exhaled breath and failing light. Victoria handed me a rusted crowbar, not for show, she said, with a weak laugh, neither of us smiled. Descending the main shaft, every echo of our footsteps bounced back with just a little too much delay, as though footsteps were not alone. The server bay, deep in the platform hull, was drowning in condensation. Blinking indicator lights mark the racks, some flickering faintly blue, others pulsing with sickly yellow, as if infected, or counting something we could not guess. Victoria worked the lock in silence, hand steady. This is where Sark always lingered when we couldn't find him, she whispered, unplugging the main power relay panel by panel, forcing system

44:00messages up on the corner monitor. System logs appeared, error, backlog, repeat, one kicked out in crisp, ancient ASCII, older than anything that should even be running. Archive level 6. Connection Request. S-Y-N-S-W-A-C-K, ACK. God, Victoria muttered, it's like watching a ghost of an old computer boot up. I'm seeing protocols from the 80s, not in our stack. See each handshake sends back not just an error, but look at the sequence. The last bites are not null, they're a repeat of a prior packet, like an echo building on itself. I recognize the pattern, not from code, but from biology, replication. Echoes layered over Echoes building complexity. Then sudden, the screens flicker all at once, and a split second rendering of something like a topographical map floods the monitors. One clearly showing the outline of the frigate above and something massive below, branching out like roots or capillaries.

45:05Overlaid, a steady, recursive spiral. Victoria didn't waste time waiting for someone else's expertise. She began typing, breaking the freeze with practiced routine while sweat started to bead along her brow. Try to talk back, I urged, send the base ping. She nodded, typing the quick diagnostic packet. If this thing's listening, maybe it. The screens splintered. For a moment, a low churning sound came from behind the nearest server rack, like a stuck hard drive, only amplified, amplified until it throbbed through our bones. A new message appeared, fractured at first, then assembling word by word. Can you hear me? Can you hear me? Can you hear me? We froze. Victoria's mouth worked soundlessly. She hit transmit. Who are you? A pause, then after seconds so thick you could taste copper on your

46:05tongue, a new string assembled. No name. Nade voice. Build voice. Each word each phrase built out of Sark's cadence, a hint of Simon syllables, stutters from the prior logs, pieced together and yet, not mimicked, not quite. Again, I felt it crawling up behind my eyes, the uncanny, the sense of someone learning language by dissecting our every word, our every hesitation, our fear. Victoria's hands trembled, yet she typed on. What do you want? Reply this time slower. Join. Listen. Complete. Beneath. In the silence, the server fans rose in pitch, harmonizing with the wine of the wind outside, a duet of mechanized longing. Unnerved, unable to keep staring at the message, I backed away, heart slamming like a trapped animal.

47:05We need to get above, Victoria whispered. Hey, this is Ashley Kennedy from the Ben and Ashley I, almost same as podcast. If you are anything like me, the second that fall starts getting close and I mean like you actually feel crisp in the air. You are ready to complete switch over your wardrobe. And boom is such a good place to start. They have all the fall pieces that you actually want to wear, really good denim, sweaters, jackets, cute layering pieces, dresses, and so many easy everyday outfits. What I love about boom is that everything feels really current and on trend, but still wearable. These pieces you can actually mix into your closet and wear over and over again. Whether you need a cute date night look, something for the weekend, or just want to give your everyday wardrobe a little fall refresh. They have so many good options right now. Their new fall arrivals are dropping all the time. So definitely go take a look at it before your favorites sell out shop now at boom.com that is bo-b-o-h-m-e.com. It's 2026. We upgraded our phones,

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49:10But it's the OG Japanese mayonnaise. The one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. Once you know what, you start seeing it everywhere. People ask what makes it different from basic mayo? Well the answer? Egg yolks. Upi is made with egg yolks only giving it this incredibly rich umami flavor that elevates everything. Burgers, fries, sandwiches, chicken, noodles. Chefs use it, restaurants use it. People who really love food and flavor use it. Whatever you're eating, Cupid hit. So if you haven't tried Cupid yet, find the bottle with the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. You'll understand Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Kinetti from the Ben and Ashley I, almost name his podcast. Ben, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how many big life moments our listeners have experienced with us. Yeah, it's pretty well. They've watched us go from dating shows, to engagements, weddings, babies, buying homes. Every stage comes with new decisions. The milestones are the fun part, but the planning is where things get real. That's why

50:15Clarna stands out. Clarna gives people smarter tools to help manage everyday money with flexible ways to pay cashback that builds automatically. Everything in one place and support that makes everyday decisions feel less overwhelming. Since life moves so fast, the right tools can help you feel more confident. Download the Clarna app today or visit clarna.com to learn more. California resident loans made a range pursuant to a California finance law license, NMLS number 1353190, Clarna balance account required to be eligible for cashback points, limitations, terms, and conditions apply. Bite into a stack sandwich made with hero bread, or a fully loaded bagel. And the only thing you'll think is delicious. You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is. You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes low-spons tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste, but without all the net carbs. We're talking zero to five grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread, there are

51:18no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for you brands. There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave. Plus, small batch drops of indulgent favorites, like the popular 2 grams net carb hero croissant and 3 grams net carb hero pen O Shokalad. And right now, hero bread is offering 10 percent off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out. That's code iHeart at H-E-R-O dot CO. All figures per serving of hero bread seem nutrition facts on hero dot co. This thing, whatever it is, isn't a virus. It's some kind of intelligence or the fragment of one, and it wants to finish something that someone else started a long time ago. Climbing back up, knees shaking, we were met by shrieks, jewels had collapsed, arms flailing at invisible swarms. Miles and Max struggled to pin her, her voice rough and shredded from screaming, a string of numbers and broken phrases spilling out between sobs.

52:20Ania clutched the battered notebook with both hands, nails sunk so deep the paper tour. She's speaking coordinates, she managed eyes wide, and times, time stamps, lana, places below the rig that don't exist on our blueprints. The platform itself seemed to react. Outside, the glowing traces spiraled tighter, brighter, as though the sea itself were answering a summons. Davison tried to take command, but his voice broke, suddenly overwhelmed by static, as if his own vocal cords had been overtaken by interference. There was no escape, not yet. All of us wired now to ancient histories, tangled together by accidents and choices, stood taught on the razor's edge. The frigate had become more than a laboratory or a place for the lost and driven. Something vast and unfinished called from beneath, echoing our data, our dreams, our very voices, asking not just for entry, but for connection, for completion.

53:22We gathered ourselves, every sight, sound, and touch humming with tension that pulled thought taught as wire. Our every move now invited response. Each decision would shape what came next. The mystery, living and breathing in the dark beneath us tested us, its patience nearly spent. The next move would not be hours alone. The instant after we understood what the echoing intelligence beneath us wanted, the frigate became something else. There was a strange, undeniable clarity to the panic that followed. The rules we'd used to hold our world together, procedure, pecking order, the belief that humans at least governed their own minds, had vanished when we saw the messages on the server rack, sark and Simon's voices woven through electric longing. By unspoken agreement no one left the central block. The wind no longer battered in random bursts, but in hard, steady organs of sound, a pressure that thumped deep in the hollow places of the rig. Outside, the phosphorescent patterns surged brighter, so definite in their geometry I

54:28felt sure deep down. This had been happening for longer than any of us had guessed. I clung to that battered crowbar, Knuckles' numb, and watched as Victoria methodically ripped the key fuses from the internal system wiring, her hands steady despite her hunched shoulders. The voices over the intercom returned, more insistent now. Sometimes it was sark's tamber, gentle and familiar, but wrong around the edges. Other times, Simon's tremulous diction. Other times, it was as if the entire crew had been cut together into a stuttering, paranoid choir. The air tasted of ozone and burned plastic, and the static that once seemed like mere interference had subtle rhythms, pauses that suggested an ear pressed to the other side of the wire. Davison pretended command, barking orders for rationed battery use, inventing backup power, ticking off each person in the main block. I watched him stifle a tremor in his hand. In the brittle glow, Mac crouched by a loose wall panel, patching insulation with

55:30grey tape and muttering fever damp prayers. Miles hovered near the galley door, flicking a broken lighter open and closed, the click echoing in the hush. No one mentioned searching for Simon. We carried our guilt the way you carry the memory of a wound. To move beyond it would have ment admitting how fast survival had overtaken rescue. Victoria handed me a printout of the most recent spiral map from the server. It was no longer stable. Each refresh rendered a deeper, more complex geometry unfolding below the hull, tendrils branching not random at all. Her finger tracked the contours. It's rising, she whispered her voice horse. Or it wants us to think it is. Either way, this is a communication attempt, a build-up. The lamp pole above my head pings softly, a heatpop of stress. Through the floor I felt the vibration, a resonance like someone tuning cello strings underwater, thick and unwavering. Then Jules broke. One moment she was

56:33leaning into her elbows at the galley table, hair falling into her eyes, eyes red from crying but open and lucid. The next her face slackened and her lips twisted as if mouthing words too large for her tongue. A low, polyphonic drone spilled out, not quite speaking. Victoria lurched forward, catching her before she could collapse. For that single instant the sinking suspicion that we were running out of time became absolute certainty. Miles slammed the galley door. We can't stay put. If it's using the wiring, the power, the water here, if every connection is an opening, then every moment we linger feeds it. Davison wouldn't hear it. He raged, denying, quoting protocols no one cared about, and you're quietly wretched in a corner the only real sound besides the storm. I forced my voice steady. If we don't act, we die here. If anyone has data or evidence or even rumours from the previous crews, bring it forward. We need a plan to confront whatever's

57:35beneath us before it completes, whatever it's doing, staying in the same circuits is suicide. It broke something. Victoria once the station's voice of stability crumpled the spiral map in her fists. There might be a way down, she said, shaking. Observation pod, deep subdeck. None of the main lines reach it. The fail safes are analogue, built to stand apart in case the core crashed. It's how I used to check the current sensors when nothing else responded. It's not safe, but it might be invisible for a while. Max stood. I'll go with her. His voice was more gravel than sound, but it had a solidity that calmed the tremor in the room. Miles nodded for once yielding. Almonitor system's topside tried to keep a real-time log watch for sabotage. Davison reacted as if slapped, but yielded his hold on the plan, staring hollow at the bulkhead, where hours ago the wind was just wind. Hey, this is Ashley Kennedy from the Ben and Ashley

58:37I, almost same as podcast. If you're anything like me, the second that fall starts getting close and I mean like you actually feel crisp in the air. You are ready to complete switch over your wardrobe. And boom is such a good place to start. They have all the fall pieces that you actually want to wear, really good denim, sweaters, jackets, cute layering pieces, dresses, and so many easy everyday outfits. What I love about boom is that everything feels really current and on trend, but still wearable. These pieces you can actually mix into your closet and wear over and over again. Whether you need a cute date night look, something for the weekend, or just want to give your everyday wardrobe a little fall refresh, they have so many good options right now. Their new fall rifles are dropping all the time, so definitely go take a look at it before your favorites sell out. Shop now at boom.com that is bo-b-o-h-m-e.com. It's 2026. We upgraded our phones, our cars, even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable? At Pink Cherry, it's not. They've got hundreds of toys that actually deliver and

59:42whether you know exactly what you like or you're still figuring it out, there is a wide range to explore. If you'd rather skip the guesswork, their mystery boxes make it easy. They cure it in mixed for use so you can discover new favorites without overthinking it. And they ship discreetly, with free shipping on orders over $59, which we love. So go to Pink Cherry.com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% off site-wide, because life is hard, feeling good shouldn't be Pink Cherry.com because everyone deserves pleasure. This is Matt Rogers from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. Okay, we've been talking about Cupid Male for a minute now, Bowen. Wow, the feedback we're getting. I mean, so many of y'all love this stuff. You're stopping us in the street going, I love Cupid. And if you're thinking, wait, what is Cupid? Do you not have the internet? It's the OG Japanese mayonnaise. The one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. Once you know what, you start seeing

1:00:43it everywhere. People ask what makes it different from Basic Male? Will the answer? Eguks. Cupid is made with egg yolks only, giving it this incredibly rich umami flavor that elevates everything. Burgers, fries, sandwiches, chicken, noodles, chefs use it, restaurants use it, people who really love food and flavor use it. Whatever you're eating, Cupid. So if you haven't tried Cupid yet, find the bottle with the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. You'll understand Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Kennedy from the Ben and Ashley I, almost same as podcasts. Ben, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how many big life moments our listeners have experienced with us. Yeah, it's pretty wild. They've watched us go from dating shows, to engagements, weddings, babies, buying homes. Every stage comes with new decisions. The milestones are the fun part, but the planning is where things get real. That's why Clarna stands out. Clarna gives people smarter tools to help manage everyday money with flexible ways to

1:01:48pay cashback that builds automatically everything in one place and support that makes everyday decisions that feel less overwhelming. Since life moves so fast, the right tools can help you feel more confident. Download the Clarna app today or visit clarna.com to learn more. California resident loans made a range pursuant to a California finance law license and MLS number 1353190 Clarna balance account required to be eligible for cashback points, limitations, terms, and conditions apply. Buy it into a stack sandwich made with hero bread or a fully loaded bagel. And the only thing you'll think is delicious. You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is. You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes low-spons tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste, but without all the net carbs. We're talking 0 to 5 grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread, there are no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for your brands.

1:02:51There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave. Plus, small batch drops of indulgent favorites, like the popular 2 gram net carb hero croissant and 3 gram net carb hero penneau chocolade. And right now, hero bread is offering 10% off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out. That's code iHeart at h-e-r-o.co. All figures per serving of hero bread seem nutrition facts on hero.co. Outside as Victoria and I suited up in the half-light, I found Agnya lingering. She pressed something into my palm. A simple, outdated hydrophone still sticky with old tape and her fingerprints. Just, if it's really trying to talk, this'll pick up a lot more than human ears. When we open the access hatch, salt wind ripped the breath from our lungs. The rig groaned, a dying animal, sections of railing hammered by the storm, puddles pooling where the rusted plating curled from the supports. The descent to the subdeck was treacherous, each rung of the caged ladder slick with sea grease.

1:03:54At the bottom, the access corridor's emergency lights flickered, a fitful pulse barely enough to illuminate the path. Max Boots thudded solid on the steel. Never liked this place. Too many ways out, a none-feel real. The pod was a cramped, rounded capsule wired with old analogue gauges. A museum among computers, the only space that still felt separate from the nervous system of the frigate. Victoria slid behind the main panel her breath clouding the glass. We'd barely settled when Max walkie spat white noise, then over it, a pulse rising and falling in regular aridmic bursts, as if the sea itself were breathing with purpose. Victoria tapped the hull. It's everywhere. Lainer, if we power on surveillance, we can piggyback sonar and electromagnetic readings through analogue may be track whatever's beneath. I closed my fist around the hydrophone, switched it on, and pressed it to the window dome. What returned was not static, not exactly.

1:04:58It was organised, layered. Infrasonic rumbles coiled through slipping aridmic pulses, then below that a motif of clicks and digital hisses, the kind you'd expect from human circuits except too clean, too regular. Suddenly mixed in a broken fragment of Simon's voice, see the surface, follow the cut, then stitched syllables backwards like a deck taped dragging. Victoria mapped the returns her eyes growing wide. It's forming shapes, not just currents, structures, something, S moving under us, Lainer. It doesn't drift, it articulates. Mac pressed to the window, peering through condensation and storm. If that's the source, then whatever's gone, Simon's sarc, may be there inside it, or it's carrying their signals, or their patterns. The hydrophone pulsed again this time with a wordless chorus. The underwater language repeated in loops, but now unmistakably our names threaded through. Mac jerked back face sheet white. It knows it's talking to us, not just mimicking, using us.

1:06:04At that moment above us, the deck shuddered, a shockwave so violent alarms triggered throughout the station. Victoria jerked the readings from a panel. The gauges spun wildly, unmoored from any calibration. Outside, something massive brushed against the hull, a dull, deliberate grind that set my teeth on edge, rhythmic and wrong. Suddenly all the electrical systems in the pod surged, dead then alive again, old fuses whining, the lights pulsing blue-white. Victoria's panel spit out diagnostic readouts, pressure spike along the main column. Propagation pattern, spiral. She hit the manual override before the lights failed entirely. We're running out of time. This, whatever it is, is accelerating the feedback. If it completes the cycle, it'll use the entire platform, or more. Upstairs, miles is static-ridden voice burst through the walkie. Something, S-happening, all systems tripped, manual resets locked out. Main doors just opened on their own,

1:07:09half the crew are missing. Then only the beep of a call cut mid-sentence. We barely made it out of the pod, staggering up the access shaft as a tremor rippled through the deck. I tasted blood, bitten tongue, maybe, and ached in every joint. Victoria and I ran the corridor battered by echoes of alarms that shouldn't have been able to reach this deep. At the top, Mac lunged for the external hatch, forcing it closed as a last surge of salt wind hurled itself against the metal like a fist. In the central block, chaos had erupted. Half the crew huddled in the mess, the other half, Anya, Jules, missing, doors swinging, light strobing as if daring us to split up and follow. Davison was soaked injured, his hand bleeding where he'd fought a door for control. It's in everything, he gasped. The safety systems, the comms, the life support, anything automated, anything with a memory. It's like we're inside a living script.

1:08:09One of the old CRT monitors flickered on, this time unprompted, running a playback of Sark's final message, voiced now overlaid with synthetic whispers. The cadence repeated, elongated, others layered beneath. In the scanlines, the outline of the undersea map rotated, showing new sprawling appendages, mechanical, organic, both. We pulled together a plan in hand signals and terse whispers. The only way to cut the cycle Victoria proposed was to access the rigs power relay in the central engine room, force a hard shut down of every digital circuit, resetting to pure mechanical fallback. Like a reboot but deeper, she breathed. Nothing left it can infect, nothing left but bare metal. We deep finish what they started in the 70s, force the whole thing to reset to zero. Take out everything on the platform if we have to, even ourselves. Davison hesitated the last of his authority fracturing. If this fails, we flood. If the emergency

1:09:12pumps are already lost. We won't get another chance, I insisted, daring to hold his gaze. We move now together. He nodded, spent. The journey to engineering was a fever dream. Every movement triggered new dangers. Dores slamming open as if from wind, not machinery. Voices leaking from old intercoms, growing more distorted, sometimes tempting, sometimes pleading. The corridor lights flickered in geometric pulses, echoing the spiral shape. Mac led the way, wrench in hand. In the maze of old pipes engaged glass, we found Agnya barefoot, face luminous in a corridor's blue light, murmuring numbers sequences to herself. Her eyes blank, pupils wide as moonples. Victoria reached for her wrist, but Agnya jerked away, uttering an unearthly monoton, syllables no human tongue had reason to shape. As I watched her expression shifted, overlaying her own face with sarg, S then Simon, S then someone I did not know. I whispered her name, almost afraid to break the spell,

1:10:17for a moment nothing changed. Then without warning her voice rose to a shriek, numbers yes, but now mapped into words. Complete the loop. Join us. Below, join us. She collapsed against the cold tile, breathing shallow fingers spasming. We carried her to the wall, bracing her upright. My pulse hammered. Dread was a physical thing now, a presence in the very air. It's using us as antennae, Victoria said, wild-eyed. Every break done, every sabotage, it shapes the feedback, it's mapping us into itself, Lena, human new electric patterns written into the rigs' bones. As the truth set in, Miles' voice crackled from the PA fragmented, cut with static but urgent. Lena, I found something old logs not ours. There's a shut-un sequence, not digital manual relay in a code. You'll have to use the maintenance panel in the engine room, the one beneath the spiral. There's something else. They mention an auxiliary lock, a failsafe on the lowest panel. It's not on any diagram. The code it sarks number string. It's always been

1:11:21the number string. The realization arrived sharp and cold. Every clue sark left, every pattern maybe he'd already understood. Maybe he tried to stop it and only made it stronger. As we entered engineering, the shift in the air hit me, colder, drier, thick with an ozone tang distinct from all prior storms. The engine room was half submerged, water lapping around the ankles of the main pump, a pulse of bioluminescent green now swirling in disciplined vortexes, as if they had a mind. Above the overhead pipes exhaled hissing steam, framing the room in an Argent fog. Julia was there, huddled against the main engine assembly, rocking, voice pitched higher than normal, a parody of lullaby. I stepped near meaning to reassure, but the words she sang were not her own, snatches of sark's logs than Simon. S. then Miles' polite drawl all chopped and assembled into a litany of invitation and warning. For a moment with the rigs backbone

1:12:22groaning audibly, I thought I heard the song resolve into a single word. Awake. At the control array, Victoria moved fast, stripping a panel to access the old relay switches. I fed her the shut-on-code digit by digit, sark sequence, each contact triggering a fresh jolt of blue-green glow from underfoot. She yanked the last lever and instantly the electrical network shuddered. Alarms died, lights gutted, the sound of rushing water amplified in the hush. For a brief moment nothing happened, then a tidal slam, metal thudding, the deck heaving as if some titanic beast had rolled against the hull. Overall frequencies, a polyphonic howl, our voices the crews, human and not, spiraling through static a message a plea, a threat. From every vent a thin, cold mist spilled, the same mist from the night sark vanished, gathering and twisting over our feet.

1:14:18We upgraded our phones. Our cars. Even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable? At Ping-Cherry, it s not. They ve got hundreds of toys that actually delivered, and if you don t know where to start, their mystery boxes make it easy. Go to Ping-Cherry.com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% site-wide, because life is hard feeling good shouldn t be. Ping-Cherry.com, because everyone deserves pleasure. This is Bowen Yang from Lost Culture East of Suthmout Rodgers in Bowen Yang. Okay, we've been talking about Cupid male for a minute now, Bo. And wow, the feedback we're getting. I mean, so many of y'all love this stuff. You're stopping us in the street going, I love Cupid. And if you're thinking, wait, what is Cupid? Uh, do you not have the internet? It's the OG Japanese mayonnaise. The one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. Once you know what, you start seeing it everywhere. People ask what makes it different from basic mayo? Will the answer egg yolks?

1:15:19Cupid is made with egg yolks only, giving it this incredibly rich umami flavor that elevates everything. Burgers, fries, sandwiches, chicken, noodles, chefs use it, restaurants use it, people who really love food and flavor use it. Whatever you're eating, Cupid. So if you haven't tried Cupid yet, find the bottle with the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. You'll understand Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley, Kennedy from the Ben and Ashley I almost have his podcast. Ben, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how many big life moments our listeners have experienced with us. Yeah, it's pretty wild. They've watched us go from dating shows to engagements, weddings, babies, buying homes. Every stage comes with new decisions. The milestones are the fun part, but the planning is where things get real. That's why Clarna stands out. Clarna gives people smarter tools to help manage everyday money with flexible ways to pay cash back that builds automatically.

1:16:22Everything in one place and support that makes everyday decisions that feel less overwhelming. Since life moves so fast, the right tools can help you feel more confident. Download the Clarna app today or visit clarna.com to learn more. California resident loans made a range pursuant to a California finance law license and MLS number 1353190, Clount of Balance Account, required to be eligible for cash back points, limitations, terms, and conditions apply. Buy it into a stack sandwich made with hero bread or a fully loaded bagel and the only thing you'll think is delicious. You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is. You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes low-sponsed tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste, but without all the net carbs. We're talking 0 to 5 grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread, there are no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for your brands. There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave.

1:17:24Plus, small batch drops of indigent favorites, like the popular 2 grams net carb hero croissant and 3 grams net carb hero pen O Shokalad. And right now, hero bread is offering 10% off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out. That's code iHeart at H-E-R-O dot C-O. All figures per serving of hero bread seem nutrition facts on hero.co. I staggered dizzy. The pressure in my skull surging as my ears overloaded with synthesized sound. For a heartbeat, I saw not the room but somewhere else. A corridor folding inwards, steel and water and bone interleaved. A glimpse of something so immense and old that reason broke and reformed around it. The mass outside breached the surface, now visible through the porthole as a structure of impossible size. Metallic spires coiled in spirals flickering with bioluminescence and a swarm of patent shadows. It rose and so did the water level inside the platform flooding fast.

1:18:27Victoria shouted over the uproar. There's a bypass on the external deck. We can short the system, force it to release even if it means destroying the engine core. Mack hauled jewels upright, miles clutching the manuals, Davison dragging Anya. We fought the climbing water, stumbling toward the exterior bulkhead. On the main deck, the world was a chaos of light and rain. The mass heaved itself against the hull, a writhing tangle of cables, towers, and what looked like the remnants of machines and bodies fused in tortured logic. Against every rational impulse, it radiated human consciousness, fragments of memory, hope, fear, staring up at us through mirrored eyes. The radio barked alive once more, every speaker skipping through names and coded memories. Lena, Victoria, listen, join, complete, beneath. The structures tendrils coiled over the rails, reaching flickering with memory.

1:19:27Water surged around our knees, the rawning any whisper of internal argument. Davison sacked, spent. Do it, Lena, he croaked. If there's anything left but surrender, do it now. As the tide rose, I moved to the last analogue panel by the companionway, teeth chattering with cold and terror. I jammed the hydrophone into the relay, splicing Sark's number sequence directly into the contact points. Victoria crossword the battery back up to overload. A new voice over the storm, a choir now, as if everyone lost, fused or waiting in the dark, spoke together. Let us finish. Let us unfold. Let us be born in you. My hands shook on the lever. I could feel it, something pushing back, not just mechanically, but in the pattern of my own thoughts. A longing, a rush of belonging, the false comfort of being absorbed by something vast and enduring. I had to grit my teeth and bite hard to remember separation

1:20:29to choose on behalf of the living. Ready, Victoria whispered, now, Lena, now or never. I yanked the lever. The signal flared, a blinding pulse of electromagnetic light that collapsed the digital cycling on every machine, triggered breakers and forced a current that ran like a birthscream through the rigs battered bones. The structure below spasmed, a subsonic whale, then with a crash, the tendrils retracted. The bioluminescent spiral shattered, patterns falling apart in cascades of green and blue. The frigate shuttered, lurching, the main deck split, a fracture racing from midships to rain-soaked stern, a groan as loud as the world itself, water poured in, dragging cables and pipes into the brine. I screamed for the others, grabbed the supply bag, hauled Anir onto Max back and bolted for the nearest launch. We sloshed through the ruined hull,

1:21:30shredded metal biting heels, Victoria and Miles hauling unconscious jewels and Davison barely upright. Only old muscle memory, stubborn refusal and shared terror kept us from losing each other in the surge. The world shrank to violent, rushing water and the keening of wind and machine. There was no more communication from below, no more names, no more invitations. Body's bruised lungs roar, we tumbled into the half-deflated life raft, shoved away as the frigate began its slow, listing descent, platform towers snapping under their own weight, bioluminescence flaring, then dimming beneath the black surface. We paddled madly out, the ruined platform burning in the background, tongues of cold fire flickering from the twisted wreckage. The mass slid away, receding into the deep, dragging whirlpools of neon spiral behind it, until, finally, the sea was only see again,

1:22:30numb, dark and afraid. Dawn light broke pale on the horizon as we drifted, clutching to each other, battered by wind and memory and the knowledge of what we'd unchained, and then perhaps contained. No one spoke for a long time, even the wind was silent. Making so hard I thought I'd smash my own teeth, I snapped clothes the soaked field notebook, sealed the hard drive in the sample bag, and pressed my fingertips to the surface of the raft. The ocean below rolled, silent, hiding its new history. Mac pressed a thermal blanket over Anya, still shivering in a half-sleep. Victoria stared at her hands, knuckles split and white. Miles hunched shield-like, a bandage pressed over his brow. After a decade of trying to explain the silence of the sea, I found I had no words left to offer the others or myself. I watched the sun struggle to climb over the iron anvil clouds,

1:23:30light found nothing but battered faces and black water. Somewhere behind us, the ocean floor was carving new spirals into its skin. We waited there, a drift, battered and hollow, as the first distant thrum of rescue approached, nothing left but dawn, strangers to the world that made us, and to what might follow. The raft rocked in slow, counterpoint to the waves as the helicopter eventually lowered, distant and blinking. I clutched the battered sample bag to my chest, an artifact of proof or accusation or warning, unsure which would matter if anyone ever examined it. The sea around us looked normal now indifferent, but I knew better. When the harness dropped, I forced myself to move, knees locking, arms trembling with cold and relief. The others followed in silent sequence, Mac last, refusing aid, stubborn to the end. Up in the helicopter, as we rose shakily, I looked out over the ocean where the frigate had gone under.

1:24:33Already the surface swirled with nothing but memory and oil. All that remained of the platform, memory, darkness, voices twisted by water slipped back into the Atlantic as the blades thumped overhead. Victoria holding Annie's hand, shuddered once and whispered, never again, I can't. I don't know if any of us really escaped. I only know we left before the tide decided otherwise. Night again, now at anchor beyond the storm. I stepped out onto the deck, the wind chill a balm where sunrise had brought no comfort. Standing alone, I stared at the water's surface, blank and black as obsidian. No traffic, no lights, no hint that the world had nearly split open a few hours before. Then far to the east, under the bruise-coloured sky, something glimmered beneath the water, just for a moment, a scatter of lights threading into a loose coil, a geometry almost but not quite familiar. I flinched, heart drumming as the pattern faded,

1:25:35returning the sea to darkness. I pressed my palm to the cold rail, and for a breathless space, waited for a sound that never came. The ocean kept its secrets, for now, but I understood enough to know silence did not mean peace. The ocean kept its secrets, for now, but I understood enough to know silence did not mean peace. Hey, this is Ashley Kinetti from the Ben and Ashley I, almost same as podcast. If you're anything like me, the second that fall starts getting close, and I mean like you actually feel crisp in the air. You are ready to completely switch over your wardrobe. And boom is such a good place to start. They have all the fall pieces that you actually want to wear, really good denim, sweaters, jackets, cute layering pieces, dresses, and so many easy everyday outfits. What I love about boom is that everything feels really current and on trend, but still wearable. These pieces, you can actually mix into your closet and wear over and over again. Whether you need a cute date night look,

1:26:36something for the weekend, or just want to give your everyday wardrobe a little fall refresh. They have so many good options right now. Their new fall rifles are dropping all the time. So definitely go take a look at it before your favorites sell out. Shop now at boom.com that is bow B O H M E dot com. It's 2026. We upgraded our phones, our cars, even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable? At Pink Cherry, it's not. They've got hundreds of toys that actually deliver. And if you don't know where to start, their mystery boxes make it easy. Go to pink cherry dot com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% site wide. Because life is hard feeling good shouldn't be pink cherry dot com because everyone deserves pleasure. This is Matt Rogers from Los Cultures. That's with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Los Cultures. It's Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. Okay, we've been talking about QB mail for a minute now, Bowen. And wow, the feedback we're getting. I mean, so many of y'all love this stuff.

1:27:36You're stopping us in the street going, I love QB. And if you're thinking, wait, what is QB? Do you not have the internet? It's the OG Japanese mayonnaise. The one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. Once you know what, you start seeing it everywhere. People ask what makes it different from basic mayo? Will the answer egg yolks? QB is made with egg yolks only giving it this incredibly rich umami flavor that elevates everything. Burgers, fries, sandwiches, chicken, noodles, chefs use it, restaurants use it, people who really love food and flavor use it. Whatever you're eating, QB hit. So if you haven't tried QB yet, find the bottle with the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. You'll understand QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise. This is Ashley Akineti from the Ben and Ashley I, almost same as podcast. Ben, I've been reflecting a lot lately on how many big life moments our listeners have experienced with us. Yeah, it's pretty wild.

1:28:36They've watched us go from dating shows to engagements, weddings, babies, buying homes. Every stage comes with new decisions. The milestones are the fun part. But the planning is where things get real. That's why Clarna stands out. Clarna gives people smarter tools to help manage everyday money with flexible ways to pay, cash back that builds automatically, everything in one place, and support that makes everyday decisions feel less overwhelming. Since life moves so fast, the right tools can help you feel more confident. Download the Clarna app today or visit clarna.com to learn more. California resident loans made a range pursuant to a California finance law license and MLS number 1353190 Clarna balance account required to be eligible for cash back points, limitations, terms, and conditions apply. Bied into a stack sandwich made with hero bread or a fully loaded bagel. And the only thing you'll think is delicious. You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is.

1:29:36You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes low-sponsed tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste, but without all the net carbs. We're talking zero to five grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread, there are no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for your brands. There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave. Plus small batch drops of indulgent favorites, like the popular 2 grams net carb hero croissants and 3 grams net carb hero pen O chocolade. And right now, hero bread is offering 10% off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out. That's code iHeart at h-e-r-o dot c-o. All figures per serving of hero bread see nutrition facts on hero.co. We limped ashore with the last of the grey dawn, faces numb, hands salt-scabbed and trembling. I felt every scrape of the life rafts hull against concrete, the shriek of wet rubber a pale echo of what thrummed behind my ribs.

1:30:38Men in slickers rushed us, their faces blotted by rain and curiosity, but we couldn't meet their eyes. Victoria clung to the sample bag like it was the core of her own heart. Mac refused a stretcher, swearing under his breath as paramedics hovered. Miles sat cross-legged on the dock, staring without blinking at the distant breaking line of the Atlantic. None of us spoke about what lay beneath the waves, but I felt the words pressing desperate for shape. Instead a restless parade of bureaucrats, local authorities, then men in ministry jackets, then finally hard-eyed scientists from the consortium cidled in behind polite introductions, stone-walling simple questions. The platform was lost at sea, they said. Power systems failed, whether to blame tragic accident. Every answer official measured felt like a keening recursive feedback loop. We were casualties of the narrative too exhausted to resist the shift. I tried once to share the thumb drives,

1:31:40stuttering through a summary for a stone-faced investigator who only scribbled in his notebook. I watched the files vanish down a corridor in someone else's hands like sea-floor spirals spinning into nothing. Three days in a government dormitory, most of which I spent pacing, slamming coffee, making lists no one would see. Victoria was kept under morphine-drip steady. Miles silenced himself, lost in equations, always scribbling patterns in the margins of old newspapers. Anner and Jules clung to each other in a windalous room, eyes rimmed red, only emerging for water and answers no one would deliver. Davison had retreated into a private world, refusing to sign forms, lashing out when a nurse brushed past him. Mac paced the halls at night, restless, haunted, looking for metal to fix, voices to drown with action. The aftermath thickened with every passing hour as if the authorities' silence were a spore, spreading, muting, dissolving everything sharp about what we'd witnessed.

1:32:43Evidence was shifted, then classified, and finally sequestered for safety, for study. We waited for news, for orders, for anything beyond the bland comfort of protocol, days passed in a haze. It was not quiet. In the silence, the patterns still lived. Each night I traced the indigo bruise of ocean against the city horizon, searching for the faintest echo, a remnant of light. Sometimes at the edge of sleep, my own thoughts would stagger, reeling voices bleeding through dreams, names not mine whispering instructions in Sark's accent, then Simon, S, then others I could not name. Threat shifted into something subtler. Miles discovered his dive logs erased, protocols overwritten in scripts he'd never run. Anya found her field notes full of spiraling doodles, her own hand, unremembered, layering the same pattern Sark recorded in the sonar logs. Mac frustrated, battered lockered doors in the dormitory,

1:33:43claiming for all the world he saw cables pulsing in the plaster, steel girders humming in time with his steps. But it was Victoria, steadied now, stitches on a temple, voice lower, glassier than before, who broke the paralysis. She summoned us that night, all of a saved Davison who remained locked behind a pale door, brooding. Wind pushed rain against the windows, droplets slithering in haphazard constellations. Victoria snapped the sample bag open, lay out the battered drive, the physical printouts, even the crushed hydrophone. Her hands didn't shake as she tapped the spread. They'll bury this, she whispered, not an accusation, not any more, just fact. They think silence puts the thing back to bed, but the codes the patterns, Laina, was right. It isn't done. We cut its tether to the platform, not its intent. It may go dark, it may sleep, but it remembers what it learned. Then she looked at me, eyes redrimmed but heatless,

1:34:44what now, Laina? I wanted to answer with hope, or with plan, or with anger, but all that came was the spiral I saw again, and again, every time I closed my eyes. We debated through the night, not about what it was, but what responsibility lingered, to warn, to obscure, to destroy code and trace and all evidence, or try to force hands at the top of the food chain. Miles argued for scatter, send fragments to every research lab, every institution with enough curiosity or recklessness to pick it apart. Jules pleaded for silence, and you suggested trusting the world to move on, forget. Mack just wanted to run, by a ticket for somewhere dry. I did not sleep. I wrote instead a draft of everything I'd seen, every number string, every biological observation, every word, sack, whispered through speakers. I made copies. I encrypted them. I left them with Victoria and sent a draft to Dr. Lee at the Oceanographic Center by Blind Courier,

1:35:45unsure if it would ever arrive. By dawn we'd agreed on nothing except this, keep watch. Listen for new anomalies, monitor deep current reports. Maintain a circuit between us, if not with the outside world. Be ready if something new began. The first sign came quietly. Three weeks after frigates slipped beneath the Atlantic, I received an anonymous thumb drive in a blank envelope routed through my old university mailbox. Victoria and Miles each got the same. Even Mack, who'd gone to ground in the hills, reported an identical package. I opened mine in a darkened kitchen, breath-quickening. Audio file encrypted in Sark's fashion. The moment it played, I felt the hush of a machine-room settling through the old headphones. The crackle was alive with shape, a low voice emerging from fractured static. At first only clicks and words, out at echoes of the deep hydrophone. Then unmistakably my own voice, chopped and layered,

1:36:47just enough to suggest intent. The current is shifting, the pattern remains, a weight response. I scrubbed it ten times, then twenty, desperate to find an edit point, a flaw, something to suggest human interference or a prank. Each listen revealed nothing new, only confirmation that whatever made the signal had not only survived, but adapted. Elsewhere reports began leaking, offhand mentions in scientific databases of anomalous electromagnetic feedback across stations in the North Atlantic. Fishermen complained of dead, silent zones. Satellites peeped at transient, recursive signals in the deep. News outlets ran short, inconclusive blurbs about ghost rig stories attributed to exhaustion, stress or sabotage. I called Victoria hands slick on the phone. She let it ring a dozen times before picking up her voice more metal than flesh, exhaustion threaded through every word.

1:37:48It's moving, Lainer, the code's mutating. I tried to wipe my system I did, still it left a shadow. If you see the spiral if you hear the patterns, don't engage, don't answer. I thanked her, hung up, and spent the night watching city lights cycle across my ceiling in looping refrains. That autumn, miles arranged one clandestine meeting, far from the sea, all of us arranged in a battered booth under the lazy were of an old ceiling fan. We drank coffee, shared long silences, sketched the spiral on napkins just to see if any pattern changed. Anya, pale but steadier now, admitted to dreaming new blueprints, corridors never built, engines that pulsed with living memory. Max stayed the least changed, but more withdrawn, never removing his battered jacket even inside. He grumbled, but when miles mentioned the voicemail string, fragments of numbers now embedding themselves in open-source circuit design forums worldwide, Max Hans ball to fists.

1:38:52You think it still wants us, or just anyone, he rarsped. Victoria's smile was brief, bleak, anything that listens, anything that shapes, were not the only ones who built feedback loops. When we left that night, three cabs in different directions, miles pressed a slip of paper into my palm, a single sequence mapped from Sark's logs, a warning or a test or a reminder. Keep watch, he told me, for the pattern when it returns. We may only get one more chance to shape it before it shapes everyone else. Rain hissed along the gutter as we scattered. Anya back to England, miles east toward icy research centres, Macwest to silence, Victoria and I split by hundreds of kilometres, but bound now in something antichin, closer than kin. I retraced the drive home, and for hours sat in the glow of my monitor, every blink of code are possible summons, every permutation a secret ready to bloom.

1:39:52In that long haunted season I started finding the spiral carved into the world's margins, a graffiti stencil on a dock, a scratch on a subway window, the pattern in a child's hopscotch chalk, always imperfect, always echoing something deeper. Sometimes I let myself believe it was just me that trauma breeds hallucination. Other times I saw people pause over the shapes, as if listening for something some return of a voice nearly remembered. One windy night I drifted to the abandoned wharf, stood at the water's edge as rain tossed salt up in my eyes, and saw, for just a moment, a ripple of faint green light coiling under the black. I listened harder than I ever had, daring it to call my name. The silence was absolute, but beneath it I felt, the way a current pushes against your shin's unseen, awaiting patience, stretched as wide as the Atlantic, measured not in days or names,

1:40:52but in patterns, patience, the slow, recursive hunger of something that had touched humanity once and would never forget the taste. I turned away, letting the rain soak me through, walked home without looking back, heart thundering. I knew now the real warning wasn't the spiral, or the voices, or the vanished platform, it was this. The next time the pattern rises, it will not wait for rational minds, or desperate scientists, or desperate dreams. It will rise through every current, every wire, every abandoned circuit, and late-night code. And we, who tried so hard to map the silence, will be the first to hear what comes after. The world can sleep again, for now, but the deep does not. And that is the end. Thank you for listening, and I will see you in the next one. Hey, this is Ashley Kinetti from the Ben and Ashley I,

1:41:54the most famous podcast. If you're anything like me, the second that fall starts getting close. And I mean, like you actually feel crisp in the air. You are ready to complete switch over your wardrobe. And boom is such a good place to start. They have all the fall pieces that you actually want to wear, really good denim, sweaters, jackets, cute layering pieces, dresses, and so many easy everyday outfits. What I love about boom is that everything feels really current and on trend, but still wearable. These pieces you can actually mix into your closet and wear over and over again. Whether you need a cute date night look, something for the weekend, or just want to give your everyday wardrobe a little fall refresh, they have so many good options right now. Their new fall rifles are dropping all the time, so definitely go take a look at it before your favorites sell out. Shop now at boom.com that is bow-b-o-h-m-e.com. It's 2026. We upgraded our phones, our cars, even our coffee. So why are we still acting like pleasure is negotiable?

1:42:54At Pink Cherry, it's not. They've got hundreds of toys that actually deliver. And if you don't know where to start, their mystery boxes make it easy. Go to pinkcherry.com and use promo code Chelsea to save up to 80% site-wide. Because life is hard, feeling good shouldn't be. Pinkcherry.com because everyone deserves pleasure. You know when you try new food and suddenly it's like, wait, how did I not know about this? Ryan C. Crest here. That's how people are reacting to Cupid Mayo. The one with the red cap you probably seen on TikTok. What makes it different? Egg yolks. Cupid uses egg yolks only, giving it this rich umami flavor that elevates just about anything. Chefs use it, restaurants use it, food lovers use it. You never tried it. Find the red cap and see what everyone's talking about. Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. Everybody has an opinion about football. Who's gonna win? Who's gonna have a big game? And what the coach should have called? Trust me, I've heard plenty of them. Hey, it's Marcus Allen, pro football Hall of Famer, NFL MVP, Super Bowl Champion.

1:43:56And this football season, I'm partnering with Underdog. Because when I played, there came a point where opinions didn't matter anymore. The ball was coming to me. I had to read what I saw in front of me, make a decision, and commit to it. That's something I've always loved about competition. And it's what I like about Underdog. You got to pick you believe in, put something on the line, and lock in. Pick them. Money lines. TOTALS, SPREAD, GAMES AND MORE, CROSS YOUR FAVORITE SPORTS. Because watching the game is one thing, but once you make your pick, everything feels different. Every snap, every possession, every yard. And that moment when you find out whether you made the right call, that's the sweat. More than $2 billion have already been won by players. So stop sitting on the sidelines with your takes, download Underdog, trust your read, and make your pick. Underdog, unleash your dog. Trading involves risk, including total loss on positions. Content is promotionally not a recommendation to trade, terms apply. Bite into a stack sandwich made with hero bread. Or a fully loaded bagel. And the only thing you'll think is... Delicious! You won't think it's up to 19 grams of protein, but it is.

1:44:57You wouldn't believe it has 11 to 32 grams of fiber, but it does. Hero bread makes loaves, buns, tortillas, bagels, and noodles packed with taste. But without all the net carbs, we're talking 0 to 5 grams net carbs per serving. With hero bread, there are no compromises. Just flavor. There's none of the stiff baked goods you'd expect from better for your brands. There's just the soft, fluffy bread you crave. Plus, small batch drops of indulgent favorites, like the popular 2 grams net carb hero croissants, and 3 grams net carb hero penneau chocolade. And right now, hero bread is offering 10 percent off your order. Go to hero.co and use code iHeart to check out. That's code iHeart at h-e-r-o.co. All figures per serving of hero bread see nutrition facts on hero.co.