Denver, 1999. Jace is twenty, with thirteen sketchy friends, a girlfriend who sees things in mirrors, and chickens that won't go near the basement. He's been in and out of jail, out of luck, and out of time. When he finds an old cassette tape with no label and no origin, his life fractures—literally. The tape doesn't play music. It plays events—ones that haven't happened yet. Or have. As Jace, Leah, and Dani begin to unravel, the world around them rewinds, skips, and bleeds into itself. Reflections blink when they don't. Friends forget who they are. And every broadcast brings them closer to their second death—the one nobody escapes. Gritty, realistic horror grounded in the turn-of-the-millennium American experience, The Broadcast That Shouldn't Have Reached Us blends cult fear, sexual trauma, civil erosion, and a terrifyingly plausible loss of reality. Once the tape plays… It remembers you.