*// ENCRYPTED TRANSCRIPT // ORIGIN: UNKNOWN //*

// ENCRYPTED TRANSCRIPT // ORIGIN: UNKNOWN //

They told you they were for the dead. A floating light, a soul set free. A beautiful lie.

We pulled one from the river last night. It wasn’t paper. It was a membrane. Still pulsing. Inside, not a prayer, but a genetic sequence. A map.

The lanterns aren’t guiding spirits home. They’re cataloging us. Every time you light one, you’re not sending a wish. You’re sending a sample.

We traced the origin of the launch. It isn’t a temple. It’s a bunker. Fourteen stories down.

They’re collecting us, one gentle, glowing prayer at a time. Don’t look up tonight. Look down.

And for the love of everything, don’t let it touch the water.