These are the fragments we found—faded pages, half-erased signals, loose coils of tape still humming with life. Somewhere far from the noise, at the edge of the signal, the Outpost broadcasted in isolation. What you’re reading now are the surviving logs. Each entry is a dispatch: an album pulled from the dust, a voice carried across cold wires, a flicker of sound from the past or future. Nothing here is mainstream. Nothing here is normal. This is what they left behind—what they loved, what they heard, what they wanted others to hear. We’re just passing them on.\n\nThese are the fragments we found—faded pages, half-erased signals, loose coils of tape still humming with life. Somewhere far from the noise, at the edge of the signal, the Outpost broadcasted in isolation. What you’re reading now are the surviving logs. Each entry is a dispatch: an album pulled from the dust, a voice carried across cold wires, a flicker of sound from the past or future. Nothing here is mainstream. Nothing here is normal. This is what they left behind—what they loved, what they heard, what they wanted others to hear. We’re just passing them on.