On April 2, 2025, a storm of intrigue erupted as Spanish journalist Iker Jiménez and conspiracy theorist Dani Esteve joined forces to peel back the layers of what they claim is a chilling plot tied to La Sexta, one of Spain’s most prominent television networks. Known for his investigative program Cuarto Milenio, Jiménez has long danced on the edge of the unexplained, but this time, alongside Esteve—better known as “Defcon” from the now-defunct Conspiranoicos platform—the duo has ignited a firestorm of speculation. Their target? A supposed underground conspiracy to “overthrow” La Sexta, a channel often seen as a pillar of mainstream media. But just as their revelations began to gain traction, whispers emerged that shadowy forces had “deleted” Conspiranoicos, raising more questions than answers.

The saga began when Jiménez teased a bombshell episode, promising to expose “horrifying secrets” about La Sexta’s inner workings. Esteve, a polarizing figure in Spain’s alternative media scene, brought his own flair, alleging that the network’s programming was a front for something far darker—perhaps a tool of hidden elites or a testing ground for psychological manipulation. Together, they claimed to have uncovered evidence of a coordinated effort to destabilize the channel, possibly orchestrated by rival media giants or even deeper, more enigmatic players. The details remain murky, with the pair dropping cryptic hints about coded broadcasts, insider leaks, and a trail of silenced whistleblowers.

What makes this tale so electrifying is the sudden disappearance of Conspiranoicos, Esteve’s online hub where much of this narrative first took shape. Fans noticed the platform went dark shortly after the duo’s collaboration was announced, fueling theories of sabotage. Was it a technical glitch, a legal takedown, or something more sinister? Jiménez has remained tight-lipped, while Esteve took to social media, ominously stating, “They can’t bury the truth forever.” The timing feels too convenient for skeptics, who argue this could be a publicity stunt to boost Jiménez’s ratings or resurrect Esteve’s fading relevance. Yet, the lack of transparency from La Sexta itself—neither confirming nor denying the allegations—only deepens the mystery.

Critics of the establishment might see this as a classic case of power protecting itself. La Sexta’s left-leaning reputation has long made it a target for conspiracy circles, with accusations of agenda-driven reporting. Could there be truth to the idea of an “overthrow,” whether by corporate rivals or unseen hands? Or is this just another wild yarn spun by two showmen thriving on the allure of the unknown? The absence of hard evidence leaves room for doubt, but the passion in Jiménez and Esteve’s voices—and the eerie erasure of Conspiranoicos—keeps the story alive.

As the dust settles, one question lingers: who benefits from this chaos? Whether it’s a genuine exposé or a masterstroke of sensationalism, the saga has gripped Spain’s imagination. The truth, if it ever emerges, might be more terrifying—or more mundane—than anyone expects.