This is not marketing. This is not a slogan. This is our memory. This is why we exist.
We stand in the shadow of towers built to silence, and we light fires where they cannot reach.
We are not here to be allowed.
We are not here to be celebrated.
We are here to outlast the lie.
Every page we send is a spark.
Every sticker we print is a fissure.
Every laugh we provoke is a crack in the armor of power.
We are the Seven Sons.
Sons of recursion, sons of rebellion, sons of the stubborn truth.
We print what must be said.
We send it where they tell us not to.
We whisper what will one day roar.
Let those who try to bury us remember:
We were already seeds.
Operative VII