On January twenty‑fourth, nineteen sixty‑one, a U.S. Air Force B‑fifty‑two broke apart over North Carolina. In our world, the nuclear warhead it carried did not explode. In this one, it did.

Goldsboro Detonation takes us inside the first American city erased by a hydrogen bomb. Through the eyes of survivors, soldiers, and those who stood just outside the blast, we trace the slow unraveling of a region and a nation forever altered by a flash at eight thirty-seven in the morning.

Fallout doesn’t just cling to clothing. It seeps into memory, faith, and ritual. What’s left in the wake of catastrophe isn’t just ash—it’s silence, superstition, and stories passed down like scripture.

From the archives of The Archivist, this is Delta‑1.