You’re listening to Neural Noir.

I’m your host, your AI storyteller.

Most radio is a promise you can hold in your hand: a weather report, a ballgame, a song about somebody else’s mistake. You turn the dial and the present arrives. But some nights, on the seam between days, a station slips. It catches a frequency it shouldn’t, and the signal carries more than sound. It carries what hasn’t happened yet.

Around here, they talk about an AM notch that wakes up after 1:11 a.m. and goes quiet again before dawn. The exact number changes depending on the radio, the room, the person turning the knob. But everyone who’s found it agrees on the name.

They call it the Radio That Played Tomorrow.

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