Strange Love Game - Chapter Five
Hydrazine
September 18th, 1980 - Damascus, Arkansas
The socket, having reached its maximum speed, ricocheted off a piece of the support frame inside the Titan II missile silo. It pinged against the fuel tank, tearing a hole in the rocket.
In an instant, pressurized, toxic rocket fuel roared into the silo. The two technicians, both barely 20 years old, hesitated far too long before confessing their mistake to the crew chief over the radio—they were paralyzed by fear. They were just boys. Their commanders, safely distant from the scene, were the ones with the rank and composure of men.
Thirty agonizing minutes passed before the true magnitude of the disaster became clear. By then, it was out of control.
In the hours that followed, the silo was evacuated. Agencies scrambled, attempting to devise a plan to mitigate the situation. A crew was sent back in to assess the damage, hoping they could contain it. As the reality of their helplessness set in, the last command one man received was to turn on an exhaust fan.
Then came the explosion.
It was catastrophic. The force hurled the silo's 740-ton concrete lid hundreds of feet into the air, ejecting both the Titan II missile’s second stage and the thermonuclear warhead. The second stage detonated in another violent blast.
Men at the edge of the compound, responding to the unfolding disaster, scrambled for cover under flatbed trucks as "bus-sized" chunks of concrete rained down around them. Pieces of missile and rebar whistled past, cutting through the air with terrifying speed.
One man lost his life; 21 others were injured.
The survivors had no idea if the warhead had detonated. All they knew was that the explosion was enormous, and the threat of radioactive fallout was high. In a panic, ambulances and first responders fled, speeding away from the potential danger. The Air Force men were left to rescue each other—and they did so, with remarkable bravery.
The firsthand accounts are chilling. One of the most gravely injured survivors described being blown along the ground, skidding on his back, accelerating faster and faster as the explosion gained intensity. He thought he would eventually hit a fence or a post—but he never did.
That survivor recalled the burns and respiratory damage from the toxic propellants, particularly hydrazine, a substance as feared as it was deadly.
The warhead, capable of unleashing destruction three times greater than all the bombs dropped in World War II combined, including Hiroshima and Nagasaki, landed only about 100 feet away. It did not detonate.
Hydrazine—caustic, carcinogenic, mutagenic—an industrial poison used in many disastrous accidents over the years. Its name conjures fear and suffering. As one chilling YouTube video titled “The Hydrazine Song” reminds us, this chemical can "cause cancer and mutate your DNA."
Hydrazine’s toxicity is well-documented.
From an article in Space News, relating to a subsequent ban on hydrazine in the European Union:
Comment
"Hydrazine is known to be highly toxic to living organisms. In 2011, the European Commission included hydrazine among the candidates for the list of substances of very high concern, which is regulated by the Registration of Evaluation Authorisation and Restriction of Chemicals (REACH) framework." Hydrazine ban could cost Europe’s space industry billions, SpaceNews, Tereza Pultarova, October 25, 2017. (link)
By 2017, the EU banned it. Despite its usefulness in certain aerospace applications, the danger it posed to all living organisms outweighed the benefits.
But what caught my attention most was something more sinister, something that felt like a warning. A warning about power, paranoia, and the men who control both.
While hydrazine's usage, notably in disasters like the Titan II explosion and its notoriously toxic properties, has reduced, the name still lingers in unexpected places. We're no longer asking what hydrazine is—its dangers are well documented. What matters in 2024 is who Hydrazine is, with a capital H.
Maybe some are familiar with the name. Or maybe, like the San Antonio explosion, people have simply forgotten amidst all the chaos. If this is the first you're hearing about it, congratulations—you’ve just encountered one of the most intriguing aspects of an ARG: being led down an unexpected path.
Hydrazine, capital H, is still tied to fast, futuristic vehicles in 2024. It’s linked to cutting-edge technology sold by people who wouldn't be out of place in Dr. Strangelove—the kind of pale-faced weirdos you'd rather not meet.
It takes some nerve to name yourself after a substance that’s literally "toxic to living organisms" and treat it like a joke. Especially if you've seen the grown men from the Titan II accident speak of their trauma, with tears welling up. I didn’t make it through the documentaries without shedding a few tears myself.
To me, it's like naming your firm Meth Capital Partners or Fenta-Nil Medical Technologies and then patting each other on the back like it's some twisted inside joke. I don’t think the airmen who survived Titan II would find it funny. But Hydrazine Capital—the venture fund launched by none other than embattled OpenAI CEO Sam Altman—apparently finds the irony hilarious. Altman, along with one or more of his brothers and investor Ryan Cohen, decided to push the Hydrazine brand further.
Yes, that Sam Altman—the one his board said was “was not consistently candid in his communications with the board, hindering its ability to exercise its responsibilities,” and fired from OpenAI in 2023, only to be reinstated. The same Sam Altman who has been accused by his sister, Annie Altman, of sexual, physical, emotional, verbal, and financial abuse. Per a former OpenAI board member in a 2024 Gizmodo article, Altman is known for his “manipulation and lying,” cultivating a workplace defined by psychological abuse.
So, what has Hydrazine Capital invested in so far? Let’s take a look.
First up: Boom Supersonic, a company that Crunchbase describes as building “supersonic airliners designed for speed, safety, and sustainability.” Off to a rough start, Sammy—hard pass on getting into one of those planes.
Next: Superhuman, which Crunchbase calls “a software platform that weaves social insights into a workflow.” Whatever the hell that means, it’s unsettling given Altman’s associations with people like Elon Musk and Peter Thiel—the guy behind Palantir.
Then there’s Coco, a “last-mile delivery service” using human-operated sidewalk robots to deliver goods. Sorry, but no thanks—don’t send those to Canada.
Or perhaps we should talk about Worldcoin, the embattled cryptocurrency with its eyeball-scanning, digital-whatever-that’s-been-blocked by Spanish lawmakers, forcing Mr. Altman to sue.
“Spain has banned Worldcoin, a digital ID cryptocurrency venture launched by OpenAI chief executive Sam Altman, after the country’s privacy watchdog cited concerns over how the company’s eyeball-scanning technology collects and processes biometric data.”
— Forbes, March 6, 2024.
Here’s a better name for a VC firm—though a bit more punk rock: Toxic, Caustic & Carcinogenic Capital Partners. Just spitballing, no need to get offended. Not my words, not my company.
The most hypocritical thing about this Silicon Valley crew—the likes of Altman, Thiel, and Musk—is how they sell shares in a utopian future while spending millions as doomsday preppers, just in case.
Take this tidbit from The New Yorker:
“Well, I like racing cars,” Altman said. “I have five, including two McLarens and an old Tesla. I like flying rented planes all over California. Oh, and one odd one—I prep for survival… I try not to think about it too much, but I have guns, gold, potassium iodide, antibiotics, batteries, water, gas masks from the Israeli Defense Force, and a big patch of land in Big Sur I can fly to.”
— Sam Altman’s Manifest Destiny, The New Yorker, October 3, 2016.
Nice. Gas masks from the Israeli Defense Force. Wonder if folks in Gaza could use those right about now? Not sure how useful his McLarens would be there—Palestine might not have the roads left to race on, what with that whole genocide going on. But hey, at least those million-dollar cars get good press.
These men peddle visions of a future only they—the almighty white saviors of the Valley—can deliver, all while building multi-million-dollar bunkers for themselves. Bunkers that the 99.999% of us won’t be invited to if things go sideways.
A little weird, don’t you think? They’re not even buying their own bullshit. They’re selling us the bullshit and buying supplies. Should’ve named a bunker Hypocrasine—a missed marketing opportunity if you ask me.
These so-called white knights are hoarding the same doomsday-prepper junk that rich, white folks stocked up on during the Cold War, so that one wealthy family can reestablish while others barely survive. Hell, some aren’t surviving right now.
Meanwhile, they shovel money behind shady politicians and turn social media into a giant petri dish, one they can probe and prod at will. It’s like a sick game, isn’t it? A Strangelove game? (Dad jokes are free when you’re this deep into a long-form article.)
But really, society keeps putting these men on pedestals, hanging on their every word, scrambling to buy their latest tech toys. All the while, they’re using our teachers’ pensions, our university endowments, our taxpayer money to build their empires, chipping away at our art and pissing on our democracies.
They skim enough off the top so they can tuck themselves away in cozy bunkers when it all goes to hell.
And somehow, we let them get away with it, even though it’s us—our pensions, our votes—who hold the real power.
Oh, and let’s not forget that Sam Altman is also at the helm of another capital O—for Oh My God—company called Oklo.
Oklo went public in May 2024 on the New York Stock Exchange, with Hydrazine as a shareholder. You can check the filings yourself.
Who are Oklo’s partners? Idaho National Laboratories, the Department of Energy, and DARPA, of course!
According to the Office of Nuclear Energy, “Oklo, Inc. (Santa Clara, CA) will partner with Idaho National Laboratory to complete pre-conceptual design work of an experimental test device that will be used in its first Aurora fast reactor to support irradiation testing of advanced fuels and materials.”
Sound familiar? The gang’s all here.
And what’s Oklo’s mission, under the leadership of the manipulative, psychologically abusive and alleged sexual predator Sam Altman? Let CNBC describe it for you:
“Instead of conventional reactors, the company aims to use mini nuclear reactors housed in A-frame structures. Its goal is to sell the energy to end users such as the U.S. Air Force and big tech companies.”
The End.
Signed,
A White, Tech Dude—That Loves Dick-Shaped Toys.