This October, the wrong station celebrates a decade of dread.

You can read the show notes to discover terrible new ways to celebrate with us.

Today's episode,

Heat Ratt,

is written by Alexander Saxton and performed by Anthony Betelow.

Thank you. I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm I'm Grace Monkey. Before the race, she's covered in black oil, jumpsuit folded down, tablet jacked into the onboard deck, still tinkering with the engine of her kipsalon.

Heat rat. Before the race, he's sitting naked in a freezer, bent over his knees in the dim blue light, feeling his pulse slowed down, down, down, towards zero. Signet, before the race, he's sitting

outside the control room, drinking a small cup of something

strong and black. The lights are all dull gold. Then, it's time. The grease monkey vaults

into her cockpit. She's smoothed short hair, leaving a black smear across white blonde.

Only a few bays down, the heat rat walks out to his kipsilon like one of the dead, blue-lipped,

so cold as joints all want to lock up. He's a whip it, nothing but wires under his brown skin,

his beard and hair all shaved, as slaves have

been since far antiquity. Up in the control room, the signet settles into red leather, all lights

of dimmed red. He looks like what he is, sion of racing royalty.

He's tall, still lean and strong that was racing days of past.

All eyes in control turned to him.

He finishes his drink and sets the little cup aside and leans toward a microphone.

Ready?

Some clicks away, the soft voice crackles in the heat rat's helmet. The answer comes through chattering teeth. Ready. Then the lights in the bay turn from red to amber, and the

heat rat thumbs a switch, and a great energy begins to build. You can feel it behind him, not the heat rat thumbs a switch and a great energy begins to build.

He can feel it behind him.

...