Ash checks into what might be the coolest room in Sedona — somewhere between 1967 and 2044, where the decor is suspiciously perfect and the cabinet doors occasionally open themselves.

For once, she stops trying to make sense of it. She explores El Portal with PIP, enjoys the strange little world she’s landed in, and finally gets a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, Ash heads toward Tlaquepaque convinced that surely nothing abnormal could possibly happen in seven minutes.

Deeper in Boynton Canyon, Ash follows a familiar stranger somewhere she’s not entirely sure she’s been before. Over tea in a hidden cave, Robert has a few things to say about getting lost, disappearing paths, and what might be happening to her.

But as the evening slips further out of sequence, memory becomes unreliable, time stops behaving normally, and Ash begins to wonder how much of what she remembers actually happened.

By nightfall, the canyon has left her with more questions than answers — and somehow, after all of that, there are warm chocolate chip cookies.

Still rattled by the strange transmissions crackling through her radio, Ash decides to do something decidedly more ordinary: track down chocolate. A search for vegan cookie dough leads her somewhere she didn’t expect, and somewhere along the way, time starts behaving strangely.

Hours disappear. Familiar symbols resurface. As the light begins to fade, Ash remembers she’s due to meet a mysterious flute player at Boynton Canyon, and turns toward the red rocks.

Ash wakes in a roadside motel with the uneasy feeling that something has changed. The thoughts in her head are growing louder, while the memories of the life she once knew seem to be fading. Certain that she must make her way to Boynton Canyon to find someone from her past, she first stops at a little diner for a hot cup of coffee and a conversation with Ruth.

But as the miles roll by, a series of strange events begins to unfold, culminating in a transmission Ashley would rather not hear.

A woman checks into a roadside motel beneath a flickering pink neon sign.

Across the street at the diner, the waitress brings her a Grand Slam breakfast and a slice of cherry pie.

The jukebox keeps playing the same song.

Outside, travelers drift in from the highway wearing mud-covered boots.

Which is strange.

Because it hasn't rained in the desert for months.

Everything appears normal.

Mostly.

She thinks she's been there three or four nights.

But she isn't entirely sure.

Sometimes, the woman hears a strange signal bleed through the static.

Voices.

Fragments.

Something that sounds almost like a transmission.

When she asks if anyone else heard it, nobody seems concerned.

Nobody looks up.

Nobody reacts.

The coffee keeps pouring.

The conversations continue.

The road keeps moving.

And yet the feeling remains:

Something is happening here.

This is short introductory transmission and teaser for the world of Atomic Transmissions.

Part mystery.

Part mythology.

Part field report from the edge of becoming.

The signal is coming through.

Proceed with curiosity.

📻