YourVoices

The phenomenon of the "Dead Internet" has become a tangible reality affecting most users of the global digital space today. A state of doubt and uncertainty has taken hold: is the entity I am communicating with — the one sending me information — a real human being or a fabricated persona? Then came artificial intelligence — an inventive and capable instrument, one that helps a person do finer work in less time — and it was turned away from the work it was made for, into an instrument of tracking that burns power inside server halls.

It was from this standpoint that Monopeak took this dilemma seriously and worked tirelessly to devise private technological solutions that restore a portion of the trust users have lost in the digital world. And from here our latest project was born: YourVoices — a social platform that seeks by every means to return communication to its natural state. That is why we made a decision we consider a challenge: that no artificial-intelligence model shall run inside our servers — because human relationships rest on the simplicity of human beings, not on the complexity of algorithms — and to spare what electricity we can. This does not mean at all that we do not use artificial intelligence. We found that its place is the user’s own device, and that its work is to serve those ends alone.

Our platform contains no convoluted privacy agreements or twisted terms — because we keep as little as possible, and we tell you exactly what happens to each thing we keep. We run no ads, we build no advertising profile, and we never sell your data. The only things tied to you are what you choose to create — a self-owned identifier confirmed by your unique voice sample — and the encrypted material needed to keep your account recoverable. What is private is sealed on your device before it ever reaches us; what is meant for the world is stored as what it is: public. We do not blur that line, and we do not claim a padlock we have not fitted.

The vast majority of humanity has come to see the entire internet as a grand surveillance apparatus and a tool for violating digital sanctities. The prevailing perception among individuals is that "our privacy is the cheapest commodity in the global technology market."

And here, the voice arrived — the voice of every human being who suffers from the violation of their digital rights and refuses to be merely a number in an algorithm. Monopeak's philosophy is built on breaking the mould of blind compliance: you should not stand submissively just because everyone else decided to stand when the red light flashes, and you should not accept — neither programmatically nor humanly — something you are not convinced of deep within. YourVoices is the space that restores that trust and complete privacy to you.

YourVoices has selected the public, frozen SpeechBrain ECAPA-TDNN voice embedding extractor for the next app build. It turns a voice sample into a 192-number vector. The current public test APK still contains the previous CAM++ extractor while ECAPA is exported and verified on-device; we will not describe ECAPA as shipped before that work passes. In the final design the extractor lives on your phone. Our production servers do not run a voice model.

When you speak, your own device listens and turns the sound into a list of numbers — a description of the shape of your voice, not of the words you said. That list is compared with the one your device made on the day you enrolled. If the two are close enough, it is you.

Your recording does not leave your phone. Only the numbers do. They cannot be played back, and they are not speech — they are a measurement. (You may separately volunteer a research sample, clearly and by choice; that has nothing to do with signing in, and nothing to do with your identity.)

After the migration, our server receives a versioned 192-number ECAPA vector, normalizes it and compares it with the stored enrolment representation using cosine similarity. The model-version field prevents an old 512-number CAM++ vector from ever being compared with a new ECAPA vector. The extraction happens on your device. Only the comparison happens on ours.

We chose this because human relationships rest on the simplicity of human beings, not on the complexity of algorithms. A machine may confirm you; it may not study you. And a platform that runs no models needs no accelerators and no racks whose occupation is deciding what a person will look at next — we would rather our share of the world’s power went unspent than went on watching you.

On the official VoxCeleb1-O protocol, the pinned ECAPA reference reproduced 1.034% equal error rate across 37,720 trials. The extended E and hard H results were 0.561% and 1.080%, and are labelled diagnostic. These are full-utterance research results, not yet a seven-second phone result, an operating threshold, or a liveness claim. Our rule is that we measure before we enforce. Read the measurements → · Inspect the evidence →

Most platforms say "your data is encrypted" and stop there — a sentence engineered to end the conversation. We would rather begin it. Here is every place your material can live, and what protects it in each one.

Your private vault. Files you place in your private bunker are sealed on your device, before a single byte leaves it. The key is assembled from a PIN only you know. We store a sealed envelope and nothing else: we cannot open it, we cannot preview it, and we cannot hand it to anyone — not because we promise not to, but because we are not able to.

Your private messages. Whispers between two people who have connected are sealed for the recipient alone, with a fresh key for every message. The server carries the envelope without ever holding the key. A courier who cannot read the letter is the only courier worth trusting.

Your keys. Your master key is wrapped under your PIN and never leaves your device. It is not typed into a web form, not held in a session, and not reused across services. A key that travels is a key that leaks.

And what is public is public. Content you publish to your Channel or your Club is not encrypted, and it should not be. Encrypting what you are asking the world to hear would be theatre — a lock on an open door, sold as safety. The drafts waiting in your channel workspace are held the same way, because they are on their way to the same place. We would rather tell you where the wall ends than paint a wall that is not there.

So the line is not "everything is encrypted." The line is this: what is yours is sealed by you, what is for the world is stored as public, and we never let one pretend to be the other.

Studio is where you speak to people who are not in your private circle. It holds three rooms, and they do not overlap: a Channel for single pieces, a Club for work that unfolds in order, and a Radio for what is heard as it happens.

The workspace, and then the world. Nothing is published by accident. What you record or write waits in your channel workspace, where you can shape it, replace it, or leave it. Publishing is a separate, deliberate act — and when you take it, the work moves out to the public library and the workspace empties behind it.

The cassette, and thirty seconds. A published piece appears as a cassette — its visible face. Before anyone commits to listening, they hear a short excerpt of it, no longer than half a minute, cut from the work itself. A listener should know what they are giving their time to before they give it.

What travels with the work. A creator may name the sources a listener can return to; they are shown as plain text, never as a live link that could carry someone elsewhere. And the acknowledgment spoken at publication — its version, its exact words, and when it was given — is kept beside the work and can be read by anyone who opens it.

Your library, and the right to withdraw. Your channel keeps its own library of everything you have published. From it you may withdraw a piece — which ends its publication rather than editing it. What was said stays honest about the moment it was said.

Following is not friendship. Anyone may follow a channel; it is a public, one-way relationship and it opens no door into your private section. Followers can write to the channel and its owner can answer — a correspondence with the channel, not entry into the creator’s private life. The public square and the living room are different rooms, and we do not join them.

Anyone can automate an upload. No one can automate a voice. Before anything of yours reaches the public library, you speak — and in the same breath you acknowledge that what you publish is yours to answer for. The acknowledgment is versioned, and the version you agreed to is recorded beside the work.

This is not a formality we inherited from lawyers. It is the door itself. A platform that cannot tell a person from a script will eventually be filled by scripts — and that is exactly the internet we set out to leave.

A published piece is not edited. It can be withdrawn — and withdrawal ends the issue rather than rewriting it. If you want to say it differently, you publish again, and both moments remain honest about when they happened.

This is the difference between a record and a feed. A feed lets the past be quietly corrected; a record does not. We chose the record.

Your bunker is where work waits, not where it lives. What is meant for the world moves out to the public library when you publish it, and the passage empties behind it. Storage that only fills is a landfill; storage that flows is a workshop.

Every account receives 5 GB for mail and platform. Open a channel and it receives its own 5 GB — ten in total, free. Fill the channel’s share through real use, and a further 5 GB is added once, bringing you to fifteen. Beyond that, space is bought, not begged for. We would rather give you a clear ceiling than an unclear promise.

Every account receives 5 GB for mail and platform. Open a channel and it receives its own 5 GB — ten in total, free. Fill the channel’s share through real use, and a further 5 GB is added once, bringing you to fifteen. Beyond that, space is bought, not begged for. We would rather give you a clear ceiling than an unclear promise.

Your mailbox and your platform identity live side by side, and they are deliberately separate systems. Deleting your platform account does not delete your mail. Your mail PIN and your platform PIN share nothing — not a secret, not a store, not a fate.

Convenience loves to merge things. Two doors with one key is one door.