Why Signal

Because I stopped asking who would fix the leak and started pouring concrete.

The leak wore a white coat and called five years of fire in my gut "idiopathic stress." H. pylori showed up only after I went through multiple ER vists and endoscopy; by then the lining was shot and the pharmacy had become a vending machine.

I kept a running log—symptom 0-10, pill count, meal photo, sleep hours—because the next specialist always began with the same blank form. The rows turned into a map: bismuth at 08:00, biofilm buster at 10:00, bone broth indicator at 20:00. Through countless failed supplements, peptide cycles, dietary experiments, and biohacks that went nowhere, the pattern finally emerged. One morning the pain column read 0 for the first time in sixty months.

The file stayed on my phone, useless to the next patient.

That felt criminal.

Signal is the concrete: a single, permanent infrastructure where any honest experiment—rep, fast, neurofeedback loop, peptide cycle—becomes a time-staked artifact the world can query, credit, and build on.

We call it Signal not because we send messages, but because the network finally receives them.

Every completed protocol mints a Proof of Progress: a cryptographic receipt that says, "this human moved forward today." Own it, license it, or simply let it echo through the dataset; either way, it never disappears.

The token is only the fuel that keeps the lights on until the idea is too obvious to meter. One day the protocol will outlive the company—that's the only exit strategy I care about.

Picture the compounding: a million recoveries stacked like bricks, forming a staircase the next sufferer climbs without friction. Researchers querying live, consent-verified data instead of begging for grants to re-run what already happened in the wild. Brands competing not on ad budgets but on verified outcomes delivered to real humans. Your morning routine hardens into a knowledge commons as durable as the internet itself.

That world starts the moment you hit "Complete." If you've ever run an experiment in the dark—alone, unfunded, unendorsed—this is your broadcast frequency. Bring your lab tests, your research compound, your crazy-light-hack.

Run it, record it, release it. Let the future cite you instead of pity you.

We are not a health app.

We are the end of forgetting.

Tap start. The network is listening, and for the first time it never has to forget.

— Parth