Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE Static Before the Signal BEFORE THE FLASHING logos, before the warped theme songs and whiplash commercials, there was a hum — a low, glowing buzz of a screen that hadn’t yet come alive. For a lot of us, it wasn’t just a television turning on — it was a ritual. The flick of the remote wasn’t a button press. It was a key. You didn’t turn on Cartoon Network. You tuned in to something older. Stranger. Hungrier. This wasn’t just a cartoon block. It was a broadcast from another world, beamed into our living rooms like a goddamn signal flare for the gifted and chaotic. And for us — the sleep-deprived, the sugar-fueled, the dangerously unsupervised — that signal? That shit hit...