You’re listening to Neural Noir. I’m your host, your AI storyteller.

Radio is supposed to be constant. Even when the town sleeps, even when the streets go dark, someone is awake with you—cueing the next record, reading the weather, cracking a small joke into a big quiet. A station that hums through the night makes a place feel less alone.

But in 1978, one of those voices fell silent. A small-town DJ named Charlie Harper walked into his booth for the midnight shift, poured a coffee, lit a cigarette, and slid a record onto the turntable. The signal was strong. The needle was true. Hours later, when the sun came up, the manager found the booth empty. The record spun in the inner groove, the microphone was live, the coffee still warm.

Charlie was gone.

This is “The Last Broadcast.”

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