May 11, 2025 • 34 mins
"There's absolutely no information in the signal."
For decades now, an odd and mysterious audio signal has operated on the shortwave spectrum. Since the late 1970s, a strange pulsating sound has repeated at 4625 kilohertz. There is never a formal introduction. There are no hosts or music. Only on occasion will a voice step in, and when it does, it reads off some words and names in a monotonous Russian accent before disappearing once more.
No country or agency has ever attempted to claim or explain the signal. Rumors persist about its purpose: everything from a "dead hand" nuclear deterrent controlled by the Russian government to a channel marker acting as a placeholder. However, after more than four decades, the signal's meaning remains unknown to the world at large...
Research & writing by Amelia White
Hosting, production, and writing by Micheal Whelan
Learn more about this podcast at http://unresolved.me
If you would like to support this podcast, consider heading to https://www.patreon.com/unresolvedpod to become a Patron or Producer
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/unresolved--3266604/support.
For decades now, an odd and mysterious audio signal has operated on the shortwave spectrum. Since the late 1970s, a strange pulsating sound has repeated at 4625 kilohertz. There is never a formal introduction. There are no hosts or music. Only on occasion will a voice step in, and when it does, it reads off some words and names in a monotonous Russian accent before disappearing once more.
No country or agency has ever attempted to claim or explain the signal. Rumors persist about its purpose: everything from a "dead hand" nuclear deterrent controlled by the Russian government to a channel marker acting as a placeholder. However, after more than four decades, the signal's meaning remains unknown to the world at large...
Research & writing by Amelia White
Hosting, production, and writing by Micheal Whelan
Learn more about this podcast at http://unresolved.me
If you would like to support this podcast, consider heading to https://www.patreon.com/unresolvedpod to become a Patron or Producer
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/unresolved--3266604/support.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:03):
This episode contains graphic content that may not be suitable
for all ages. Listener discretion is advised. If you or
someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available,
call or text nine eight eight, or chat with someone
at nine eight eight lifeline dot Org. Those outside of
the US, reach out to someone at your local crisis
(00:24):
center or hotline. Please do not suffer in silence.
Speaker 2 (00:47):
You go up, you go up to my ego a
Roman oilger ego on the Sharpei. You U do not
(01:08):
sigh the worship noise se neichida, You go a let's say,
uh the ar you u? Yougo see the uh? You
(01:31):
U worship your d a wasshim soup? Do you know?
It's the sae h on the ego a Roman Oiger
ego on the sharpe, You un do not see the
worship noise sechet neuschia pop mm.
Speaker 1 (01:57):
In the corner of the short wave spectrum, just past
the range most people ever bother to explore, there's a
noise that never quite stops. It's mechanical, pulsing and deeply unpleasant,
like the hum of a broken fluorescent light buried underground.
It has no melody, no message and no apparent meaning,
but it's been repeating itself nearly NonStop for decades. It
(02:20):
broadcast on forty six twenty five kilohertz. Its unofficial nickname
is the Buzzer. For those who have come across it
by accident, it can feel like an error, a misfire
from some forgotten equipment, still running past its scheduled lifetime.
But for people who have been listening, carefully recording it,
logging its behavior, and tracking its anomalies, it's something else entirely.
(02:43):
The Buzzer is not an anomaly. It's a signal, and
it has outlasted wars, borders, regimes, and even the technology
that once justified its existence. There is no formal introduction,
no host, no music, just a tone delivered every second,
twenty four hours a day. The signal rarely changes, but
(03:04):
when it does, it becomes something much harder to ignore.
On rare occasions, the buzzing stops. A Russian voice cuts in, calm, expressionless.
It speaks a series of numbers and names. Sometimes the
phrases sound like call signs or surnames. Other times it's
just a code spoken once and never repeated. Then the
(03:26):
buzz returns. Unchanged and continues as if nothing happened. No
country has ever claimed this signal, No military agency has
explained it. It has been active since at least the
late nineteen seventies, but no public record confirms why it
began or who maintains it. Official silence has surrounded it
for over four decades. Some people have tracked correlations between
(03:48):
this signal's activity and major geopolitical events. Others argued that
any such connection is circumstantial at best. With no official comment,
nothing can be verified, but the timing in some cases
has been difficult to ignore. Buzzer isn't the only number station.
There have been others, some of which are still active,
(04:09):
but few have lasted as long or attracted as much
sustained attention. Most number stations disappeared after the Cold War ended,
but this frequency didn't. It continued without pause. This is
the story of UVB seventy six, also known as the Buzzer.
(05:10):
UVB seventy six does not behave like a traditional radio station.
There are no scheduled programs. There's no audience engagement, no
station identification, no music, no advertising. It does not speak
unless it has to, and even then it offers only
a few cryptic words before falling silent again. In terms
of content, it might be the most barren broadcast still
(05:32):
in operation, but in terms of longevity and precision, it's
one of the most consistent signals on the shortwave spectrum.
It's believed to have begun operating in the late nineteen seventies.
The earliest confirmed references date back to nineteen eighty two,
when Western shortwave listeners began referring to it as the
Buzzer due to the repeating tone it broadcast roughly twenty
(05:54):
five tones per minute, almost exactly one every one point
two seconds. That rhythm has become its signature, though it
has changed subtly over time. The tone itself once had
a soft fade in and out, consistent with an acoustic
sound being picked up by a microphone. Later versions sound sharper,
more clipped, suggesting digital generation or a change in transmission method.
(06:17):
These technical differences may point to changes in equipment or
even location, but no official record exist. That uncertainty has
led listeners to rely on the signal's behavior as its
only reliable identity. It does not identify itself in a
conventional sense, but it is recognizable in the way. A
heartbeat is recognizable not because of what it says, but
(06:38):
because of its pattern. The signal transmits on forty six
twenty five killihertz, a frequency in the high frequency shortwave band.
Shortwave radio occupies a unique space in global communication. It
travels long distances by bouncing off of the ionosphere, which
allows a signal to reach across entire continents even with
relatively low power. This is what made it so valuable
(07:01):
during the Cold War. Countries could broadcast messages over borders,
into restricted zones or to agents abroad without meaning satellite infrastructure.
More importantly, shortwave allows for one way communication that leaves
no record on the receiving end. A listener can tune
in anonymously, a broadcaster can transmit without knowing or caring
(07:22):
who is on the other side. That anonymity is central
to the world of number stations. These are shortwave broadcast
usually operated by governments, that consist entirely of coded voice transmissions.
Most follow a basic pattern. A signal comes on, a
voice usually synthesized or read in the monotone recites a
(07:43):
series of numbers, then the station goes silent again until
the next message. They operate without identification, and are rarely
acknowledged by the states believed to be running them. It
is widely accepted among intelligence experts that these stations serve
as a method for delivering instructions to field operatives. The
listeners need only a receiver and a key. No return
(08:03):
transmission is necessary, and no network activity can be traced.
That logic is sound. The mystery lies in how long
these stations continue to broadcast, even in peacetime, even when
their purpose seems obsolete. UVB seventy six shares some of
these traits, but departs from the pattern in key ways.
(08:24):
Most number stations are silent between transmissions. UVB seventy six
is not. Its buzz repeats constantly, regardless of whether a
voice message is imminent. It doesn't operate in daily or
even weekly cycles. There's no obvious scheduling to the messages.
In some years, voice interruptions occurred only once or twice,
(08:45):
in others there were dozens. The message format is also
somewhat different. Rather than pure numbers, many UVB seventy six
voice transmissions include names, call signs, or code words alongside numbers.
They appear structured but not random. Yet The meaning of
that structure remains inaccessible. One of the more peculiar elements
(09:06):
of UVB seventy six is the presence of background noise
in some recordings. At various points, the buzzing has been
interrupted not by a voice message, but by what sounds
like accidental audio, faint conversations, doors opening and closing, even
the sound of a telephone ringing. In some cases, voices
are audible in the background while the buzzing continues, suggesting
(09:28):
that the broadcast is being picked up by a live
microphone in an open room. This theory was more plausible
in the earlier years, when the tone sounded like it
could have been produced acoustically, but even as technology has advanced,
these interruptions haven't completely disappeared. In the age of digital broadcasting.
The presence of open mic noise points either to old
(09:49):
infrastructure or human error. While these fragments of speech and
ambient noise have led to intense speculation, none of them
have yielded a confirmed identity or mess. Most are too
muffled to understand. None have pointed clearly to a location, unit,
or organization, but their presence has helped ground the station.
(10:09):
In reality, it is not a myth. It's not a
natural phenomenon. It is a machine being operated by people.
For years, listeners assumed that the station operated on Soviet
or Russian military infrastructure. This assumption has never been officially confirmed,
but it's supported by the transmission style, language and proximity
to non military zones based on amateur triangulation. During the
(10:33):
Cold War, the Soviet Union operated numerous shortwave channels that
mirrored UVB seventy six's tone and rhythm. Many went silent
after the USSR's collapse. UVB seventy six did not. The
station's call sign has changed over time, first identified as
UVB seventy six, then MDZHB, and later by other sequences.
(10:58):
These shifts may reflect procedural updates or organizational restructuring, but
they were never explained. Each new identifier was delivered in
the same neutral voice using the same phrasing, followed by
the familiar code sequences to the outside observer. These changes
only emphasize how little has ever been disclosed. There have
been some attempts to match the station's behavior to larger
(11:20):
geopolitical timelines. In the nineteen nineties, some believed that a
series of increased voice transmissions corresponded to internal political upheaval
in Russia in the early two thousands, as activity was
again noted during military conflicts, but shortwave signals are not
bound by regional news cycles. For every burst of activity
(11:40):
that aligns with a headline, there are others that occur
during periods of quiet. Some observers have argued that the
messages may be routine or even ceremonial, regular transmissions designed
to confirm readiness rather than trigger action. That ultimately is
the most unsettling part of UVB seventy six. It behaves
(12:01):
with purpose, but without explanation. Its rhythm never falters, its
messages follow a structure, Its changes seem deliberate, and yet
no one has ever stood up to say what it is,
what it does, or why it continues. It speaks like
a machine that knows exactly what it's doing and simply
doesn't feel the need to explain. The signal on forty
(12:39):
six twenty five kilohertz is not subtle. It occupies space
with force, repeating the same pulse second after second, year
after year. The act of maintaining it requires infrastructure, electricity, oversight,
and hardware. None of that comes without reason. And yet
in the decades it has been active, no institution has
(12:59):
a admitted to being responsible for it. That silence has
become the foundation for a growing body of speculation. Some
theories are grounded in technical precedent, others lean into the unknowable.
Nearly all of them attempt to answer the same question,
why would a country, any country, devote resources to a
broadcast that says almost nothing and continues for decades without interruption.
(13:23):
The most widely accepted explanation is also the most mundane.
That UVB seventy six is a channel marker. In shortwave broadcasting,
channel markers are used to reserve a frequency for intermittent use.
A repeating tone defers interference and makes it easy for
authorized listeners to verify that the frequency is still active.
This would explain the continuous buzz, its fixed interval, and
(13:47):
the relatively rare voice interruptions. It would also explain why
the signal behaves more like a maintenance system than a
content delivery platform. It is, in this theory, not a message,
but a placeholder something that's said this space is occupied.
If that is the case, it implies that there is
an audience. Someone somewhere has a reason to keep that
(14:07):
frequency clear. Someone may also be listening for the voice
messages when they occur. If this explanation is accurate, it
doesn't tell us what the frequency is being preserved for,
only that someone considers it worth preserving. A second theory
suggests that the signal is part of a military communications system.
The Russian Armed forces, like many others, use shortwave radio
(14:30):
for redundancy and long range operations. In this context, UVB
seventy six could be a component of a broader command network.
Its continuous buzz could signal readiness and operational status. When
a voice message is inserted, it might be meant for
specific units or receivers somewhere in the field. The format
of those messages, structured in personal and encoded, would be
(14:53):
consistent with this kind of use. This theory becomes more
persuasive when viewed alongside other Russian military transmissions on adjacent frequencies.
Similar stations, some of which are still active others now silent,
use structured identifiers in the same flat repetitive cadence. UVB
seventy six may not be an outlier, but part of
(15:13):
a pattern that spans multiple frequencies and call signs still
Even this explanation stops short of clarity. Without knowing what
the message is contained or how often they're received, were
left with informed guesses rather than confirmation. There is another idea,
more dramatic in implication. Some believe that UVB seventy six
(15:34):
could be linked to nuclear feel safe programs. During the
Cold War, the Soviet Union developed a protocol known in
the West as the Dead Hand, an automated system designed
to guarantee retaliation in the event of a decapitation strike.
If central command was destroyed in the country's leadership incapacitated,
the system would activate nuclear responses without human input. Some
(15:57):
observers have speculated that UVB seventy six could be a
monitoring signal associated with such infrastructure. In this theory, the
buzz acts as a heartbeat, a confirmation that controls still exists.
If the signal ever stopped unexpectedly, it might trigger a
larger automated response. There is no public evidence linking UVB
(16:17):
seventy six to any such system. No declassified material has
ever associated it with nuclear command or response functions, but
the idea persists because it makes psychological sense in a
world full of invisible defense systems. Allowed constant, unexplained signal
feels like the kind of artifact that might belong to
a last resort protocol. It is worth stating, though, that
(16:40):
this remains speculation. There has never been a confirmed connection
between UVB seventy six and any strategic weapons program. Beyond
military or technical possibilities, there are theories that drift further
from the boundaries of what can be tested. One of
the most persistent is that UVB seventy six exists to
support active intelligence operations that it functions as a number station,
(17:04):
or at least in a similar capacity. Number stations have
long been associated with espionage, and UVB seventy six shares
some of their traits, coded voice messages, irregular scheduling, and
the absence of an official source. If the buzz is
simply a filler, the messages may still serve a traditional purpose,
transmitting instructions, authorizations, or verification codes to personnel working covertly.
(17:29):
The problem with this theory is the same one that
shadows all number stations analysis. Even if it's true, there's
no reliable way to verify it. The entire point of
this form of communication is to be untraceable. A shortwave
signal cannot be intercepted in any meaningful way, and if
the recipient is careful, no evidence is left behind. UVB
(17:49):
seventy six's voice messages may be meaningful to someone, but
to the outside world they're noise. There are also theories
based on scientific or research functions. Some have proposed that
UVB seventy six supports radio wave propagation studies or long
distance calibration for monitoring stations. Others believe it may be
(18:09):
tied to geolocation or high frequency direction finding systems, using
the signal as a constant beacon for triangulation. These kinds
of uses have precedent. Various countries have used continuous wave
signals for geophysical or atmospheric analysis. But if UVB seventy
six were part of such a system, one would expect
its behavior to reflect that role. Instead, its structure appears
(18:33):
rigid and operational, not experimental. Then there are the outliers
theories that treat UVB seventy six not as a tool,
but as a message in itself, that it exists to
create uncertainty, that it's a form of psychological deterrence, that
it is heard even if it is not understood. And
that its presence is enough to inspire caution. These interpretations
(18:56):
view the station less as a technical artifact and more
of a state. A signal with no explanation becomes a
kind of warning, one that never needs to be translated.
And finally, there is the possibility that the station no
longer has a purpose at all, that it was once
part of something active and essential, and that now it
continues simply because no one has given it the order
(19:17):
to stop. In this reading, UVB seventy six is a
bureaucratic leftover, an automated process left in motion because it
costs nothing to maintain and might still serve some unknown contingency.
If true, it would not be the first time a
complex system was left running long after its operators moved on.
None of these theories can be proven. Each rest on
(19:38):
the same central fact that the signal continues and has
never been explained.
Speaker 2 (20:00):
Hey are you here you? I wanted to give him dead.
Speaker 1 (20:08):
I need to dog the confect him.
Speaker 2 (20:12):
Right. I did avoid get dead. Fibrop mom rob gab
gab him h BO.
Speaker 1 (20:51):
For most of its life, u v B seventy six
behaved with unwavering regularity. It's tone polst on a fixed interval.
It's voice message is, though rare, followed a predictable format.
The signal's stability gave it a strange kind of authority.
It may not have spoken often, but it spoke consistently.
That changed in twenty ten. The station had always been
(21:14):
difficult to locate with precision, but by the early two thousands,
amateur triangulation efforts had placed its likely source near the
town of Pavovo, northwest of Moscow. The site appeared on
military maps listed as a communications facility. Reports described it
as closed to the public and lightly guarded. Its coordinates
aligned with reception patterns across Europe and Asia. For years,
(21:37):
there was little reason to question that UVB seventy six
was being transmitted from that location. Then the signal shifted
in the summer of twenty ten. Listeners began to notice changes.
The buzz, once soft edged and slightly echoing, became sharper
and more electronic. The tone's timing remained similar, but its
(21:58):
acoustic character had clearly altered. Around the same time, anomalies
began to surface. A voice transmission interrupted the buzz without warning,
followed by long periods of silence. Background noise rare but
not unprecedented, became more prominent. At one point, what sounded
like a telephone ringing was broadcast directly over the channel.
(22:20):
In another incident, a voice seemed to speak in the
background without initiating a formal transmission. These departures from routine
drew renewed attention from the short wave community. Something had changed,
but no one knew why. On August twenty fifth of
that year, the buzz ceased entirely for several hours. When
it returned, it sounded different again. That same day, a
(22:42):
Russian urban exploration group visited the former military facility at Pavarovo.
The building had reportedly been abandoned. The group's photos showed
a structure in disrepair, broken windows, overgrown paths, and empty
halls filled with discarded communications equipment. In one room, they
notebooks and paperwork left behind. One photograph showed what appeared
(23:04):
to be a logbook listing coded messages, some of which
resembled the past UVB seventy six transmissions. This visit was
not officially sanctioned. The Russian government made no statement about
the site, and no confirmation was ever issued regarding the
logbook's authenticity. But for many observers, it was enough to
suggest that the Pavaovo facility had at some point served
(23:26):
as the origin of the broadcast, and more importantly, that
it was no longer in use. From that point forward,
the signal's behavior shifted noticeably. Listeners attempting to triangulate the
signal began identifying a new source, likely situated near Saint Petersburg.
While exact coordinates remain unverified, reception reports and directional analysis
(23:47):
supported the claim that the station had moved. Whatever was
operating on forty six twenty five Killerherz now appeared to
be under new control, or at least operating from a
new location. What followed was a period of increased activity.
Voice transmissions became more frequent. Messages were often longer and
more complex, with multiple identifiers and sequences repeated over several minutes.
(24:10):
In some cases, messages were broadcast in rapid succession, one
after another with minimal delay. This pace was unusual. UVB
seventy six had never operated on a daily schedule, but
even by its irregular standards, the volume of transmissions had increased.
Several incidents during this period attracted particular attention. On October
(24:32):
twenty eight, twenty ten, the station broadcast what sounded like
a garbled conversation, unintelligible, possibly accidental, and never acknowledged. A
few months later, in January twenty eleven, the station was
heard broadcasting a continuous tone interrupted by faint background voices
and unstructured noise. These events were documented by multiple listeners
(24:54):
across different countries, ruling out local interference or equipment failure.
Whatever was happened, it was happening at the source. Then,
on January twenty sixth, twenty thirteen, the station did something
it had never done before. It played music. For a
(26:10):
few seconds. UVB seventy six broadcast a portion of Tchaikovsky's
Swan Lake, specifically the Dance of the Little Swans. The
segment was short and abruptly cut off. No message followed,
no announcement was made, the signal returned to its regular buzz,
and the incident was never repeated. The choice of music
(26:31):
added another layer of unease. Swan Lake hold symbolic meaning
in Russian history. During the failed coup attempt in nineteen
einty one, Soviet state television repeatedly aired Swan Lake on
a loop, replacing normal programming while the country's leadership structure
was in chaos. Whether the UVB seventy six broadcast was
intentional or accidental remains unknown. The timing offered no obvious context.
(26:57):
Around the same time, some listeners began compiled logs showing
increased voice message activity coinciding with international incidents involving the
Russian military. In March twenty fourteen, during the annexation of Crimea,
the station issued several back to back transmissions within a
twenty four hour period. In February twenty twenty two, as
(27:17):
tensions escalated along the Ukrainian border, UVB seventy six again
broadcast multiple messages in close succession, followed by extended periods
of buzzing. These correlations are difficult to interpret. It's possible
they represent coincidence. It's also possible that the signal serves
a support function transmitting readiness codes or confirming operational status
(27:40):
within a larger communications framework. But without access to the
contents or recipients of the messages, nothing can ever really
be proven. What is clear is that the station has
remained active during moments of geopolitical volatility, and when it
becomes active people notice. Today UVB seventy six is true constantly.
(28:01):
Online communities maintain twenty four to seven live streams of
the frequency, along with automated logs of all signal changes
and voice interruptions. Spectrograms are generated in real time, Spectral
signatures are cataloged. Translations of voice messages, when they're clear enough,
are archived in timestamped. Despite all of this, no one
(28:22):
has uncovered anything that fully explains the station's function. Its
output is more accessible than ever, its meaning remains completely
out of touch. The behavior of the signal after twenty
ten suggest one thing with certainty, UVB seventy six is
not an abandoned machine. It is not operating autonomously. It
has been updated, and it has been moved. Its messages
(28:45):
continue to be transmitted, and someone is maintaining the infrastructure
necessary to keep it alive. But for what purpose we
can only guess. At UVB seventy six is still active.
(29:18):
It still transmits its mechanical tone on forty six twenty
five kilohertz, hour after hour, day after day. Voice messages
continue to arrive, without pattern, without context, and without interpretation.
The station has changed formats, moved locations, and undergone periods
of instability, but it has never gone silent for good.
(29:39):
That is perhaps its most defining feature, not what it says,
but the fact that it continues saying it. We are
used to communication having a purpose. A voice implies a listener,
a message implies meaning. But UVB seventy six complicates both
of those assumptions. It exists in the space between function
and ritual. It speaks but does not explain. It transmits
(30:03):
but offers no acknowledgment of receipt. It behaves like a tool,
but reveals nothing about its task. No one has ever
taken public responsibility for the buzzer. No former operator has
ever come forward, No official documents have ever clarified its role.
In the absence of verification, analysis gives way to speculation,
and speculation gives way to mystery. The most persuasive explanations
(30:27):
are still only that explanations. The station may be a
channel marker, a component of military infrastructure, or a backup
communications link. It may be active only in case of emergency,
or it may play a small but precise role in
a network we are not meant to see. Its voice
messages may carry orders, or they may be procedural tests.
(30:49):
None of that can be confirmed. And if those tasks
with maintaining it are doing their jobs correctly, it will
never be And maybe that's the point. In a world
where information is tracked in debt, archived and monetized in
real time, UVB seventy six is an outlier. It cannot
be rewound. It does not respond to inquiries, it has
no interface, It is not interested in the listener's presence.
(31:13):
You can tune in, but you will not be acknowledged.
And yet after years people still tune in. They listen
from shacks in the middle of nowhere and apartments in
the middle of cities. They record the signal, using old
radios and modern software to find receivers. They build databases,
monitor waveform shifts, and log every deviation, not because they
(31:35):
expect it to speak to them directly, but because it's there,
because it keeps going. Because in a landscape flooded with
noise that demands attention, this signal offers none. Mysteries used
to be left alone, A strange light in the sky
with something to wonder about, not to monetize. A garbled
voice on a short wave band could remain unverified without
(31:55):
becoming a scandal. But today mystery tends to provoke two reactions,
a demand for answers or a dismissal as irrelevant. UVB
seventy six fits neither outcome. It doesn't ask to be solved,
and it hasn't gone away. It continues with a rhythm
that's immune to trends, new cycles, and public interest. If
no one were listening, the station would still be there,
(32:18):
pulsing on schedule, waiting for no one. That's what makes
it hard to dismiss. It exists without requiring engagement, and
in doing so, it becomes its own kind of anomaly.
It's possible that UVB seventy six will go silent one day,
that the final buzz will be broadcast and the transmitters
shut off without notice. If that does happen, it's unlikely
(32:40):
anyone will acknowledge the end. The listeners will hear the
silence first, but there will be no farewell, no final message,
no explanation, just absence, the kind that doesn't confirm anything
but changes everything. Until then, the signal holds, the buzzes continue,
and for that reason, the story of UVB seventy six
(33:02):
remains unresolved.
Speaker 2 (33:33):
H m hm h m m h m h m
(34:11):
hm h muh h h m hm muh
This episode contains graphic content that may not be suitable
for all ages. Listener discretion is advised. If you or
someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available,
call or text nine eight eight, or chat with someone
at nine eight eight lifeline dot Org. Those outside of
the US, reach out to someone at your local crisis
(00:24):
center or hotline. Please do not suffer in silence.
Speaker 2 (00:47):
You go up, you go up to my ego a
Roman oilger ego on the Sharpei. You U do not
(01:08):
sigh the worship noise se neichida, You go a let's say,
uh the ar you u? Yougo see the uh? You
(01:31):
U worship your d a wasshim soup? Do you know?
It's the sae h on the ego a Roman Oiger
ego on the sharpe, You un do not see the
worship noise sechet neuschia pop mm.
Speaker 1 (01:57):
In the corner of the short wave spectrum, just past
the range most people ever bother to explore, there's a
noise that never quite stops. It's mechanical, pulsing and deeply unpleasant,
like the hum of a broken fluorescent light buried underground.
It has no melody, no message and no apparent meaning,
but it's been repeating itself nearly NonStop for decades. It
(02:20):
broadcast on forty six twenty five kilohertz. Its unofficial nickname
is the Buzzer. For those who have come across it
by accident, it can feel like an error, a misfire
from some forgotten equipment, still running past its scheduled lifetime.
But for people who have been listening, carefully recording it,
logging its behavior, and tracking its anomalies, it's something else entirely.
(02:43):
The Buzzer is not an anomaly. It's a signal, and
it has outlasted wars, borders, regimes, and even the technology
that once justified its existence. There is no formal introduction,
no host, no music, just a tone delivered every second,
twenty four hours a day. The signal rarely changes, but
(03:04):
when it does, it becomes something much harder to ignore.
On rare occasions, the buzzing stops. A Russian voice cuts in, calm, expressionless.
It speaks a series of numbers and names. Sometimes the
phrases sound like call signs or surnames. Other times it's
just a code spoken once and never repeated. Then the
(03:26):
buzz returns. Unchanged and continues as if nothing happened. No
country has ever claimed this signal, No military agency has
explained it. It has been active since at least the
late nineteen seventies, but no public record confirms why it
began or who maintains it. Official silence has surrounded it
for over four decades. Some people have tracked correlations between
(03:48):
this signal's activity and major geopolitical events. Others argued that
any such connection is circumstantial at best. With no official comment,
nothing can be verified, but the timing in some cases
has been difficult to ignore. Buzzer isn't the only number station.
There have been others, some of which are still active,
(04:09):
but few have lasted as long or attracted as much
sustained attention. Most number stations disappeared after the Cold War ended,
but this frequency didn't. It continued without pause. This is
the story of UVB seventy six, also known as the Buzzer.
(05:10):
UVB seventy six does not behave like a traditional radio station.
There are no scheduled programs. There's no audience engagement, no
station identification, no music, no advertising. It does not speak
unless it has to, and even then it offers only
a few cryptic words before falling silent again. In terms
of content, it might be the most barren broadcast still
(05:32):
in operation, but in terms of longevity and precision, it's
one of the most consistent signals on the shortwave spectrum.
It's believed to have begun operating in the late nineteen seventies.
The earliest confirmed references date back to nineteen eighty two,
when Western shortwave listeners began referring to it as the
Buzzer due to the repeating tone it broadcast roughly twenty
(05:54):
five tones per minute, almost exactly one every one point
two seconds. That rhythm has become its signature, though it
has changed subtly over time. The tone itself once had
a soft fade in and out, consistent with an acoustic
sound being picked up by a microphone. Later versions sound sharper,
more clipped, suggesting digital generation or a change in transmission method.
(06:17):
These technical differences may point to changes in equipment or
even location, but no official record exist. That uncertainty has
led listeners to rely on the signal's behavior as its
only reliable identity. It does not identify itself in a
conventional sense, but it is recognizable in the way. A
heartbeat is recognizable not because of what it says, but
(06:38):
because of its pattern. The signal transmits on forty six
twenty five killihertz, a frequency in the high frequency shortwave band.
Shortwave radio occupies a unique space in global communication. It
travels long distances by bouncing off of the ionosphere, which
allows a signal to reach across entire continents even with
relatively low power. This is what made it so valuable
(07:01):
during the Cold War. Countries could broadcast messages over borders,
into restricted zones or to agents abroad without meaning satellite infrastructure.
More importantly, shortwave allows for one way communication that leaves
no record on the receiving end. A listener can tune
in anonymously, a broadcaster can transmit without knowing or caring
(07:22):
who is on the other side. That anonymity is central
to the world of number stations. These are shortwave broadcast
usually operated by governments, that consist entirely of coded voice transmissions.
Most follow a basic pattern. A signal comes on, a
voice usually synthesized or read in the monotone recites a
(07:43):
series of numbers, then the station goes silent again until
the next message. They operate without identification, and are rarely
acknowledged by the states believed to be running them. It
is widely accepted among intelligence experts that these stations serve
as a method for delivering instructions to field operatives. The
listeners need only a receiver and a key. No return
(08:03):
transmission is necessary, and no network activity can be traced.
That logic is sound. The mystery lies in how long
these stations continue to broadcast, even in peacetime, even when
their purpose seems obsolete. UVB seventy six shares some of
these traits, but departs from the pattern in key ways.
(08:24):
Most number stations are silent between transmissions. UVB seventy six
is not. Its buzz repeats constantly, regardless of whether a
voice message is imminent. It doesn't operate in daily or
even weekly cycles. There's no obvious scheduling to the messages.
In some years, voice interruptions occurred only once or twice,
(08:45):
in others there were dozens. The message format is also
somewhat different. Rather than pure numbers, many UVB seventy six
voice transmissions include names, call signs, or code words alongside numbers.
They appear structured but not random. Yet The meaning of
that structure remains inaccessible. One of the more peculiar elements
(09:06):
of UVB seventy six is the presence of background noise
in some recordings. At various points, the buzzing has been
interrupted not by a voice message, but by what sounds
like accidental audio, faint conversations, doors opening and closing, even
the sound of a telephone ringing. In some cases, voices
are audible in the background while the buzzing continues, suggesting
(09:28):
that the broadcast is being picked up by a live
microphone in an open room. This theory was more plausible
in the earlier years, when the tone sounded like it
could have been produced acoustically, but even as technology has advanced,
these interruptions haven't completely disappeared. In the age of digital broadcasting.
The presence of open mic noise points either to old
(09:49):
infrastructure or human error. While these fragments of speech and
ambient noise have led to intense speculation, none of them
have yielded a confirmed identity or mess. Most are too
muffled to understand. None have pointed clearly to a location, unit,
or organization, but their presence has helped ground the station.
(10:09):
In reality, it is not a myth. It's not a
natural phenomenon. It is a machine being operated by people.
For years, listeners assumed that the station operated on Soviet
or Russian military infrastructure. This assumption has never been officially confirmed,
but it's supported by the transmission style, language and proximity
to non military zones based on amateur triangulation. During the
(10:33):
Cold War, the Soviet Union operated numerous shortwave channels that
mirrored UVB seventy six's tone and rhythm. Many went silent
after the USSR's collapse. UVB seventy six did not. The
station's call sign has changed over time, first identified as
UVB seventy six, then MDZHB, and later by other sequences.
(10:58):
These shifts may reflect procedural updates or organizational restructuring, but
they were never explained. Each new identifier was delivered in
the same neutral voice using the same phrasing, followed by
the familiar code sequences to the outside observer. These changes
only emphasize how little has ever been disclosed. There have
been some attempts to match the station's behavior to larger
(11:20):
geopolitical timelines. In the nineteen nineties, some believed that a
series of increased voice transmissions corresponded to internal political upheaval
in Russia in the early two thousands, as activity was
again noted during military conflicts, but shortwave signals are not
bound by regional news cycles. For every burst of activity
(11:40):
that aligns with a headline, there are others that occur
during periods of quiet. Some observers have argued that the
messages may be routine or even ceremonial, regular transmissions designed
to confirm readiness rather than trigger action. That ultimately is
the most unsettling part of UVB seventy six. It behaves
(12:01):
with purpose, but without explanation. Its rhythm never falters, its
messages follow a structure, Its changes seem deliberate, and yet
no one has ever stood up to say what it is,
what it does, or why it continues. It speaks like
a machine that knows exactly what it's doing and simply
doesn't feel the need to explain. The signal on forty
(12:39):
six twenty five kilohertz is not subtle. It occupies space
with force, repeating the same pulse second after second, year
after year. The act of maintaining it requires infrastructure, electricity, oversight,
and hardware. None of that comes without reason. And yet
in the decades it has been active, no institution has
(12:59):
a admitted to being responsible for it. That silence has
become the foundation for a growing body of speculation. Some
theories are grounded in technical precedent, others lean into the unknowable.
Nearly all of them attempt to answer the same question,
why would a country, any country, devote resources to a
broadcast that says almost nothing and continues for decades without interruption.
(13:23):
The most widely accepted explanation is also the most mundane.
That UVB seventy six is a channel marker. In shortwave broadcasting,
channel markers are used to reserve a frequency for intermittent use.
A repeating tone defers interference and makes it easy for
authorized listeners to verify that the frequency is still active.
This would explain the continuous buzz, its fixed interval, and
(13:47):
the relatively rare voice interruptions. It would also explain why
the signal behaves more like a maintenance system than a
content delivery platform. It is, in this theory, not a message,
but a placeholder something that's said this space is occupied.
If that is the case, it implies that there is
an audience. Someone somewhere has a reason to keep that
(14:07):
frequency clear. Someone may also be listening for the voice
messages when they occur. If this explanation is accurate, it
doesn't tell us what the frequency is being preserved for,
only that someone considers it worth preserving. A second theory
suggests that the signal is part of a military communications system.
The Russian Armed forces, like many others, use shortwave radio
(14:30):
for redundancy and long range operations. In this context, UVB
seventy six could be a component of a broader command network.
Its continuous buzz could signal readiness and operational status. When
a voice message is inserted, it might be meant for
specific units or receivers somewhere in the field. The format
of those messages, structured in personal and encoded, would be
(14:53):
consistent with this kind of use. This theory becomes more
persuasive when viewed alongside other Russian military transmissions on adjacent frequencies.
Similar stations, some of which are still active others now silent,
use structured identifiers in the same flat repetitive cadence. UVB
seventy six may not be an outlier, but part of
(15:13):
a pattern that spans multiple frequencies and call signs still
Even this explanation stops short of clarity. Without knowing what
the message is contained or how often they're received, were
left with informed guesses rather than confirmation. There is another idea,
more dramatic in implication. Some believe that UVB seventy six
(15:34):
could be linked to nuclear feel safe programs. During the
Cold War, the Soviet Union developed a protocol known in
the West as the Dead Hand, an automated system designed
to guarantee retaliation in the event of a decapitation strike.
If central command was destroyed in the country's leadership incapacitated,
the system would activate nuclear responses without human input. Some
(15:57):
observers have speculated that UVB seventy six could be a
monitoring signal associated with such infrastructure. In this theory, the
buzz acts as a heartbeat, a confirmation that controls still exists.
If the signal ever stopped unexpectedly, it might trigger a
larger automated response. There is no public evidence linking UVB
(16:17):
seventy six to any such system. No declassified material has
ever associated it with nuclear command or response functions, but
the idea persists because it makes psychological sense in a
world full of invisible defense systems. Allowed constant, unexplained signal
feels like the kind of artifact that might belong to
a last resort protocol. It is worth stating, though, that
(16:40):
this remains speculation. There has never been a confirmed connection
between UVB seventy six and any strategic weapons program. Beyond
military or technical possibilities, there are theories that drift further
from the boundaries of what can be tested. One of
the most persistent is that UVB seventy six exists to
support active intelligence operations that it functions as a number station,
(17:04):
or at least in a similar capacity. Number stations have
long been associated with espionage, and UVB seventy six shares
some of their traits, coded voice messages, irregular scheduling, and
the absence of an official source. If the buzz is
simply a filler, the messages may still serve a traditional purpose,
transmitting instructions, authorizations, or verification codes to personnel working covertly.
(17:29):
The problem with this theory is the same one that
shadows all number stations analysis. Even if it's true, there's
no reliable way to verify it. The entire point of
this form of communication is to be untraceable. A shortwave
signal cannot be intercepted in any meaningful way, and if
the recipient is careful, no evidence is left behind. UVB
(17:49):
seventy six's voice messages may be meaningful to someone, but
to the outside world they're noise. There are also theories
based on scientific or research functions. Some have proposed that
UVB seventy six supports radio wave propagation studies or long
distance calibration for monitoring stations. Others believe it may be
(18:09):
tied to geolocation or high frequency direction finding systems, using
the signal as a constant beacon for triangulation. These kinds
of uses have precedent. Various countries have used continuous wave
signals for geophysical or atmospheric analysis. But if UVB seventy
six were part of such a system, one would expect
its behavior to reflect that role. Instead, its structure appears
(18:33):
rigid and operational, not experimental. Then there are the outliers
theories that treat UVB seventy six not as a tool,
but as a message in itself, that it exists to
create uncertainty, that it's a form of psychological deterrence, that
it is heard even if it is not understood. And
that its presence is enough to inspire caution. These interpretations
(18:56):
view the station less as a technical artifact and more
of a state. A signal with no explanation becomes a
kind of warning, one that never needs to be translated.
And finally, there is the possibility that the station no
longer has a purpose at all, that it was once
part of something active and essential, and that now it
continues simply because no one has given it the order
(19:17):
to stop. In this reading, UVB seventy six is a
bureaucratic leftover, an automated process left in motion because it
costs nothing to maintain and might still serve some unknown contingency.
If true, it would not be the first time a
complex system was left running long after its operators moved on.
None of these theories can be proven. Each rest on
(19:38):
the same central fact that the signal continues and has
never been explained.
Speaker 2 (20:00):
Hey are you here you? I wanted to give him dead.
Speaker 1 (20:08):
I need to dog the confect him.
Speaker 2 (20:12):
Right. I did avoid get dead. Fibrop mom rob gab
gab him h BO.
Speaker 1 (20:51):
For most of its life, u v B seventy six
behaved with unwavering regularity. It's tone polst on a fixed interval.
It's voice message is, though rare, followed a predictable format.
The signal's stability gave it a strange kind of authority.
It may not have spoken often, but it spoke consistently.
That changed in twenty ten. The station had always been
(21:14):
difficult to locate with precision, but by the early two thousands,
amateur triangulation efforts had placed its likely source near the
town of Pavovo, northwest of Moscow. The site appeared on
military maps listed as a communications facility. Reports described it
as closed to the public and lightly guarded. Its coordinates
aligned with reception patterns across Europe and Asia. For years,
(21:37):
there was little reason to question that UVB seventy six
was being transmitted from that location. Then the signal shifted
in the summer of twenty ten. Listeners began to notice changes.
The buzz, once soft edged and slightly echoing, became sharper
and more electronic. The tone's timing remained similar, but its
(21:58):
acoustic character had clearly altered. Around the same time, anomalies
began to surface. A voice transmission interrupted the buzz without warning,
followed by long periods of silence. Background noise rare but
not unprecedented, became more prominent. At one point, what sounded
like a telephone ringing was broadcast directly over the channel.
(22:20):
In another incident, a voice seemed to speak in the
background without initiating a formal transmission. These departures from routine
drew renewed attention from the short wave community. Something had changed,
but no one knew why. On August twenty fifth of
that year, the buzz ceased entirely for several hours. When
it returned, it sounded different again. That same day, a
(22:42):
Russian urban exploration group visited the former military facility at Pavarovo.
The building had reportedly been abandoned. The group's photos showed
a structure in disrepair, broken windows, overgrown paths, and empty
halls filled with discarded communications equipment. In one room, they
notebooks and paperwork left behind. One photograph showed what appeared
(23:04):
to be a logbook listing coded messages, some of which
resembled the past UVB seventy six transmissions. This visit was
not officially sanctioned. The Russian government made no statement about
the site, and no confirmation was ever issued regarding the
logbook's authenticity. But for many observers, it was enough to
suggest that the Pavaovo facility had at some point served
(23:26):
as the origin of the broadcast, and more importantly, that
it was no longer in use. From that point forward,
the signal's behavior shifted noticeably. Listeners attempting to triangulate the
signal began identifying a new source, likely situated near Saint Petersburg.
While exact coordinates remain unverified, reception reports and directional analysis
(23:47):
supported the claim that the station had moved. Whatever was
operating on forty six twenty five Killerherz now appeared to
be under new control, or at least operating from a
new location. What followed was a period of increased activity.
Voice transmissions became more frequent. Messages were often longer and
more complex, with multiple identifiers and sequences repeated over several minutes.
(24:10):
In some cases, messages were broadcast in rapid succession, one
after another with minimal delay. This pace was unusual. UVB
seventy six had never operated on a daily schedule, but
even by its irregular standards, the volume of transmissions had increased.
Several incidents during this period attracted particular attention. On October
(24:32):
twenty eight, twenty ten, the station broadcast what sounded like
a garbled conversation, unintelligible, possibly accidental, and never acknowledged. A
few months later, in January twenty eleven, the station was
heard broadcasting a continuous tone interrupted by faint background voices
and unstructured noise. These events were documented by multiple listeners
(24:54):
across different countries, ruling out local interference or equipment failure.
Whatever was happened, it was happening at the source. Then,
on January twenty sixth, twenty thirteen, the station did something
it had never done before. It played music. For a
(26:10):
few seconds. UVB seventy six broadcast a portion of Tchaikovsky's
Swan Lake, specifically the Dance of the Little Swans. The
segment was short and abruptly cut off. No message followed,
no announcement was made, the signal returned to its regular buzz,
and the incident was never repeated. The choice of music
(26:31):
added another layer of unease. Swan Lake hold symbolic meaning
in Russian history. During the failed coup attempt in nineteen
einty one, Soviet state television repeatedly aired Swan Lake on
a loop, replacing normal programming while the country's leadership structure
was in chaos. Whether the UVB seventy six broadcast was
intentional or accidental remains unknown. The timing offered no obvious context.
(26:57):
Around the same time, some listeners began compiled logs showing
increased voice message activity coinciding with international incidents involving the
Russian military. In March twenty fourteen, during the annexation of Crimea,
the station issued several back to back transmissions within a
twenty four hour period. In February twenty twenty two, as
(27:17):
tensions escalated along the Ukrainian border, UVB seventy six again
broadcast multiple messages in close succession, followed by extended periods
of buzzing. These correlations are difficult to interpret. It's possible
they represent coincidence. It's also possible that the signal serves
a support function transmitting readiness codes or confirming operational status
(27:40):
within a larger communications framework. But without access to the
contents or recipients of the messages, nothing can ever really
be proven. What is clear is that the station has
remained active during moments of geopolitical volatility, and when it
becomes active people notice. Today UVB seventy six is true constantly.
(28:01):
Online communities maintain twenty four to seven live streams of
the frequency, along with automated logs of all signal changes
and voice interruptions. Spectrograms are generated in real time, Spectral
signatures are cataloged. Translations of voice messages, when they're clear enough,
are archived in timestamped. Despite all of this, no one
(28:22):
has uncovered anything that fully explains the station's function. Its
output is more accessible than ever, its meaning remains completely
out of touch. The behavior of the signal after twenty
ten suggest one thing with certainty, UVB seventy six is
not an abandoned machine. It is not operating autonomously. It
has been updated, and it has been moved. Its messages
(28:45):
continue to be transmitted, and someone is maintaining the infrastructure
necessary to keep it alive. But for what purpose we
can only guess. At UVB seventy six is still active.
(29:18):
It still transmits its mechanical tone on forty six twenty
five kilohertz, hour after hour, day after day. Voice messages
continue to arrive, without pattern, without context, and without interpretation.
The station has changed formats, moved locations, and undergone periods
of instability, but it has never gone silent for good.
(29:39):
That is perhaps its most defining feature, not what it says,
but the fact that it continues saying it. We are
used to communication having a purpose. A voice implies a listener,
a message implies meaning. But UVB seventy six complicates both
of those assumptions. It exists in the space between function
and ritual. It speaks but does not explain. It transmits
(30:03):
but offers no acknowledgment of receipt. It behaves like a tool,
but reveals nothing about its task. No one has ever
taken public responsibility for the buzzer. No former operator has
ever come forward, No official documents have ever clarified its role.
In the absence of verification, analysis gives way to speculation,
and speculation gives way to mystery. The most persuasive explanations
(30:27):
are still only that explanations. The station may be a
channel marker, a component of military infrastructure, or a backup
communications link. It may be active only in case of emergency,
or it may play a small but precise role in
a network we are not meant to see. Its voice
messages may carry orders, or they may be procedural tests.
(30:49):
None of that can be confirmed. And if those tasks
with maintaining it are doing their jobs correctly, it will
never be And maybe that's the point. In a world
where information is tracked in debt, archived and monetized in
real time, UVB seventy six is an outlier. It cannot
be rewound. It does not respond to inquiries, it has
no interface, It is not interested in the listener's presence.
(31:13):
You can tune in, but you will not be acknowledged.
And yet after years people still tune in. They listen
from shacks in the middle of nowhere and apartments in
the middle of cities. They record the signal, using old
radios and modern software to find receivers. They build databases,
monitor waveform shifts, and log every deviation, not because they
(31:35):
expect it to speak to them directly, but because it's there,
because it keeps going. Because in a landscape flooded with
noise that demands attention, this signal offers none. Mysteries used
to be left alone, A strange light in the sky
with something to wonder about, not to monetize. A garbled
voice on a short wave band could remain unverified without
(31:55):
becoming a scandal. But today mystery tends to provoke two reactions,
a demand for answers or a dismissal as irrelevant. UVB
seventy six fits neither outcome. It doesn't ask to be solved,
and it hasn't gone away. It continues with a rhythm
that's immune to trends, new cycles, and public interest. If
no one were listening, the station would still be there,
(32:18):
pulsing on schedule, waiting for no one. That's what makes
it hard to dismiss. It exists without requiring engagement, and
in doing so, it becomes its own kind of anomaly.
It's possible that UVB seventy six will go silent one day,
that the final buzz will be broadcast and the transmitters
shut off without notice. If that does happen, it's unlikely
(32:40):
anyone will acknowledge the end. The listeners will hear the
silence first, but there will be no farewell, no final message,
no explanation, just absence, the kind that doesn't confirm anything
but changes everything. Until then, the signal holds, the buzzes continue,
and for that reason, the story of UVB seventy six
(33:02):
remains unresolved.
Speaker 2 (33:33):
H m hm h m m h m h m
(34:11):
hm h muh h h m hm muh
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