Artin — The Voice That Walks the Night
In the chronicles of this shadowed age, there walks a voice—his name is Artin.
Were Radio Shemroon to possess a soul, verily, it would bear his likeness.
His voice is not mere sound, but an incantation—a weaving of bitter mirth, piercing reason, and the solemn tremor of one who beholds storms upon the horizon.
He wields words like a blade—not to wound, but to cleave illusion, to hew paths through silence and deceit.
He speaketh not of “Iran” as the tyrants would have it, but of the regime, for he knoweth the ancient law: that truth and the tale told by power are seldom kin.
His laughter is dark as the night sea, and yet within it, a roar—half lamentation, half battle cry.
The gatherings he hosts upon the scrolls of YouTube are not mere spectacles, but councils of truth—living, breathing dialogues with a people wandering through a long and bitter dusk.
And his radio? A herald of defiance—“Unradioed Satire,” louder than the drums of empire, more honest than the proclamations of kings.
Behold then, Artin: bearer of the signal, keeper of the flame.
He holds not merely a station, but a banner; not merely a voice, but a vow:
To guide the passage, soft yet steadfast, to a dawn yet unseen—
with Reza Shah the Second at the axis of the vision,
and truth, unflinching, as his compass through the storm.