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> 21st May, 2031 <
Pressing the ‘lock’ button on his keys as he locks the doors to his black town car, Dennis places a cap atop his head as he marches for the entrance to a grandiose facility stretching into the skyline of Chicago. His thigh-long coat, black cap and trimmed goatee allowing him to effortlessly stand out from the crowd, the private eye sets his sights on the parting doors of the nearest lift, the call of its bell beckoning him. Without uttering a word, Dennis steps into the spacious elevator and turns back, pressing a single button before steadying himself beside a man clearly taken aback by the out-of-place display he presents. As the doors roll shut, the lift remains quiet, a modern desire to keep to oneself overtaking the man who simply intends to make it back to his room, not wishing to interact with the figure beside him before realising he has little choice other than to do just that. Taking a step forward, the private eye presses an unmarked, black button on the control panel, triggering the sound of the lift’s bell as its ascent is stifled, brought to a halt at his request whilst his co-inhabitant watches on, powerless to respond. “How’s the doc coming along?” Dennis asks, coupling his hands at his lap as he returns to the man’s side, occupying the space beside him as if he hadn’t just ceased the elevator’s further movement. With furrowed eyebrows, the man turns his head to look at the private eye, confused as to what’s happening in the moment, unsure of whether to be afraid or content. “Hm?” the man replies, watching the taller man veer back in his direction, glancing down at him before casually answering the man’s confusion. “Your documentary?- About Sophie?” Dennis reiterates, watching a small amount of the puzzlement in the man’s face dissipate, “-how’s it coming along?” Parting his lips, the man looks at Dennis with the same uneasy visage he’d held since the lift had stopped. “Uh- we- we finished it a- while back” the uneasy man replies, slowly taking a step closer to the elevator’s panel, his hand extending toward the same blank-faced button, “we’re having a panel for it on Fri-” “I wouldn’t do that” Dennis interjects, his calm demeanour only raising the anxiety that prompts the man’s hand to tremor, his extended finger lingering in the air as his unhurried reach for the button comes to an end. “Wh-” the man stutters, looking into the intimidatingly-casual stare the taller, cap-wearing man holds on him, a palpable tension filling the small space without the investigator even needing to lift a finger, “-why not?” “Because then you won’t get the answers you’re looking for” Dennis swiftly answers, wasting no time in providing the man a valid response, “you wouldn’t want to put out an unfinished doc, would you?” Opening his mouth, the man continues to stare at the private eye without the ability to speak, simply staring into the blank expression that is placed upon him. “Why do you say that?” the apprehensive unknown asks, pulling his Hawaiian shirt-sleeved arm away from the panel and casually rejoining the stranger’s side, “I already told you that we finished.” Though the rest of his face does not change to match the same expression, the corner of Dennis’ lips arch into a smile, his face staring straight ahead before joining the rest of his body in turning toward the gentleman beside him. Before saying a word, Dennis extends his hand toward the man, watching as he takes a moment to process the gesture before reciprocating it as seemingly desired. “My name is Dennis” the private eye remarks, introducing himself as if the man on the other end of his greeting were an acquaintance rather than a random civilian he’d never met before. “I’m-” the man begins to reply, interrupted by the taller gentleman as he falls silent, allowing the private eye to finish the response on his behalf. “You’re Ian- I know” Dennis assures, watching the producer’s head pull back two seconds before his hand follows suit, ripping itself from the investigator’s grasp as the conversation steps over the line between unusual and uncomfortable. “How do you know that?” Ian presses, quick to inquire more as the man opposite him turns back toward the lift doors, resuming his originally-casual posture as if he were waiting for the elevator to reach his desired floor. “For the same reason that I know you’re not finished with your documentary” Dennis replies, moving his face just slightly in the producer’s direction as he finishes his thought, only passing him a slight glance, “-because your name is on my paychecks.” Momentarily lost more than he was before the revelation was presented to him, Ian finds himself realising what the situation at hand is, and more importantly- who the man beside him happens to be. “You’re the private investigator?” the shorter, casually-dressed man inquires, not as if he didn’t believe him, but as if it didn’t make sense, “I thought you never talked with your clients directly.” “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t exceptions to my rules” Dennis responds, gesturing his shrug toward the man as a prompt for the producer to resume his unassuming stance just as he had. “Do you know how unusual your play here is?” the investigator queries, stepping forward to press the black button for a second time, resuming the lift’s ascent as Ian returns to his casual demeanour, “secretly pass the girl off as a saint on one hand whilst secretly hoping she’s sinned on the other?” “That’s not what I hope, it’s just-” Ian immediately argues in an attempt to defend his motives, again thwarted when the taller man’s voice cuts him off, strangling any chance he’d had at making a convincing case. “-It’s just what would sell more tickets” Dennis interrupts, moving his face to look down at the producer’s, a judgemental left eyebrow raise shown to the inferior man before the investigator’s eyes move back to the reflective doors ahead. “Let’s face it, apart from the fact that post-production doesn’t fly by as quickly as it seems to have for your little flick-” Dennis remarks, again looking back toward the shorter man, “-you know damn well showing the world the holes in her story would spark conspiracy theories that would put J.F.K back in the grave permanently.” Letting out a sigh, Ian turns away from the private eye and begins shaking his head, the refusal he unabashedly wears dying off as his stare takes to the wall straight ahead, remaining so before returning to the cap-topped man. “I wouldn’t have spent the money on you if I didn’t think she did something” the producer sheepishly responds, earning an audible chuckle from the other man, whose smile stretches even farther across his face. “Everyone would think she did something if they saw the flick- they just haven’t had the chance yet” Dennis argues, his point proven by the second turn of the producer’s face, though his visual separation is not allowed to slide this time around. “You’re no more a saint for ‘getting to the bottom of this’ than I am a navy seal for not getting caught doing my job- at least, not unintentionally” the investigator proclaims, listening to the bell ring as the shuttle reaches Ian’s destination. “However, I’m not here to lambast you for wanting to earn yourself the most pitiful Oscar any movie could hope to earn- I’m here to give you a warning” Dennis concludes, watching Ian step through the parted doors and turn back, looking into the investigator’s eyes as he makes his declaration. “You’re not going to have that panel on Friday, and you’re not gonna release that doc in three weeks” the private eye remarks, watching the suspicion come across the producer’s face. “And why is that?” Ian wonders back, listening to the bell ring again as the doors to the lift begin to close, ending the conversation with the reply Dennis provides just before the doors can fully meet. “Because I’m really good at my job.” = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 21st May, 2031 < With his shoulders higher than his head, Andrew leans over the kitchen island with his forehead pressed against the countertop, listening to the heavy footsteps that step along the floor in every direction of the large home. Dressed in combat attire, police move freely throughout the Carrion residency without resistance, the home’s owner doing nothing to stop their search through every crevasse and corridor as the stools around him sit occupied. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m just having a hard time making it make sense” George remarks, standing against the counter as his wife’s blank stare holds on the farthest end of the kitchen, just listening to the conversation that unfolds around her. “Dad, if you still don’t understand, I don’t know what to tell you” Caden replies, seated on the exact opposite end of the counter with his arms pressing against the smooth, stone surface. “I’m not sure it’s that he doesn’t understand, I think it’s that he doesn’t get why” Hugh adds, he and his wife occupying the two seats that separate the two generations of Nurse family members, “why wait this long to say anything?” “Because I said I wouldn’t” Caden answers, again met with a response that sparks the same guilt he’s carried with him for the last few weeks. “And you didn’t think it was worth telling someone?” George retorts, speaking through a composed, yet-disbelief tone that prompts Caden to hang his head, “I know she was your friend, but look at what happened!” Lifting his head, the guilt-ridden young man looks to his father with scorn in his expression, the vitriol he was prepared to speak with kept from leaving his tongue as the thoughts he wishes to speak aloud are voiced by the soft tone of the woman beside Andrew. “Caden didn’t think Sophie would be capable of doing that to Izzy” Elaine argues in the boy’s favour, “and had he known, I’m sure he wouldn’t have waited to say anything.” “Alright, but let’s be reasonable here-” Anne interjects, her eyes drifting from George and Elaine to the distraught and eager father just ahead of her, “-we don’t know that she did anything yet.” Though unresponsive, Andrew’s appreciation in the woman’s hesitancy to throw her support behind what those around him seemingly have becomes immeasurable, an ounce of hope provided at a time where- to him- such a belief is practically non-existent and futile. “No, you’re right” George agrees, taking a single step back with his hands sprawled atop the counter, letting the discussion settle for a moment before engaging it any further, “but that said, we still should talk about what happens if the thing we’re all worried about comes-” “Caden” Andrew interjects, suddenly springing his head up and holding his eyes toward the young man’s direction, redirecting the discussion with absolute ease as the rest of the group follow his guidance, “you said the detective told you why he was doing this, right?” Upon the question being raised, the young man subject to answering gives a simple nod, hearing the request the father wastes little time in adding, “why did he say?” With a blank stare, Caden’s eyes take a stroll across the island, locking eyes with the many gathered souls, all of which turn their attention onto him. With the gentle shake of his head, his hand presses against the side of his face and wipes at the corner of his eye, stretching the start of his recollection as he searches his mind for the words best to use. | > 21st May, 2031 < Letting her hair down as she exits the adjacent bathroom, Sophie steps into her hotel suite whilst the wall-mounted television set shuffles through a variety of different colours whilst playing soft, melodic indie rock. Tossing her suitcase on the bed and rummaging through the assortment of contents that lay within it, she sorts through a few shirts, tank tops and pants before retrieving the pistol that rests at the bottom, taking a look at it before returning it to the case. Quickly returning the clothes to her baggage at the sound of knocking at her door, Sophie calls out a command to the monitor’s colourful display, sliding her luggage beneath the frame of her bed. “T.V, lower the volume by twenty” she exclaims, waiting for a moment as the device registers her voice, confirming her request as she embarks on a journey to the door. “Could they have made me wait any longer?” Sophie murmurs beneath her breath, unlocking the room’s entrance and yanking the door open, already prepared to lambast the server she anticipates finding on the other end of her complaint, “I ordered lunch thirty mi-” Presented with the same lunch she’d ordered atop the cart she’d anticipated, Sophie’s eyes widen at the surprise of the man displaying it to her, his sly smirk worn as he towers over her small figure. “Bon Appétit” Dennis chirps, joining the cart in being propelled into her room, advancing upon the young woman’s turf without caring to ask. “Apologies for the late arrival” the private eye remarks, removing his cap and placing it on one of the hooks attached to the back of the bathroom door, making himself at home as he removes his coat. “As you can imagine, it took plenty of convincing to get the regular guy to, oh how do I put this?- take the day off” Dennis remarks, neatly hanging his jacket beside the cap before stepping in front of the large, open window overlooking downtown Chicago. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Sophie returns with a heart hell-bent on remaining as confrontational as she appears, a sour look carried on her face as her appetite falls aside. “Oh, I’m just passing through, dear” Dennis responds, turning to his side to look through the open window, watching various strings of vehicles venture through an open roadway, all going about their day just as he does his own, “I thought I’d stop by and- oh, y’know- check in.” Her scowl capable of saying one thousand words that she barely has the room in her lexicon for, Sophie opts to use only two of them, her demand made without a care for second thought, “get out.” Watching the young woman’s finger shoot toward the door, the private eye smirks before returning his view toward the bustling city. “Did you know Caden and Izzy were supposed to come out here a few weeks ago?” Dennis asks aloud, keeping his eye on what lies below, a squint taken toward the skyscraper in the near distance. Remaining silent, Sophie chooses not to respond, listening to the investigator’s inquiry and letting it bounce off her like an unimportant thought, unanswered and dismissed. “From what Caden told me, Izzy figured he needed a break from being around you. Well, he just needed a break in general- she figured this was the place to take it” Dennis recalls, finally steering his glance away from the town and back toward the unsettled young woman across the room from him, “-but that all came to a crashing halt when you killed her.” Left eye twitching as her nostrils flare, Sophie grimaces at the investigator as she seethes, slowly reclaiming her composed demeanour whilst incapable of fully wiping away the devious look in her eyes. “I had nothing to do with that” the young woman replies, watching Dennis chuckle as he nods, turning his head back to the city. Pressing closer together, the private eye looks back to the Chicago skyline, taking in a deep breath before replying to the statement, “we’ll see about that.” | > 21st May, 2031 < “He came home from work and went to take a nap on the chair” Caden recalls spinning the tale Dennis had spoken to him for the gathered parents to listen into, unashamedly sharing with the group what he believes the private eye had hoped he would. “He dozed off and- I guess, at some point in the night- he heard the door slam and someone run in” he continues, illustrating the picture as the investigator had been painted. “Fuck!” a young, feminine voice groans in distress, openly weeping in spite of her face not hosting even a single tear, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” Startled into action, Dennis throws the blanket that had already fallen halfway off his body across the room, darting out of his chair before hearing the voice that had entered his home, a frenzy to defend his family quickly turning into a worry for the soul he overhears begin to panic. “Zo!?” Dennis calls out, turning the corner to find his daughter standing at the front door with her back pressing into it, her mascara running and eyes forced as far apart as they can. “Zo- honey, what’s wrong!?” the concerned father exclaims, pressing his daughter’s face into the clean, white t-shirt he’d thrown on before closing his eyes, the free hand he wields used to push the curtains of his living room window aside in favour of looking out at the street for the girl’s source of anguish. “I- I-” Zoey murmurs, unable to form a coherent sentence in her terrified state of mind, the utter horror of what she’d seen written in the expression she appears incapable of hiding. “He said she refused to go back to school. He couldn’t understand why, and he didn’t really care to” Caden remarks, pressing his elbow into the counter as he couples his hands. Sucking on his bottom lip, the young man racks his brain for the next stage of the story told to him, trying his best to recall it verbatim. “A few days went by and she still wouldn’t talk to him, so he just left her alone whenever he could” the youngest of the conversation’s participants says. Beckoned to the ringing of his watch, Dennis places his tablet to the side and presses his finger to the small screen on his wrist, pulling the lever to fire the leather chair’s footrest outward. “You’ve got Dennis, what’s up?” the man asks, running his hand through a full head of hair after scratching his bald face, the slightly-off voice of the high school secretary greeting him with apologies. “Hi, Mr. Eaton. We’re sorry to bother you” the woman’s friendly voice replies, met with a cordial response much the same. “No worries” Dennis responds, letting a sigh leave his lungs as he leans back in the seat, talking through his exasperation, “this is about Zoey missing all these days, isn’t it?” Met with silence, the off-duty officer scratches the back of his head as he crosses one foot over the other, his eyes veering off to the ceiling as he addresses the assumed concerns. “I already send Principal Jones an email explaining everything, and now I’m just waiting for him to reply” Dennis explains, resting his arm against the leather cushion beside him, his eyes closing as he settles into his seat, “Zoey and I agreed that she’ll be back in first thing Monday morning.” Before the woman can begin to reply, a sudden buzzing goes off in the man’s pocket, calling his attention to the device inside as the lady on the other end of the line begins to reply. “Um, Mr. Eaton?” she replies with a slight amount of concern, almost worried to follow her recital of the man’s name with what she’d called to say. “Mr. Eaton, I’m not sure you understand” the kind-hearted woman replies, her pause coming just as the officer retrieves his phone, looking into the screen to find his partner’s name in bold, white letters. “Zoey can’t come back to class until the investigation is over” she reassures, immediately prompting the man to glance at his watch with wide eyes, connecting the two calls before the woman can have the chance to reiterate, “I was calling to make sure you were home to let the police in.” Outright bewildered, Dennis looks back to his work phone as its ringing ceases, presenting him with the notification that his partner’s call was missed. “Hello?” the secretary’s voice calls out, receiving no answer as the man processes what he’s come to take away from the situation, his eyelids only stretching further apart when a realisation dawns upon him. With the touch of his finger, Dennis cuts the secretary’s call off and fires out of his chair like a rocket, leaping to the ground and sprinting up the stairs. “Zoey!” the man exclaims, running down the hallway to her bedroom, its door opened just the slightest amount for him to walk through, the eerie silence that he’s presented with through the parted sliver immediately forcing his mind to latch onto the worst thoughts. Hanging his head, Caden stares at the countertop and stops speaking, the fingers on both hands interlocked with each other as they rest upon the glossy finish. “You can’t just stop there” Hugh remarks, waiting for the follow-up that seemingly refuses to come, the side-eye he receives from the storyteller prompting him to keep quiet. Upon being left with only the footsteps of the surrounding officers, Caden stares back to the table before finishing his remarks, concluding the story without the climax it perhaps warrants. “She snuck out to go to a party, she got drunk and decided to walk back to one of her classmates’ place” the young man proceeds, pulling back in his seat to sit more upright, “from what he was told, they got into an argument a couple minutes later, and it led to a fight.” Listening to a gathering of people stand in the room just above his head, Caden lets his thoughts sink in before continuing. “One thing led to another, she pushed him away, and he fell” he proceeds, continuing to hear more footsteps collect in the room above, “he died, she got in her car and sped back home, tried to forget anything happened and never told her dad.” “I’m confused- how did he not know?” Anne replies, not connecting the dots until they’re laid out for her. “Because she wasn’t a suspect until that day. They assumed he just fell on his own until someone said they saw both of them start walking off” Caden answers, taking in a deep breath and holding it, shaking his head when he follows the response, “she caught wind of it, knew she had no defence, and did what she thought she needed to.” Going quiet, not even the footsteps overhead fill the room any longer as a tangible uneasiness befalls the collective group. Lowering his voice, Caden hangs his head and concludes the story that he was told, unsure of how honest it is, but certain that it fills the boxes he’d been looking for answers to. “He found her hanging from her ceiling fan when he got in the room” he concludes, feeling an even greater sensation of horror replace the silence he’d been met with, “that was it.” With his bottom lip pulled apart from the one that covers his top teeth, Andrew looks at Caden with a blank stare as the overhead footsteps return, their lead taken toward the home’s centre staircase. “So that’s what he meant when he said he ‘knew from expe-’” the father begins to remark, stopping himself at the sound of a group’s audible descent from the second level, their lead guiding them to the kitchen where the family’s friend group resides. “Fuck” Caden mutters to himself, not needing to hear the lead detective utter a word before looking to his hand, which cradles a watch by his side. As if his soul had left his body, Andrew follows the eyes of the Nurse’s only child to the lead investigator’s hand, his blank stare turning into one of disassociation as his mind fails to fully comprehend what answers the mystery has discovered. | > 21st May, 2031 < “I’m really tired of you accusing me of this wicked shit” Sophie groans, shaking her head as she makes for the drawer beside her bed, the ceramic pipe she takes into her possession met with the flame of a lighter. “And I’m really tired of hearing how many sorry-ass tales everyone and their mother’s keep spinning about you” Dennis rebukes, continuing to stare out the window with a judgemental grimace, “when I was younger, they called people like you murderers- not brave and inspiring.” “People like me?” Sophie scoffs, taking a seat on her bed before lighting a clump of weed with intentions of taking a hit, “-you mean a victim? Or an innocent high school student that never deserved what happened to her?” Shaking his head, Dennis looks to the ground in shame, listening to her inhale of smoke whilst his brain makes peace with the delusion she’s indulged herself in living. “Call yourself what you want, but don’t think for a second that you’re going to get away with what you’ve done” the private eye warns, watching the young woman pull her lips away from the smoking pipe with a smile. “Do you honestly think- for even a second- that this doc is going to come out without anyone asking questions?” Dennis wonders aloud, waiting for an answer the increasingly-cocky young woman has no care to provide him with. “You’ll have thousands of these little internet sleuths picking apart every fucking detail to find something that incriminates you” the investigator continues, still not certain his efforts of the prior night will turn anything of use up, “and don’t get it twisted- you haven’t escaped justice until you’ve taken it to court and won.” “Oh yeah, I forgot about that” Sophie replies, letting a cloud of fog spill out through her lips with the rest of her breath, “remind me- what evidence do I need to prepare for?” The disgusted look on his face only furthering, Dennis shakes his head subtly as he stares a hole through the young woman’s throat, her red hair falling over the back of the short headboard her bed sports. “There’s no house to look through, and unless you can pick up my mother’s ashes from Mozingo Lake- no body to examine twice” Sophie continues, her voice spoken over when the investigator latches onto the second crime. “I have you- on video- driving up to the same facility that Izzy’s body was found in” Dennis proclaims, again finding his evidence dragged through the metaphorical mud by the defence of his subject’s increasingly-deranged mind. “Good luck the murder weapon if that’s your theory” Sophie remarks, listening to his watch ring as a call finds his ear, prompting the girl across from him to finish her thought. “If ‘being in the area of a murder’ was proof that someone did it, then all of Chicago might as well be in jail right now” she proclaims, watching Dennis slip his hand into his pants pocket to retrieve the phone he prefers to answer on, “-face it, you’ve got nothing.” With a frown, Dennis presses the lightweight brick to his ear, greeting the person on the other end of the line before listening into their response. Sparking her lighter for a second time, Sophie lets the call proceed in the background as she takes another pull off the strain of ‘Loud Dream’ cannabis, resting her head against the wall as she waits to watch the man’s reaction. “Yeah, what about it?” Dennis responds, waiting for a brief second before the tension in his face dissolves, his eyes reaching the corner of their lids to veer in the young woman’s direction, her confused glare indicating an incapability of reading into what’s been said. “Thank you” the tall man responds, keeping his departing words simple and brief before returning the phone to his pocket, both eyes kept locked upon the stoned figure of public adoration. “Like I said- you’ve got nothing” Sophie reiterates, gently placing her pipe back on the nightstand before returning her eyes to the man across the room, his mouth once again forming a slight, almost unnoticeable smirk. Nodding his head, the man returns his sight toward the city just beyond the near-rooftop level view the room provides, making his peace with a world capable of creating monsters like the one he shares the space with now. “I’ve dealt with criminals for well over half my life now, and I’m still always surprised by two things-” Dennis remarks, allowed to speak through the silence the girl leaves him, listening to what he has to say, though unphased by his words, “-their hubris and the world that made them.” Sighing just loud enough for the man to hear her, Sophie crawls to the opposite side of the bed and takes a seat at its edge, looking at the once-officer with an arrogant smirk. Bowing his head, Dennis stares at the ground hundreds of feet below, his spirits lowering for a temporary moment in time. “My daughter killed a boy twelve years ago” the man confesses, only able to shift the red-haired killer’s expression by the slightest amount, her eyes narrowing as her head tilts to the side. “For so many years, I wondered if I was the reason she did it. I couldn’t understand what switch flipped- or why” he continues, spilling his soul to a person he feels no fear toward, “I couldn’t make sense of it, and- for the longest time- I didn’t know if I wanted to.” Leaning forward, Sophie presses both elbows into her thighs as her eyes keep toward the man, passing a glance toward the city every few seconds whilst listening to his every word, regardless of how uninterested she is. “Sometimes, I wish she’d stuck around long enough for me to just ask her ‘why’?” Dennis continues, patting the window’s frame as he takes a step back from it, “but unfortunately, the answer died with her.” Almost in an effort to rub salt in the wound, the private eye mimics the audible sigh Sophie had provided him seconds prior as he turns around to leave, snatching his cap and jacket from the nearby hanger as he makes for the door. “There used to be a part of me that used to regret the fact that I couldn’t do anything to bring justice to the boy’s family- it was like a little ghost was haunting me every night and every day” Dennis continues, sliding his jacket on before returning his hat to the head it’s fitted to best, “oh well, at least your father won’t have to suffer the same.” Finally caught, Sophie’s ear guides the rest of her head toward the departing eye, his feet stepping in front of each other on his way to the room’s exit. “What?” she wonders aloud, watching the man stop halfway between herself and the exit, unable to understand what’s been said without elaboration. “What? Oh! Oh- no, no- I should have made myself more clear” Dennis enthusiastically elaborates, pulling up his phone and swiping across the screen before displaying the picture to the young woman. Squinting her eyes, Sophie’s glance is all that’s needed for the hair on the back of her neck to stand up, both eyes widening as her lips part just the slightest amount. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but- isn’t that Izzy’s watch?” the private eye wonders, immediately watching Sophie’s eyes shoot from the screen to look him in the eyes, the shocked realisation of someone whose confidence had just plummeted back to earth, a sight he’s become all too familiar with. “Yeah, like I said- their hubris always surprises me” Dennis repeats himself, sliding the phone back into his pocket before tipping his cap, “see you in court!” Widening, Sophie’s mouth joins the rest of her face in following the man’s departure, his feet carrying him to the door whilst her deluded, drug-influenced mind reaches for the first solution that comes to mind. Through the semi-open cover, Sophie slides her hand into the luggage and retrieves the automatic weapon from within, taking aim at the man just as his hand wraps around the handle before pulling the trigger. With no more than a groan, Dennis falls into the door as his grip on the handle tightens, the sudden shock of a bullet tearing through his back forcing him to one knee. Yet to utter a word, Sophie springs off the bed and walks across the room, watching the man’s open-mouthed face turn to look back at her, realising what awaits him. Able to see the movements the man refuses to hide, Sophie pulls the trigger for a second time, hitting the same place in his upper back before placing the barrel against his head, the third squeeze of the trigger satisfying her enough to back away. Slipping from the knob, the private eye’s hand falls to the ground with the rest of his body, leaving three streaks of blood running down the bedroom’s white door as his corpse hits the floor. Yet to take into thought what she’d just done, Sophie releases her grasp on the firearm, letting it hit the floor as she stumbles back, tripping over the edge of her bed to hit the ground just as the private eye had. Crawling as far across the room as she can, the killer’s back presses into the wall just below the window view of downtown Chicago, the messy circumstances in which she’d earned her third kill taking a few extra seconds to dawn upon her. Just as she presses her hands over her mouth, Sophie’s eyes widen even further, realising her need to take immediate action. Leaping off the ground, she takes the suitcase into her possession and reclaims the weapon, leaving behind whatever she can’t take in that moment as she kicks the investigator’s corpse to the side, squeezing through her bedroom door and racing to the nearest stairwell, wasting not a single moment in making use of what little time she has. == Generation Alpha ==
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> 20th May, 2031 <
“Do you think I care?” Sophie replies, throwing a handful of clothes into a small suitcase as her father watches on, standing near her bedroom door as Elaine remains in the hallway, keeping her distance from a conversation she doesn’t believe there’s a place for her in. “I’m not charged with anything and the documentary goes to theatres in three weeks” the orange-haired offspring remarks, “I’m not staying in the state because a bunch of underfunded donut-munchers spin some tale about me.” His chin in the air, Andrew closes his eyes as he grows increasingly exasperated. “What I’m saying is- it makes you look even more suspicious than you think they’re painting you out as” the man clarifies, quickly redirecting the conversation’s focus to his daughter’s final point, “and they’re not spinning some tale about you- they’re naming you a suspect to murder.” “Yes- a murder to someone that I haven’t said more than a sentence to since before I went missing” Sophie replies, putting on her most sarcastic expression as she animatedly nods, “how suspicious.” Guiding her hand over the luggage, the young woman of increasing public attention zips her bag shut and changes out her short-sleeved grey tank top for a baggy, maroon-shaded t-shirt with a plunging neckline, switching out a casual attire for one worthy of stepping into the public eye in. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you did it, it matters that you’re a suspect in her murder” Andrew explains further, failing to realise that his daughter’s intentions cannot be changed by his warnings, “if the news realises you defied the cops’ orders, they’ll convince themselves you’re guilty before you ever even leave Illinois!” In one, smooth motion, Sophie pulls the end of her long, bright locks out of the shirt collar and snatches her keys from atop the nightstand beside her bed. “I don’t care!” she sighs with youthful ignorance, taking her holdall by the handle and walking past her father, finishing her thought as she steps past him, “I’ve got nothing to do with what happened to Izzy, and nothing the news can say will be able to change that.” Entering the hallway with a purpose, Sophie completely ignores Elaine’s presence as she makes for the staircase, her father’s heavy feet following after her closely. “Honey, will you please just stop for a second and talk to me?” Andrew calls out, following his eldest child down the steps as she makes her way through the front door, not responding to his request as the options he wields greatly dwindle. “Sophie!” Andrew calls out, watching the young woman’s hand lift into the air in a show of dismissal. “I’m done talking about this, dad!” the girl proclaims, unlocking her car door and starting the engine before she can even set foot into the vehicle. “Sophie, please come back!” the man requests again, this time receiving no response, the only sound made from the slamming of the driver’s door shutting, followed by the tires reversing over loose asphalt. Within seconds, his daughter’s presence is rendered non-existent as her car takes off for the end of the road, leaving the man behind- his good intentions waved off as unimportant to the bigger picture. Disgruntled, Andrew looks on for a few, additional moments with his hands on each hip, a momentary pause held as he processes his daughter’s departure before turning to re-enter the home, only to catch a glimpse of dark-clothed figures out of the corner of his eye. Gathered together, George and Rebecca stand near the front of their drive-parked vehicle in mourning attire, their eyes held toward his direction as they exchange glances. The picture missing a member, Andrew’s gaze drifts toward the end of the home’s lawn, where the Nurse’s only child stands at the driver’s side of his vehicle, completely unaffected by the questionable scene he’d just watched unfold. His necktie loose around the collar of his black shirt, Caden stands at his car with the door open for a moment, staring blankly at the neighbouring home’s owner before silently ducking into his seat, driving off into the early morning as his parents watch on, physically incapable of stopping him. As his spirits fall, Andrew turns his attention back to his remaining neighbours and bows his head, showing his respect before following through on re-entering the home. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Elaine asks with a hint of defeat in her voice, a sorrowful look worn on her face as she follows the man into the kitchen, a heavy heart weighing on her. Before he can even answer, Andrew’s head begins to shake as his hand reaches for the nearest cabinet, both eyes taking to the hardest liquor he can find hidden away from untrustworthy eyes. “There’s just no way I can make it through that” Andrew responds, retrieving the biggest bottle of vodka he can catch a glimpse of, gently placing it on the marble countertop as a deep sigh leaves him, “I’d prefer my last memory of that girl to be when she was alive.” Pressing his palm against the bottle’s cap, the man feels the bottle gently move away from him at Elaine’s command, her hands pushing away the strong beverage before taking him by the arms and turning his back to the drink. “Liquor’s not going to make the pain any better, love” her soft voice whispers, trying to look into his eyes as his head bows, eyelids tightly pressing shut as every conflict begins to overwhelm him. “Look at me” Elaine calmly beckons, lowering her chin to get her best angle of Andrew’s face, waiting for him to give into her gently-spoken pleas, her lips spreading to form the most approachable smile she can manage to make. Slowly lulled into cooperation, Andrew lets his eyes open, looking the shorter woman in the face without issue as her hands rest against his shoulders, her warm palms easing him down from the emotional distress. “This is all just a really really bad stretch of really really awful stuff” Elaine softly murmurs, locking eyes with the man she’d gradually- over the last number of months- fallen madly in love with, “it too- just like all the other times before it- will pass.” Lifting his chin just slightly, Andrew nods briefly as he parts his lips, eyes drifting to the back of the spacious kitchen as his mind tries its best to wrap optimistic hands around cynical thoughts. “You’re right, and I know you’re right” he confesses, the difficulty he faces not in admitting his false outlook, but in accepting her truthful one, “it’s just- ugh- I can’t stop thinking about it.” His avoidance of looking her in the eyes making her curious, Elaine presses her hands against each side of her significant other’s face, keeping his gaze from straying from her. “Thinking about what?” the woman inquires, greatly disheartened at the obvious distress he’d become befallen to. Trying to shake off the question, Andrew pulls away from his girlfriend’s grasp, gently pulling her hands away as he backs off, making for the kitchen’s exit as he steps into the living room. “Andrew!” Elaine calls aloud, again following the man into the next room, taking a seat upon the couch he lowers himself into, sinking into the seat as he presses his hands against the features of his face, trying to decompress as best he can. “Andrew, talk to me” she delicately pleads, resting one hand on the man’s thigh whilst the other presses into the cushion she sits against, propping herself up as the man’s hands fall away. “Everything’s fucked” the man finally groans, letting the back of his hands slam into his lap as they fall from his face, the dejected slump of his shoulders telling the tale of a man who’s lost much of the upbeat temperament he’d once moulded himself around. “We were just a normal family sixteen months ago, and now- now we’re like the centre of everything!” Andrew sighs, listening to a pair of tiny footsteps touch upon the floor just overhead as he continues. “Murders, and conflict, and fighting, and arguing. It’s just-” the man continues, listening to the gentle taps of feet above increase as the person they belong to passes the guest bedroom. “-It’s just difficult to keep putting on a happy face every day when there’s always something new waiting to show its face around every corner” Andrew finishes, taking in a deep breath as his face brightens as best it can, feigning that same happy face as Olivia races down the stairs. “Ms. Kirkpatrick! You’re still here!” the small girl exclaims, throwing her hands out and jumping onto the couch, pulling the woman in for a hug with the biggest smile on her face. “Yes I am!” Elaine replies, reciprocating the loving gesture of adoration before releasing her tight squeeze on the small girl, allowing her to move onto the man beside her. “Ms. Kirkpatrick’s still here, daddy! Hi, daddy!” Olivia chirps, leaping into her father’s arms as his bogus simper fools her as it always does. “Yes, Ms. Kirkpatrick is still here” the man responds, letting his daughter pull her head back as her arms remain locked around his neck, “do you like having Ms. Kirkpatrick here as much as I do?” Releasing her grasp, Olivia responds by returning to the incredibly flattered woman, their hug resuming as she answers with glee. “Yes! I love having Ms. Kirkpatrick here!” the loving young child shouts, putting a genuine smile on the face of the woman whose heart melts at the kind remarks. With the child’s chin nestling against her neck, Elaine’s eyes retake toward the empty-armed man, his previous exhaustion-induced anxiousness gradually lessening as he watches the girls beside him take joy from each other’s company. Though wrestling with plenty of his own inner conflicts, Andrew’s heart gives itself a rest and enjoys the display of true innocence before him, reminded of the good still left in spite of the bad he frequently finds himself trapped within. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 20th May, 2031 < With the palm of both hands placed on his steering wheel, Caden sits in his driver’s seat without a single ounce of life in his expression, just a blank stare at the top of his sunlit dashboard. As if lost somewhere within the terrible neighbourhoods that have been pitched in the empty spaces of his mind, the young man’s eyes casually drift from one side of the car to the other, not looking for anything in specific, just travelling with the thoughts that he hides however possible. In a perfect world, the seat beside him would be occupied, the soul within it one that never had to be snuffed to begin with. “I wouldn’t think there’d be this many people here for me” Izzy’s voice says, conjured up through one of the unkempt alleys Caden’s metaphorical trip drifts down, trying to pretend he’s not entirely alone. “I hope- at the very least- that I looked nice before they closed the lid” she remarks again, receiving no response from the young man who crafts her words, understanding they’re just a creation he’d summoned to the best detail he can afford to imagine. Though he knows the seat beside him remains empty, the heartbreakingly familiar voice he hears no longer exists, and the comments being made can only be found within the confines of his head, Caden takes the smallest joy out of having them. “Are you coherent enough to know where you are?” an authentic, grizzly voice calls out from the other side of Caden’s door, startling the young man with the taps of his knuckle on the glass. Jostled out of his pain-crafted chimaera, the young man stares out at the face of a taller, bald-headed man that hunches over to look through the glass divide that separates them, waiting for a reply. “What the fuck, man!?” Caden blurts out as he pushes his door open, exiting the vehicle as the investigator begins casually walking on, both hands tucked away in the pockets of his beige khakis. “When I was a kid, the only drugs I was familiar with were cannabis and heroin-” Dennis responds, stepping out from the sea of asphalt masquerading as a parking lot to return to earth, grass still wet from a morning dew now coating his leather shoes in water, “-I don’t know what you’ve got nowadays.” “I’m not on drugs, I’m at my fucking girlfriend’s funeral!” Caden responds, quickly following the man’s lead as he walks away from the source of increasingly fewer visitors, the ceremony already having come and gone just as many of its attendants have by this time. “People don’t usually sit in their car waving their head from side-to-side as a method of grieving” Dennis retorts, continuing to walk with his face forward, “they cry, they go home, they eat ice cream, and slowly move forward.” Having realised his own disinterest halfway through the investigator’s remarks, Caden quickly redirects the dialogue, getting the most obvious curiosity out of the way. “Nevermind that- why are you here?” the young man inquires, finally catching up with the nonchalant private eye as they re-enter the cemetery, making their way past a variety of headstones as one in specific comes to the older man’s eye. “Because there’s a way to make this right” Dennis responds, not wanting to display any emotion in what he says despite the personal glee he takes from each new revelation. “Unfortunately, my miracle can’t bring your girlfriend back- I’m terribly sorry for that by the way, my condolences go out to you- but they may be able to do right by her” the conversation and hike-leading gentleman continues, “maybe- if we’re lucky- we can help clear that guilty conscience you’ve got too.” Shaking his head as his eyes roll, Caden continues to follow Dennis’ lead, his hands swinging from one side to the other as he expresses his doubts, “unless you’ve got a way to put Sophie away, I don’t think you’re clearing anything.” His stride confident, Dennis’ walk comes to an abrupt end as he watches the teenager continue to press forward for a few seconds, the pause soon noticed by the loss-stricken funeral-goer. Coming to a slower stop himself, Caden looks back, wondering to himself why his acquaintance would cease the progress made before connecting the dots, a noticeable widening of his eyes signalling to the investigator that they’ve stumbled upon the same page as each other. “You have proof?” Caden asks in disbelief, quickly guided back from the fleeting high he’d quickly built himself toward, though replaced with a much more stable pedestal to stand upon. “No, but I think I know how to get it” Dennis corrects, slowly cutting the distance between himself and the only child as his explanation occupies the air. “The crew working on Sophie’s documentary are in the home stretch. That doc is going to theatres soon, and in the meantime, they’re going into overdrive on advertisement” he proclaims, motioning with his hands as he concocts his plan, “part of that advertisement involves a panel in Chicago this Friday with a certain star of the show in attendance.” “So, Sophie’s going to Chicago this weekend?” Caden replies, his eyes squinting as his chin juts forward, the state of grief he’d spent his day consumed by slowly falling aside in favour of the promising words the investigator presents to him. “She left this morning” Dennis answers, his body language speaking of the utmost assurance and outright hope, latching onto a thread he is certain of his abilities to knit into a blanket, “she’s already on the road.” Parting his lips to speak, Caden falls silent for a moment, his initial question failing to take on the importance of the second one that pops into his head, the apparent holes in this scheme presenting themselves. “So, what exactly are you getting at?” he asks, the air left open for his question to be raised as desired, “the public cops can’t legally keep people from leaving the state, so it’s not like you can get her for evading the law.” Shaking his head as he steps forward with his hands waving, Dennis’ face begins to sport a smile as his vision for the opportunity that presents itself is spilled to the person he thinks has the most to gain from it. “I’m telling you that she won't be home for the next four or five days” the private eye proclaims, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small, plastic flash drive, “and that means there’s no way for her to stop me from showing her father this.” Confused, yet intrigued, Caden considers what may be on the drive before the most likely answer pops into his head, his realisation of this putting a morbid expression on his face. “What’s on that?” he asks with a low tone, almost asking the question as if he didn’t actually want to know the answer. “Do you really want me to tell you?” Dennis counters, reading into the look held by the young man’s eyes, “because, if I was guessing- I think you already know what it is.” His stare rigid and intense, Caden’s eyes remain glued to the device before a cold shiver runs down his spine, freeing him from the momentary daze as he turns away, taking a few steps back as he tries to clear his head. Looking to the open grave just twenty metres away- the soul in the coffin it hosts yet to be named by a headstone- Dennis begins to make his declaration as the young man continues slowly pulling away. “Mr. Carrion wasn’t a stranger to Izzy. The person in that grave doesn’t need to have a headstone for you to know who’s in there, and the same applies to him” Dennis explains, taking two steps forward for every one departing step Caden takes, “I know from experience that what he’s going to see will be the greatest pain and shock he’s ever experienced, but it’s a pain and shock that he needs to see if Sophie’s ever going to pay for what she’s done.” With his chin held toward the ground, Caden stands in silence as Dennis keeps a short distance between them, allowing the young man a moment of solitude he’d taken from him minutes prior. In silence, the young man sits with his thoughts for a moment, a streak of light running over his dark hair from the uncovered sun above, his face shrouded by the shadow of a nearby tree as it sits with an expression formed through grief and exhaustion. Moving his lips without saying a word, Caden speaks to himself as the private eye watches on, providing him with whatever time he needs to process what he’s been told. Passing a glance toward the distance, the young man clears his throat and nods, wiping his upper lip with the knuckle of his index finger as he finally responds, filling the air with a voice projected through faith that the proposal’s potential can be seen through. “Why are you telling me all of this?” he wonders aloud, calling the man’s motives into question as the threads, though lining up, don’t necessarily make a perfect line. “You’ve got all the leverage you need to show Mr. Carrion the truth in your hand right now- you don’t need me” Caden reiterates as he turns around, looking back to the man that waits by for his response, “you could be in his living room right now showing him everything you just told me, but you’re here instead. Why?” With a stoic face, Dennis looks at Caden without any change in his expression, neither an exhaustion from answering questions, nor a haste to get on with the proposition, nor an agreement that his time was wasted. As if the inquiry had struck a chord with him, the private eye’s shoulders begin to lower, his hands remaining by his sides as the purposefully-mysterious demeanour he frequently sports begins to descend, finding common ground with the anguished young man. | > 20th May, 2031 < “By all means, come in” Andrew responds, stepping aside to hold the door open for Caden, still dressed in his funeral attire, the fitted jacket traded in for a black dress shirt with rolled up sleeves. “Uh, Sophie-” the elder gentleman begins to remark, pausing for a moment as he recalls the neighbour’s hatred for his daughter, though unsure of any other reason for his unexpected visit, “-Sophie’s not here. Do you need her for something?” Shaking his head, Caden takes a long look at the living room, its normal colour scheme and natural layout speaking to the mind of a normal home, one on the verge of being rocked to its core and stripped of its will to hope. “Where’s the little one?” the preoccupied young man asks, peering through the nearby window as Andrew watches on, confused at the profoundly odd manner in which his youngest neighbour inhabits the room. “She’s- she’s out with Elaine” the man responds, every hour since the early morning having been spent on his own, the home’s quiet walls telling the tale of a man having spent his day failing to discourage himself from worrying over his eldest born. “That’s the woman with the van, right? The one that drives her to school?” Caden responds, allowed to form his own conclusions as the question is left in an uncomfortable silence, “good for you.” Put off by the awkward first few words exchanged, Andrew tries to continue the conversation on more pleasant ground, neither himself, nor the boy across the room from him in an accordingly-affable mood. “I’m sorry for skipping out on the service, kid” the man apologises, keeping an upbeat tone in his voice as Caden remains fixated on the road outside, listening to the man’s admission of regret before shaking his head. “It wasn’t anything special anyway. You didn’t miss much” the guest assures, looking out as the first few street lights power on, illuminating the stretch of road a fading sun leaves behind. “Still, I should’ve gone” Andrew doubles down, yet to move from the door just as Caden has yet to move from the centre of his living room, “Izzy was a really good kid. What happened shouldn’t have, and it was wrong of me not to at least say goodbye.” For a brief moment, Caden smirks, nodding at the man’s kind words before hanging his head again, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his knuckles, agreeing with every word out of the father’s mouth. “Yeah, you’re right” he responds, still yet to fully embrace the world without the lost girl in it, enraptured by the sorrow that surrounds her untimely passing, “she shouldn’t be dead.” Convinced that the boy’s strange demeanour is a result of the day’s gruelling toll, Andrew bows his head and nods, agreeing with the true statements he’d been responded to with before they’re followed up on. “But don’t worry, I don’t blame you for missing it-” Caden replies, finally moving the slightest amount, just enough for his body to veer to the left whilst his eyes look back to the father from over his shoulder, “-just like I don’t blame you for her getting killed.” Perplexed, Andrew looks curiously in the young man’s direction as his head tilts to one side, a nervous chuckle leaving his lungs before the first question that comes to mind leaves his lips, “why would you blame me?” Lowering his chin again, Caden’s posture becomes more empathetic as he spins around the rest of the way, looking to the ground as he casually makes for the kitchen. “Because it’d be easy. It wouldn’t make sense, and it’d be a really twisted way of coping with it, but it would be easy” Caden answers, pulling out a stool before taking a seat at the island, “why would you bother blaming the killer when you could just blame the person who raised them?” Furrowing his eyebrows, Andrew takes offence to the implication being made, following the lead the young man’s words paint out for him to be led by. “Caden, are you alright?” the home’s owner replies, immediately hearing a breathy laugh escape the tip of Caden’s tongue as it grows into a more audible chuckle, his head bowing as his arms press against the countertop. “I just buried my girlfriend- of course I’m not alright” the young man replies, his voice returning a normal pitch as he looks off to the corner of the room, an inquisitive expression replacing the amused visage he’d sported up to that moment. “I just don’t get how she got away with it the first time” Caden speaks aloud, talking to himself, only loud enough for the man that approaches to hear as well, “with every single hole in that story, you’d think someone other than me would’ve put the puzzle together by now.” Pressing his lips together, Andrew lifts his wrist to the base of his chin, speaking into the watch that sits on his arm, “call Rebecca Nurse” he commands. “She takes her watch off before she goes into public places” the young man at his countertop replies, insinuating the request will fail to make it through to the intended recipient, “my family doesn’t really like technology as much as they like blaming it for problems.” Sitting in silence for another few moments as the watch rings, Caden waits for the voicemail greeting he’d memorised verbatim since he was a small child. After a few rings, the voice that replies is mirrored by the boy atop one of many stools, his voice matching the one spoken through his watch until the moment the call is hung up. “Alright Caden, I think you should get home now” Andrew remarks, resting his hand on the teenager’s shoulder in an attempt to help him down from the stool, still convinced he’s anything other than sober. Without assistance, Caden climbs down from the stool and walks across the kitchen, lining up opposite Andrew before repositioning his feet, one foot in front of the other and in line with the grout filler of the tiled floor. “I’ve had nothing to drink, my mom and dad hid every pill bottle ‘cause they’re paranoid and wouldn’t admit it, and I drove myself home” the young man claims as his balance remains perfect, “I’m not drunk- you just wish I was.” Stepping down the final stretch of kitchen, Caden pats Andrew on the shoulder and steps off the line, again returning to the stool under his own power and with no issue. “Why would I wish that?” the man asks, not wishing to admit it, though agreeing with the statement made. Though desperately wanting there to be something off about the young man currently occupying his kitchen, Andrew can no longer deny that he’s entirely sober. “Because if I was drunk, you could write off everything I’m saying as some stupid bullshit a moody teen would write in his journal after a binge” Caden replies, turning in the seat to face the man as a set of doors shut in the near distance, “and since I’m not, it means that I mean what I’m saying.” Attempting to respond, Andrew’s attention is called to by the opening of the front door, Elaine’s hand releasing the knob as Olivia sprints into the living room with her arms widened. “Daddy!” the young girl exclaims, leaping into her father’s arms before he can even have the chance to fully lower himself to one knee, her grasp holding him tightly before her eyes wander toward the kitchen, widening in outright awe. “CADEN!” Olivia screams, immediately releasing her father from the loving bearhug and sprinting toward the unexpected visitor. As if all his pain had melted away in the blink of an eye, the battle-tested, grief-stricken young man reverts to his former self, the one the precious angel of innocence with arms stretched like the wings of a hawk remembers fondly. “Hey, ‘Livy!” Caden shouts, throwing himself off the stool and to the ground, lowering himself enough to catch the girl as she leaps off the hardwood tiles, stepping into the embrace of someone she’d grown to miss greatly without truly realising it. Only able to watch on, Andrew’s mouth forms a smile before his conscience reclaims hold of his emotions, any belief that Caden’s mind wasn’t fully present quashed in a moment of satisfying worry. “Andrew” Elaine whispers, prompting the man to turn in her direction, his eyes growing wide when he notices she’s not alone. “What are you doing here?” the man wonders aloud, slowly becoming stricken with anger as he watches Dennis slink through the front door, a tophat held against his chest as he gingerly enters the home at the woman’s behest. “He’s helping me” Caden answers on the private eye’s behalf, reclaiming the father’s attention for a moment as he returns to his feet, gently releasing the girl from his appreciative embrace. “There’s only one way to fix what’s happened, and you’re the only person that can do it” the young man calmly says, patting Olivia on the head as he looks her father in the eye, not pleased with having to say what he knows he needs to, “and if you don’t help us, everything will just get worse.” Shaking his head as disbelief rolls over him, Andrew’s ear is taken back to Elaine, who places her hand on his chest as she looks into his eyes with a look of concern of her own. “Andrew” she whispers, pulling his face toward her own as he repeatedly tries to look toward the yet-to-speak private eye across the room, “I think you might have to hear them out.” As if releasing the subdued confrontational tension that builds in his chest, the muscles in Andrew’s face loosen as he loses himself in Elaine’s eyes, seeing the anxiety that hides behind the pupils of his seraph. Reading the woman’s expression, Andrew realises she knows something more than what he does, this unspoken centre of such an impromptu gathering that encircles him powerful enough to bring her to near tears. Lost for words, Andrew pulls his eyes away from Elaine’s and looks to Dennis, his apologetic expression unlike the one he’d received in their prior interactions. Taking all he can from the man’s visage, the father looks back to the kitchen and lays eyes on Caden, the sorrowful young man that had entered his home replaced by a sympathetic soul equally displeased with having to rope him into the same torment that he’d succumbed to long ago. Yet to utter a word, Andrew is lulled into considering Elaine’s request, only acting upon the plea upon looking back to the woman before him, her wide eyes carrying a fear he wishes to free her from. “Olivia, sweetie-” the man finally mutters, turning to look at the girl he’d watched light the world into smiles and hugs with a heart full of distress, though he hides it remarkably well, “-can you go up to your room for a little bit, please?” With the most innocent of nods, the young girl hurries for the stairs and races up each step, prancing down the hallway and to her room as the ground level is left to the situation she deserves nothing to do with. As his breathing grows heavy, Andrew’s hands begin to tremble as he backs away from the woman he holds closest, stepping past Caden and sliding a stool out from the island. Still wearing a wedding band on his left hand, Andrew’s ring clatters against the seat’s wooden surface, moving with the rest of his shaky hand as he turns back to the room, its three inhabitants standing close together. With each pair of eyes on him, the man lets out a deep sigh and relaxes his aching muscles, yet to fully realise just how many pieces his world is about to be shattered into, though quick to accept that the breaking must commence as he addresses the small gathering. “Have a seat.” == Generation Alpha == > 14th May, 2031 <
Untying the strings that hold it against his chest, Andrew removes his short, green apron with a sigh before hanging it atop the nearest hook, his eyebrows lifting as the bell above his shop’s entrance rings. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re clo-” he remarks as fast as he can muster, unable to lock the door prior to her entry, yet to look at her, but falling silent once he does. “Elaine” he mutters with a smile, pleased to see the familiar face that turns the lock on her way in on his behalf. “Sorry, I didn’t want to take a chance on coming in through the back” the friendly woman replies, pleased when the store’s owner refuses the need for an apology. “It’s fine. You can come and go however you want” Andrew reassures with a grin, his lips pressing together as they arch into a smirk, “it doesn’t really matter- I like seeing you regardless.” Blushing, Elaine’s teeth part through the lips her flustered subconscious force away from each other as her hand pushes dark locks of brown hair over her ear. “That’s sweet” she manages to respond, both hands holding the cords of her purse at her lap as she briefly looks around the cosy shop, “the plants are all so pretty.” Though his day of work has been long and tiring, the late afternoon closing time is made infinitely more bearable by the woman’s presence in spite of the early morning opening. “Yeah, that’s what I’d been going for” Andrew responds, crossing his arms as he follows Elaine’s eyes around the store, “I never liked how open some of these shops were, so I wanted to make sure I could put a colourful assortment pretty much anywhere I could see.” “I think you accomplished that” Elaine quips, taking her attention to the large, tree-like column in the centre of the flora-surrounded hole-in-the-wall boutique, an incredibly assortment of flowers all coming together to form one, seemingly infinitely-deep gathering of greenery. “I’m gonna assume this is the thing holding up the ceiling?” she jokes, though her curiosity is obviously genuine. “Oh! Yeah, I call it the ‘Tree of Life’” Andrew responds, casually strolling forward to join her at the centre pillar, “I couldn’t screw into it, so I built a shelf that stretched to the ceiling and wrapped around every side.” With an eyebrow raised, Elaine gently grazes the end of one leaf with her finger as she praises the man’s work, appreciating its simplicity and beauty. “This is really cool” she murmurs, taking a second look at the endless supply of various life that makes up the glamorous inner sanctum of the closest thing she can think of to heaven on earth. “Yeah, I-” Andrew begins replying, promptly pausing as he takes in the compliment, trying his best to hide the grateful smile that sprawls across his face, “-I guess it is.” “You guess?” Elaine repeats, her raised eyebrow now turned on the man as her smile grows wider, a brief step taken further into the foliage sanctuary with her arms widening. “It’s like a really big, really colourful, really pretty, breath-taking jungle!” she proclaims, spinning around as her arms fall to each side, now faced with Andrew once more, “I don’t think I can imagine anything I’d rather be around more!” Overwhelmed by the kind words, the shop’s owner bows his head as he hides the ear-to-ear smile he shares with the woman across from him, a sudden realisation coming across his mind. As the smirk fades, Andrew’s lips soon press tightly as his eyes begin to squint, his mind challenging the thought that slowly creeps into it. “What?” Elaine soon asks aloud, recollecting the man’s attention as she takes notice of his change in expression, the comforting charm still present, though not overtly appreciatory before. Shaking his head, the man soon brushes off the shift in visage, unfurling his arms to wave off the notion of any adjustment as he turns back toward the counter. “It’s nothing, just a foolish thought” Andrew answers, a subdued chuckle leaving his lungs with the sole purpose of keeping the air light-hearted. “Oh come on, tell me” Elaine replies, following the man back to the front counter, its glass shield covering an assortment of small, plant-treating charms. Trying to shake the looming though from his mind before he can talk himself out of it, Andrew tries to playfully return to his place behind the register before his inner elbow is gently pulled back by the endearing woman unknowingly responsible for making his heart skip a beat. Ushered into turning around, Andrew looks down at the woman who stands just a few inches lower than him, his eyes finding hers as his back presses into the transparent display case. “It’s nothing, I just-” he stutters, rolling his eyes as his smile instinctively widens, his chin shaking as it lifts toward the ceiling, “-I was just wondering whether or not there’s something I’d prefer being around more than all of this.” With slightly widened eyes and two raised eyebrows, Elaine’s head tilts to the side as she asks the obvious question, “uh huh? And what’s the answer, Einstein?” Looking back to the woman’s face, Andrew’s smile soon begins to fade, his expression turned into something more than playful and blushed, almost taken over by something more certain, stronger than just a simple assumption. “Yes” he whispers, the air that surrounds them quieting to the point where a pin drop can earn a few turns of the head, the mood taking a turn from the fun-spirited tenor that’d once surrounded them, progressing into something more. The enthusiasm deepening over her face, Elaine’s eyes find themselves coupling with the taller man, not wanting to let go anymore than Andrew’s do. Creeping in, second thoughts regain their control over the man as the silence becomes too heavy for him to hold, his apologies profuse in their attempt to dissuade the discomfort of what unknown lies ahead. “Like I said, it was just a foolish tho-” Andrew begins to reply, shaking his head as he glances away, its rapid refusal brought to a halt as Elaine’s bag hits the floor, her hands releasing its straps from their possession as they press gently against each side of his face. Before his thought can be finished, Andrew’s lips are proven incapable of parting as they press against Elaine’s own, the woman’s refusal to let him talk his way out of their mutual feelings resulting in a sudden, yet welcomed kiss. Spending a few seconds joined at the lip, the pair pull apart slowly, opening Andrew’s left hand to press into Elaine’s lower back, pulling her close as his right hand caresses the side of her face. Her bottom lip quivering, the besotted woman looks to the man’s lips as she gently sways her head from one side to the other. “I, um-” she begins to murmur, keeping herself close to the man as her hands refuse to relinquish their hold on his face, “I just didn’t want to wait for this any longer.” Unable to put into words how shared that same stance is, Andrew lets his actions do the speaking on his behalf, lowering his face and returning the kiss just as the phone a couple centimetres behind him begins to ring. Interjecting itself into the eagerly anticipated sharing of romantic gestures, the call prompts the couple to pull apart, calling for the man’s attention at once. “I’m so sorry” Andrew apologises, waved off by the more-than-understanding woman as he pulls away, leaving her room to retrieve her bag from the floor. Clearing his throat, the call’s respondent places the handpiece to his ear as introduces himself and the location of his shop. “Andrew Carrion, Home Jungle off the Rolling Hills” the man greets, “unfortunately, the store is closed for the day. Is there a message or some other form of help I can provide?” Upon response from the caller on the other end of the line, Andrew’s eyebrows soon furrow before rising as his eyes widen, “oh god” proclaimed as the caller reaches the reason for his late-evening greeting. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 16th May, 2031 < With her ear pressed against the bedroom door, Rebecca quietly listens into the other side of the entry, her breathing steady and quiet as she waits for a sound. Met with an unpleasant silence, the woman’s spirits begin to lower, falling through their metaphorical floor until a sudden proclamation is spoken aloud, intended for her ear. “The house was built eighty years ago-” Caden nonchalantly calls out, his voice subdued beneath its recent dejected disposition, “-I can hear your footsteps.” Trying as best she can to conceal her frown, Rebecca turns the knob to let herself into her only child’s room, her eyes immediately taking to the bed in which he lies. Lifting his eyes- though not the rest of his face- from the book in his lap, Caden watches his mother gently press the door shut behind her, her back pressed against its smooth surface as she momentarily looks to her son without saying a word, content with being a silent observer. “I’m still here- just in case you were wondering” Caden remarks, slowly closing the hard-cover bind of text-plastered paper with a tiny bookmark protruding from his place in the story, “you took my keys, the floor creaking would keep me from sneaking out, and even if I did manage to sneak out- I don’t have anyone to meet with.” Delicately shaking her head from one side to the other, Rebecca steps further into the open room, getting a chill-inducing sensation that- despite Caden having occupied the space for the majority of the past week- it’s barely been wandered through. Letting the novel he’d snatched from a decorative bookshelf in the hallway just beyond his door sit beside him, the Nurse’s lone offspring waits for his mother’s response, yet to hear her voice despite her eyes travelling between the walls. “I’m sorry” Rebecca finally murmurs, her morale beginning to crater as her mind cycles through the litany of hardships her proudest achievement had been forced to survive through the last near-year and a half. “Your father and I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you” she confesses, a truth her son had already assumed long ago, “and as much as we want to help, we just-” she pauses, coming up short of any delicate phrasing to a rather simple confession, “-we just don’t know how.” Hanging his head as he lets the book rest against his bed, Caden presses his back into the furniture’s headboard, not wanting to look his mother in the eyes as the sound of a car door shutting in the street just beyond their home’s front walkway is heard through an open window. “I don’t want your help” the emotional war-fought teenager admits, his face remaining held toward his lap as his arms cross, fingers wrapping around his arms as he cradles himself, “you can’t help this.” Veering off to the side, Rebecca matches her son’s posture, crossing her arms as she looks away, trying to conjure a response before her son’s voice unknowingly refuses her the chance to speak. “We were going to Chicago” Caden admits, his head kept in the same place he’d held it as the doorbell rings, brushed off by the Nurse’s matriarch as she leaves her husband to answer, uninterested in cutting her son off. “The night the cops came- told me about Izzy- we were supposed to drive to Chicago” the young man continues, barely able to hear the conversation shared between the two voices at his residence’s front door, “we were gonna spend the weekend out in Illinois to clear my head.” Confused, Rebecca looks to her son as his eyes remain distant, attention kept on his lap as his arms remain crossed, reluctant to fully open himself emotionally. Feeling like a piece connecting her son’s intended departure and the decision to do so is absent from the conversation, Rebecca asks the only question incapable of being avoided. “Why?” the woman wonders aloud, finally pulling her son’s eyes away from his lap, their full focus placed on his mother as he parts his lips to speak. Interjecting itself in the conversation, a knock at Caden’s door steals the interest of the room’s two occupants, its sudden arrival preceding George’s entrance. “Caden, there’s-” the man begins to speak, a more rigid tone held than that of his mother’s more emotionally-charged one, his pause taken at the realisation of his wife’s presence, “-there’s, uh- there’s someone at the door for you.” With a care-free look of displeasure written across his face like a novel of bad omens, Caden follows his father down the home’s main staircase as his mother shadows him, matching his pace closely behind. Turning the bannister, the young man’s frown turns its presentation toward the front door, his line of sight following George before the outline of a third, less familiar and yet equally attention-capturing figure catches his eye, standing in the doorway with a hat held against his chest. “Greetings” the tall, bald-headed man with an inherently-intimidating visage and even more fearsome posture speaks, his voice all too familiar for the youngest resident to not recognise. “I don’t believe we’ve met in person, but I know we spoke briefly over the phone last week” the man persists, stepping further into the home as unimposing as he can manage, though his impression is only increasingly made, “I’ve since heard of your loss. I’m- I’m terribly sorry.” Still quiet, Caden inspects the man before opening his mouth, knowing him to be the person behind the contact card he’d been presented with not too long ago. “We spoke- albeit briefly- about some important matters last week” recalls, finally drawing the young man’s full attention, both eyes and a raised chin held from the youthful soul to the elder inquisitor, “I was hoping that- in lieu of recent events- you would be open to speaking again. Potentially with more detail?” Squinting his eyes, Caden’s mouth shifts to the right as his parents watch on quietly, easily able to see the laminated badge resting on the stranger’s hip. “You left me your card last week. I was walking to you just before the cops came” the young man responds, bowing his head just slightly as he tries to decipher the man’s rationale, “why are you here now?” With a brief smirk, the man takes a glance in the direction of the young man’s parents before returning his line of sight to the visibly-intrigued soul he’s come to speak with. “Is there somewhere more private we can speak?” the man questions, letting his hat fall from the place over his heart to his side, lacking any emotional or intellectual connection to the curious young man, though sharing a common hunger for one, specific instance of justice. | > 16th May, 2031 < “I’m so sorry about this” Andrew remarks, his profuse apologies brushed off by the woman he exits his vehicle alongside, who remains as understanding as she’d always presented herself. “Don’t be, this isn’t your fault” Elaine responds, stepping out of the passenger’s seat as the car’s driver rounds the hood, closing her door before preparing himself for the long march onward. “I’m her father. If something’s wrong with her, there’s always at least a little bit of responsibility on my part” Andrew corrects, taking the lead of their collective stroll to the front door of a mostly-unmarked, brick-laid building off the side of a main road. “At some point, you won’t be able to blame yourself for what she does” Elaine reassures, bowing her head in appreciation as she steps through the door held open for her by the man she’s uncertain just what her connection to is. “I raised her. Even if it’s small- there’s always some blame to fall on my shoulders” Andrew doubles down, again leaping ahead of the woman accompanying him to hold a second pair of doors open. “My mother used to say the same thing about me” Elaine replies, quick to try and dissuade the man she cares deeply for from alienating himself from what she believes to be an unhealthy outlook, “at some point, I had to remind her that I started making my own decisions somewhere along the way.” His head shaking, Andrew lets out a deep breath as he holds back the answer, lowering his voice as he approaches a desk, “you don’t have to believe me, but I promise you- that didn’t stop her from believing otherwise” he concludes, putting the conversation to a pause as his arm rests against the entrance booth. “I’m Andrew Carrion, I was called to pick up my daughter” the man remarks, watching the uniformed man reach for a clipboard before taking notice to additional presence out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you here?” the preoccupied father confusedly asks aloud, noticing a small crew of cameramen in the lobby alongside Ian, who shows his lack of involvement by presenting his hands. “We were listening to the scanner when we heard she got taken in” the man responds, dressed in a way that can only be described as out-of-place, his denim khakis combining with a colourful, patterned button-up. Opening his mouth whilst taking a step forward, Andrew stops himself from speaking ill of the man before he can have an opportunity to think over his words, preferring to leave the statement as is and refocus himself on the more pressing issues. “If you will- sign here and if you have a copy of your I.D, I’m gonna need to take it down for documentation” the black gentleman says with an unenthused voice, leaving the clipboard on the counter for the man to write upon. Turning his attention to the accompanying woman, the man in the dark uniform sets his next question at her hands to answer, “are you related to the girl?” As she attempts to answer, Elaine finds her voice cut off by the gentleman beside her, his answer given on her behalf as he takes the pen to the paper’s necessary lines. “She’s her step mother” Andrew declares, lying through his teeth as he holds the back of his hand toward the officer for physical proof, a titanium wedding band worn on the ring finger of his left hand. With a second clipboard already in hand, the officer rests the document in front of Elaine and hands her a pen, stepping through a door just a few feet away as the pair tend to the sign-in sheet. “I’m not gonna make you sit out here with those scumbags” Andrew whispers to the woman, directing a judgemental glare in the direction of the camera crew. Appreciative, Elaine nods as the tip of her pen presses against the smooth sheet of paper, hiding a smile with all her might as the reception-working man returns. “Right this way, please” he calls out, leading the pair to the end of a tight corridor and into an unmarked room without any windows or vents of any sort, only a table at the room’s centre occupied by a set of casually-dressed officers and a clearly annoyed young woman. “Whatever this is- it’s over” Andrew proclaims, stepping into the room and waving his hand at Sophie, who sits in her seat with hands folded atop a small table. “Sir, you’re not doing yourself any favours” the first gentleman, a man with a large gut held in by the buttons of a yellow dress shirt, speaks as he stands from his seat, soon joined by a more slender hispanic gentleman, who’s smaller, grey dress shirt sports sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “What favours would those be, huh?” Andrew queries back, standing his ground as he approaches the first man, both eyes squinted as he steps closer to him, “what exactly do I stand to gain from letting you continue to hassle my daughter with these questions?” Shrugging his shoulders as both hands are held to each side of his neck, the large fellow refuses to present any confrontational demeanour. “All I’m saying is that this would look really concerning in the eyes of a jury” the officer responds, his point doubled down upon by his thinner colleague, “there’s no reason not to give your daughter a chance to clear suspicion.” Continuing to demand his daughter’s preparation to leave, Andrew remains defiant to the officers’ suggestions. “I know my rights. My daughter is a minor, and without a lawyer present- I retain the right to end any interrogation I choose to unless there’s evidence to a crime she’s being charged with” Andrew proclaims, tilting his chin to one side as he opens the floor to the officers, “so, is she being charged?” With displeased expressions, the officers remain quiet, only needing their expressions to provide the answer Andrew had been waiting to receive. Freed from her troubling circumstances, Sophie follows her father and Elaine through the patrol unit’s lobby with her head down, wishing to make it as far without speaking to anyone on the matter as she can. “No- move the fuck out of the way” Andrew commands, extending his hand toward the gathered film crew as they prepare to intrude upon the small group’s departure. “We just wanted to ask ab-” Ian quickly begins to assure, his efforts proving futile as the father refuses to budge from his denial of their presence. “Whatever it is- you’re not asking it now” the man doubles down, holding the first set of doors open for Elaine and Sophie to walk through, refusing to bring the cameras along. “Thank you” Sophie murmurs, keeping her voice to a minimum as she passes through the second set of doors her father holds open, only to receive a reply she’d not anticipated. “Oh, you’re not gonna be thanking me for long” the man responds, stoking a gut-wrenching sense of worry within his daughter. | > 16th May, 2031 < Stepping onto the back patio, Caden shuts the door behind himself as the taller man takes a look around, taking notice of the home’s backside, its lawn manicured, but not much else worthy of presentation to be found. “Your mother strikes me as someone that would be offended to not make things look presentable” the taller man quips, passing a squint toward the young high schooler as he nods, “that millennial-type. You know- the ones that make a bed look like a pillow display case?” Subtly shaking his head to indicate that he doesn’t follow the point, Caden watches the crooked mouth his visitor wears move to the left side of his face. “I suppose that is before your time, isn’t it?” the taller gentleman sighs, lowering himself to the old, rickety bench overlooking the patio as he rests his hat upon his knee, “I could never understand why women did that. Then again, men have a knack for this thing called ‘being reasonable’, so I suppose it’s my nature to not get it.” With his arms crossed, Caden shakes his head more visibly this second time around, his confusion put into words, “is this some sort of code I’m supposed to understand? What are you saying?” With a small chuckle, the tall gentleman shrugs before replying, amusing himself with the first thought that comes to mind. “Well, technically I’m saying women suck at making sense” he responds, “but that’s far from the reason I’m here, so I’ll leave my potential standup material at that.” Folding his hands, the bald-headed man looks off into the short distance to rest his eyes upon the Carrion residence, the dark sky of a dying day leaving the house without much sign of life, every window lacking the light one would imagine an occupied home would present. “I know you weren’t interested in it last time around, but the circumstances are different now obviously” the inquisitor points out, finally refocusing his sight on the once-reluctant young man beside him. “I’m sure you said it on the phone, but I don’t remember your name” Caden replies, stepping away from the backdoor before pressing his back into one of the two columns supporting the terrace of his parent’s room. “Dennis Eaton” the man responds, keeping his voice to a respectable level as he chooses to prefer maintaining a presentable visage, “I’m investigating Sophia Amari on behalf of a client and know the two of you were close.” “So you decided to come asking me if she killed her mother, right?” Caden adds on the man’s behalf, the expression the investigator maintains shows that the suggestion is not far off from the truth. “That is why I’m here, yes” Dennis answers honestly, pressing his elbows into each thigh muscle as he leans forward, cooperating with the young man’s reservations as best he can. “I understand that you don’t want to be involved with Sophie anymore than you already have. Believe me, I get it and I see your side whole-heartedly” Dennis clarifies, playing the advocate for a young man who feels increasingly like he’s the only one that can speak to what he’s experienced, “but- for better or for worse- there are few people still around that can speak of that girl from experience, and there are even fewer people willing to do so.” Bowing his head, Caden lets the man’s words sink in as the tip of his right foot taps against the patio’s concrete foundation, his lips pressing together whilst the voice across from him continues speaking. “I’m not telling you to go out in public and decry that your old friend is a murderer, I’m just asking you to give me a little bit to work with” Dennis vows, watching the young man’s eyes take to him from the sliver of his eyelids. “I know the court of public opinion will take some swaying to be convinced that America’s sweetheart wears an evil layer of snake skin, but that’s not your battle to fight” the man continues, his head swaying from one side to another as he holds his hand toward Caden, his thumb and index fingers parted just slightly, “all I need is this much.” Looking to the man in silence for a few moments as he allows the request to simmer in his mind, Caden’s chin finally begins to lift, his face looking directly to that of the man’s ahead. “What would ‘this much’ be?” the young man wonders aloud, his response all that Dennis needs to convince himself that the breakthrough he’s looking for is right around the corner. “Anything that can tell me I’m on the right track” the investigator replies, his forward lean increasing just a short amount as the back of Caden’s head presses against the stone pillar, which acts as a headrest to him. As his nostrils flare, the arm-crossed young man turns his view to the Carrion residence, his eyes setting upon the dark room he knows belongs to Sophie, mustering the confidence to break his vow not to speak his once-friend’s fate into existence. Eyeing the ground, Caden lets his thoughts roam, recalling the years of adolescence he’d spent with the same girl he now seemingly holds the near-immediate fate of, though quickly finding himself incapable of imagining Sophie without also picturing Izzy, someone he’s ashamed to admit to himself he’s forever paired with the figure of his greatest disdain. As the mental picture dances from Sophie to Izzy, back to the former and onto the latter, the cycle repeating to a nauseating degree, Caden’s lip begins to curl, his contempt for the now-red haired killer sparking an impassioned urge to see it that she faces the consequences for all that she’s done. His voice quiet, but just loud enough for the investigator to hear, the young man answers Dennis’ call for a signal- a sign that salvation lies ahead of the same track he’s chosen to follow. “She went willingly” Caden mutters, still looking ahead to the empty bedroom on the second level of the next door home before turning back to the private eye. “Her mother took her just like she said in the video- but everything after that was bullshit” he continues, watching Dennis correct his posture, sitting further upright whilst staying silent, not wanting to impede on what is a revelation to him, and a weight lifted off his chest to the young man wronged multiple times over. “She agreed to stay with her mom because she was tired of thinking about the future. She hated all the tests and the college talk, and figured she wouldn’t get it if she wasn’t around” Caden continues, gradually removing each metaphorical cinder block that had been placed on his chest cavity whilst Dennis remains over-the-moon simply occupying the place of a listening ear. “When everything went down, it wasn’t because she got thrown back into the bunker. She was only ever in it that first night” Caden concludes, “a neighbour came over and saw her for a second. She figured he recognised her and decided that she needed to end the lie.” His mouth just slightly open, Dennis processes what’s been said before attempting to raise the now-obvious question, only for Caden to interject with his recollection’s conclusion. “She turned off the jammer and knew Izzy would get the text. When the cops came, she killed her mom so she wouldn’t spill the beans” the young man finishes, shaking his head as he steps across the patio, taking the unoccupied half of the bench for himself, “the cops came, the story got out, now we’re here.” In complete shock at just how much of a response he’d not expected to receive, Dennis struggles to present the next question out loud, his mind still attempting to comprehend the bombshell dropped on his investigation. “How- do- how do-” the man tries speaking, stumbling over his words more than a dancer lightly swaying over a clutter-covered floor, “-how do you know- all of that?” His blank stare directed toward the dark room in the next house over, Caden answers as honestly as he had the first time around. “Because I broke in” he confesses, the lack of regard for keeping the secret any longer than he already had prompting his voice to carry a tone of indifference, “Izzy and I- we broke in on Halloween night. She said she didn’t get signal out there and wanted to know if it was just being in the middle of nowhere that did it.” “And you- you saw her?” Dennis queries, taking surprise when Caden shakes his head, denying such a claim. “No- that’s when I saw the T.V” the young man replies, drawing the lines that, without context, he’d left out of place up until that point, “you can even hear it in the doc. My tone changes when she said she didn’t have a way to know what day it was. She even slips up in it later, too- the T.V was right there. And her mom didn’t have cameras, ‘cause we would’ve been caught fast.” Pulling his head back, Dennis processes what Caden’s claimed before striking another question as if it were a match, his intentions set on lighting the case’s fire with it. “How do you know all of this?” the man inquires, looking ahead at the same room at the home next door that he knows his younger confidant has his eyes on. “She told me” Caden replies, immediately prompting Dennis’ head to swivel back toward him, “after we finished filming, I drove Sophie to the first quiet place I could find. I told her I knew she was lying and-” Caden proceeds, his lips forming an honest frown as he shrugs his head, “-she left nothing to the imagination.” Stricken with disbelief, Dennis nods to himself as he fills the gaps to the puzzle he’d become well-versed enough to know from memory, shocked at how satisfied he is with the way the pieces fit. Almost forgetting to offer his appreciation on his way to the door, the man quickly leaves his seat and prepares to re-enter the home on his way to the car, only for a final, sudden inquiry to enter his mind, one that allures him enough to turn back and ask. “Why not say anything sooner?” Dennis queries, putting his search of legal answers aside as the ability to empathise proves not to be lost on him, “why hold onto all of that until now?” With a subdued headshake, Caden stays silent for a moment as his head drifts toward his right shoulder, eyes still glued on the dark room just a single, chain link fence away. “Because I told her I wouldn’t” the young man admits, a deep guilt beginning to come over him at rapid speed, though he keeps himself contained long enough to answer the question, “and I think- no, I know- I know Izzy didn’t have to die.” As a deep breath slides through his teeth, Caden grimaces as Dennis watches on, feeling a second-hand sorrow in the deep-ridden pain the young man expresses. “I know Sophie had something to do with it, and if I’d not kept my mouth shut, Izzy would still be alive.” the young man seethes, wearing his contrition as an emblem of shame he holds himself to retaining as a consequence for his inaction. “Staying quiet already put one body in the grave” Caden finishes, slowly breaking his sight from the home next door to look Dennis in the eyes through the dark circles that surround his own, “I don’t need anybody else’s death on my conscience.” Though his spine runs chills, the investigator’s true horror comes from the youth behind the confession, one that he can’t honestly refuse, but one he wishes never had to exist. Better left unanswered, Dennis leaves the conversation open-ended, stepping through the door and setting his sights on returning home as Caden is left with his thoughts, their constant presence able to be perceived as anything less than a plague he finds himself deserving to be caught in. With not a set of ears to hear his voice, Caden lets it fall silent as it had for the majority of the past week whilst his eyes drift back to the empty room ahead, nowhere left to linger but on the past, which he can’t help but convince himself is not as far behind him as he’d prefer. == Generation Alpha == > 10th May, 2031 <
Creaking as it’s slowly pulled open, the old wood of the guest bedroom’s door groans through the hallway as Elaine pokes her head through its small opening, peering into the empty corridor like a child hearing footsteps on Christmas morning. Patiently waiting for a few seconds, the woman steps beyond the doorway once she believes the coast to be clear, gently stepping toward the stairs with her shoes in hand, not wanting to disturb the peace on her way out. So quiet that even her breathing is barely audible in a passageway shrouded in equal silence, the woman’s eyes set upon the front door as she descends the first step of many. Her palm gently gliding down the bannister, Elaine carefully places one foot in front of the other as her perspective falls lower, allowing her to spot the van she’d arrived in through the front door’s window. With a passing glance toward the living room to the side, her head drifts back to the direction of the home’s exit before her eyes quickly trail off for a second look as her descent pauses. Her initial intent to leave without a peep falling aside, Elaine’s expression takes on a disheartened look as her eyes focus on the couch, its soft cushions occupied by one man with a cup of coffee in his hand, held against his chest as his blank stare resides upon the distant set of windows. “You said it wouldn’t be long until you went to bed” Elaine recalls, stealing Andrew’s attention from the opposite wall. “I- I tried” the exhausted, yet untired man replies, his face pelted by the steam of his coffee as his guest ceases her efforts of silence, stepping down the remaining stairs to join her friend on the couch, “-but Sophie. Before I knew it, you’d been in bed for two hours while I’d just been sitting here with my head all jumbled.” Though her attire from the prior day remains, a silky robe hangs off Elaine’s shoulders as she lowers herself onto the couch, sitting as close to her friend as possible without making it feel awkward. Opting to keep herself quiet, the woman’s chosen silence leaves Andrew retaining the floor. As opposed to filling the air with the same remarks he’d spent the prior night speaking, the man follows his guest’s lead and keeps himself subdued, enjoying her presence as much as she enjoys his. Pressing her lips together, Elaine stares ahead at what her friend had been looking at, finding exactly what she’d been anticipating, just an empty window with a view equally as uninteresting as she’d conceived. The mood as low as their early-morning energy is in the same breath, her mind feels itself surrendering to the connection established between herself and the preoccupied man beside her, affording the courage for her to inch closer and gently take ownership over Andrew’s mug. “Sophie snuck out sometime last night” the man proclaims, prompting his friendly acquaintance to pause her attempt at taking a sip of the hot brew by resting the rim against her bottom lip. “I went up to check on her around three and found her room empty and window open” Andrew confesses, slowly sinking into the soft cushion he sits against as the back of his head rests into the seat whilst he speaks, “I figured it was for the best. I didn’t know what to say or, well- I didn’t know what to say.” With a frown, Elaine swallows her brief drink as her head hangs toward the ground, eyes narrowing as she looks to be an aid to the man’s strife. “You tell her that you're her father and that you love her” she answers after a few, brief seconds of consideration, “-that no matter what, you’ll always love her and that will never change.” Wrought with a loss for understanding, Andrew’s face turns to look into his increasingly-comfortable companion’s eyes, “is that what you would say?” Her bottom lip pulling up as her top lip remains arched in a frown, Elaine shrugs her shoulders as her head sways from one side to the other, hair falling and pulling back over her shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d say-” the woman admits, presenting a half-smile to lighten the rather bleak exchange of words, “-but I’d hope it’s something like that.” Letting a breath leave his lungs, Andrew nods his head as his eyes take back toward the window at the end of the room, his limp arms leaving his lap to retake the mug Elaine returns to him. Though the air becomes quiet and still once more, the uneasy sensation of tension lingers throughout their small pocket of the living room, like the gargantuan beast of an unspoken concern rests upon the tip of their respective tongues. “Do you want to talk about it?” Elaine queries, watching the man’s eyelids subtly narrow as his mind wraps around the conversation ahead, the corners of his lips pushing outward as he joins the discourse. “He was just trying to grieve” Andrew finally responds, already knowing where the path of discussion leads, “he was angry at everyone and wanted someone to blame. I can’t say I haven’t felt the same thing.” Pulling her eyes away from the man, Elaine’s distanced perspective is felt as if latched onto by a sixth sense, one that drives Andrew’s face to the left. “What did I say?” he wonders aloud, immediately picking up on her resilience and assuming it was of his own doing. “It’s not what you said, it’s just-” Elaine begins to reply, quickly trying to correct the man before momentarily hushing, giving careful consideration to what she says next, “-to accuse her of-?” Pressing his eyelids together whilst emphatically shaking his head in refusal, Andrew cuts the woman off before her remark can be finished, almost laughing through the misplaced smile he reacts with. “He wasn’t accusing her, he was lashing out at whoever was in eye-view” Andrew remedies, his defiant head shake slowly coming to a stop, “I don’t know what she did, but whatever it was cratered their friendship. I’m sure seeing her in the window in that moment of weakness just sent him over the edge.” Physically waving off the notion, Andrew settles back into her seat as his hands calm, looking to the woman beside him who appears no more convinced than she had been before he’d begun talking. “What?” the man asks, his denying smile falling from the stage to the sanctuary of the curtains his lips act as, uncertain of the cause of her reaction. Her steady breathing stopping as she holds her breath, Elaine turns herself slightly to one side before sitting atop her right leg, her body positioned to face Andrew completely. “That wasn’t lashing out” the woman replies confidently, an apologetic look carried behind her eyes as her assessment of Caden’s remarks remains unwavered. With a shrug, Andrew considers the possibilities it could have been before his mind settles on one, interacting with it as if the suggestion were too outlandish to speak of without inconceivable doubt. “What else would it have been? He’s a kid who just found out his girlfriend died” the man responds, shaking his head before following up on his statement, “it’s not like he was accusing her of-” Whilst his eyes sit widened, his mouth freezes mid-speech, lips parted as his tongue presses against the roof of his mouth, prepared to begin uttering the letter ‘k’. “I’m not saying he would be of sound mind, but that’d just be a low blow” Andrew quickly begins concluding, brushing past his prior statement as if it’d never been said, as if the long pause he’d undertaken had never existed, “Caden knows better than that. He wouldn’t take a road that low.” Squinting for a few seconds, Elaine pulls her head back as she remains quiet, the lack of a reply something than a seemingly-rattled father takes interest in. “Are you saying he thinks she did something?” Andrew wonders, his curious expression slowly making way for a more worried visage, the look of obvious fright held within the small confines of his eyelids, “-do you think she did something?” Looking away as a gust of air leaves her lungs, Elaine shakes her head as she conjures the best reply she can manage. “I don’t know, Andrew” the woman musters, trying to force a smile despite hiding a gentle pain, one caused by the visible distress she can see behind the man’s best-available facade, “I was just piecing together what he was saying and how he was saying it. It felt more genuine than someone just reaching for straws to make someone hurt the same way as them.” Frightening eyes going away, Andrew’s tired facial muscles return to guide his eyes back to the exhausted state he’d been found in, his head nodding at the response. “Yeah, okay” he murmurs, flashing the woman a smile with the corner of his mouth as a knot binds within his core, his speech lacking a conviction it normally carries, “-no, I get it. It was harsh.” = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 11th May, 2031 < Sitting on the side of a quiet, out-of-the-way road, a vehicle sits beneath the hot sun of a midsummer day, its engine running as its occupant sits idle behind the wheel. In silence, Caden leans into his seat as the sun covers his face, shining a light on the dark circles that surround his eyes, the bloodshot whites behind his eyelids staring at the puffy clouds just beneath the light blue sky, only pulling away at the sound of a ringing tone through his car’s speakers. “Yeah?” Caden groans, wiping his nose whilst pulling his hand away from the minimalist screen just ahead of his centre console, slinking back into his seat as the woman on the other end responds. “Caden? Honey, where are you?” Rebecca curiously inquires, lacking any facade to keep her obvious worries hidden from recognition. “Not home” the woman’s son replies, paying little mind to the state of his mother’s voice now that greater troubles have fallen upon him. “Caden, your father and I don’t want you out of the house right now” Rebecca responds after a few moments, though with no hope of breaking through his lackadaisical demeanour. Rather than replying, Caden remains silent, letting the dead air fill the call as his mother remains waiting, forced to call his name out to ensure the call had not failed. “Are you just trying to get me to come home?” Caden answers, skipping the meaningless back-and-forth in favour of skipping to the question at hand. Though subdued, Rebecca’s sigh makes its way to her son’s ear, no words necessary to add for his answer to be delivered. “I’ll come home when I’m ready to come home” Caden defiantly concludes, pressing his knuckle against the bright, red button on the slim screen ahead, ending the call before his mother can have the opportunity to respond, returning the car’s leather interior to its silent, lonely state of existence. Glancing away, the distraught, emotionally-lost teenager looks to the open field just to his side before momentarily passing a glance to the centre console once more. In white letters, scrawled atop a crisp, black background, the endless contacts stored within Caden’s phone emerge, triggered by the phone call’s end moments prior. Near the top of the alphabetical list, a single line of information stands out, no associated number, address or other form of contact sitting beside the entered name unlike the ones that reside both above and below it, the short and simplistic nature it resides with letting it stand out from its contemporaries. ‘Avoid him’ the brief contact reads. Flaring his nostrils, Caden pulls away from the comfortable seat and presses the concise tab and lets an even larger black screen pop up, the two words now the only thing on the screen. With a scowl on his face, the fixated young man pulls himself away from the allure of the well-known and purposefully-vague listing and steps out of the car, immediately hit by a wave of heat that he brushes off as he rounds the hood. Parked a few metres away from the bumper of an expensive car, Caden crosses the metaphorical line between both vehicles and steps onto the open plot of land, its grass burned yellow by the hot, Missouri sun. Just through the nearby treeline sits a decrepit home, its windows shattered and wooden exterior openly rotting from the apparent years of disregard, sun-bleached and pale, dead in every way. The momentary redirection of his eyes ceasing, Caden’s view steals itself from the mostly-hidden home as it leads to the figure just ahead, hands tucked into their pockets as they stand alone, exposed to the same harsh sun with nothing of use around, the same sea of dead lawn in every direction. Whilst the muscles in his face tighten, Caden’s eyes remain locked on the patient soul ahead, seething the closer he gets as the figure appears larger with each forward step. As the ground crunches beneath his weight, the young man’s presence catches the ear of the person ahead, their body spinning around to look in his direction, not responding at first as the distance between them shortens. “Make it quick” Caden warns, letting his arms hang by each side, not wanting to render himself defenceless in the vicinity of the company he joins. “I didn’t think you’d show” Sophie replies, her long, red hair tied back into a ponytail as she slides her hands out from the pockets of her denim jean shorts, letting them mirror her once-friend’s own, only this time with her palms presented. “Yeah, I’m just as surprised as you are” Caden quickly responds with a stern voice, his shoulders shrugging as his celerity takes centre stage, “but I’m here now, so get on with it.” Knowing him not to be in the mood for conversation- at the very least, conversation with her- Sophie’s approachable visage deepens, trying to display the least intimidating expression she can wield in her favour. “Are you doing alright?” the teen queries, holding back a slight embarrassment at being incapable of conjuring a better question than the one raised, only having to look into her greatly-troubled neighbour’s dark eyes to receive her answer. His physical stature unmoved for a few, short moments, Caden’s head pulls back as his eyebrows lift, “that’s your question?” he replies, the surprise capturing him like a hand around an apple, its initial onset soon falling with as much energy as it would take to crush that same fruit. “I’m here, I look like I’ve been hit by a bus, and that-” he promptly pauses, stopping himself to take a breath as his eyelids shut, calming his words to as close to a lull as manageable, “-that’s your question?” Staring at him with a stoic face, Sophie remains silent, her lips not moving a mere centimetre to suggest her willingness to even provide an answer. As fast as the attempted quelling to his tone had been taken into his voice, Caden’s collapse into outright rage happens with twice the fury. “That’s your fucking question!?” the distraught survivor of a world turned upside down screams, his face shaking as the veins in his forehead become visible, darkened eyes widening instantly. “What else am I supposed to say!?” Sophie challenges the response, quick to admit her inability to predict the events still yet to unfold, though a provocation of Caden’s own soon takes the conversation within its grip. “How about what you should have opened with!?” the enraged, world-altered, tortured soul retorts, looking the woman in the eyes despite the great pain it brings to his core. “And what’s that supposed to be!?” the source of his great strife inquires, waiting only a second before met with her answer. “That you killed my girlfriend! what the fuck else would it be?” Caden shouts, the barren, abandoned landscape allowing his voice to reach levels he’d usually be looked down upon for reaching, and to utter declarations his life could be endangered by as a consequence for making. Her lips parted, Sophie’s face takes on a portrayal of disbelief and shock, though the feigned offence does absolutely nothing to dissuade her psyche-mangled acquaintance. “Don’t give me that fucking look you bitch” Caden growls, shaking his head as his voice returns to a semi-reasonable pitch, his intense disdain presented in every syllable uttered, “you’re lucky I didn’t show up here just to put a knife to your throat myself. Just give me a fucking answer.” As the seconds pass with her mouth still open, Sophie’s lower jaw returns to the company of her upper lip, mouth closing as she lets the question sit there, undisturbed by neither a refusal nor confirmation. “Don’t stand there like you’re taking the high road. Fucking hell, don’t even tell me you did it at all, I don’t care-” Caden relents, taking a step forward as his spirits lower, the slight tilt his head takes on showing his heartbreak through confrontational eyes, “-just tell me why.” Though he chooses this moment to wear his heart on his sleeve, Caden’s glare into Sophie’s eyes shows him the refusal of his childhood friend-turned-despised individual. “I didn’t kill Izzy” the young woman answers, immediately earning a grimace from the young man across from her, pulling away as he turns back, disgustedly shaking his head as he slowly walks away from the girl. “Unbelievable” Caden groans beneath his breath, his retreat stopping as he tilts his head toward the sky, his back still turned to the criminal behind him, her feet remaining in the place she’d been occupying prior to his arrival. Kissed by the sun, Caden’s head continues to shake as the air goes quiet, a near-silent wave of wind passing through the area as his mind tries to drown out the many thoughts that sit within it. Left deservedly uncomfortable, Sophie remains silent, looking to the back of her greatest victim with no clue of how he’ll respond, the constant uncertainty forcing her hands to ball into fists. Letting out a sigh, Caden’s eyes stare into the light blue sky, not a cloud overhead to be found as he speaks clearly, his voice no louder than that considered an ‘indoor voice’. “This world can be really-fucking-funny sometimes” he speaks aloud, remaining quiet for a few seconds before finally spinning around, reclaiming his calm voice as he does so. “How is it that I- someone that never looked at anyone the wrong way- can get all of this shit thrown at him?” he wonders aloud, looking Sophie in the eyes with a renewed sense of vitriol, “and you- someone evil enough to do what you’ve done- get to be America’s sweetheart?” Whilst her teeth sink into her bottom lip as her eyes fall, Sophie’s pupils are guided back toward Caden as he continues to let questions surround the open space between them. “Even after all of that- why do you get all the money, all the fame, all the love, and all the ‘oh, I’m so sorry that happened to you’- and I can’t even get one-fucking-answer?” For a few moments, Caden looks the girl in the eyes as his mind slowly makes itself at ease with the silence that proceeds, accepting that even asking as to the reasoning for a lack of answers will not itself produce one. With puckered lips, the young man turns around without another word and begins walking back to his car, a few metres passing before Sophie’s voice breaks through the noise-absent air. “Something’s wrong with me” the girl replies, watching the legal accomplice to her crimes stop and spin around, a single tear slowly making its way out of her eye. Refusing to hold any bit- even the smallest amount- of remorse for the source of his personal devastation, Caden waits for her speech to resume, a cold visage worn on his face. “I don’t feel anything sometimes. I don’t- I-” the bright-haired girl stutters, pained to speak, though forcing herself to do so, “-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” His unapologetic lack of sympathy clear and visible, Caden turns the rest of the way to look Sophie head-on, waiting for her to finish before speaking up. “I wasn’t like this before” Sophie pleads, unable to offer Caden the answers he’s looking for not out of choice, but out of circumstance, equally as lost for reason as he is. “It’s like I’ve got some dark cloud over me and I don’t know how to get rid of it” she persists, looking to the ground as she desperately reaches for any way to make sense of the scrambled puzzle her mind’s been left in the state of, “I keep thinking I know how to get rid of it, but everything just gets worse, and-” Running out of words, Sophie’s cluttered mind tightens as if endlessly tied up in rope, its length reaching the point where pulling it any further only tightens its binds. “It just keeps getting worse every day” she finally concludes, looking back to Caden’s unchanged expression, not looking for sympathy, but rather for him to understand what she fails to, “I don’t really know how to live anymore. Everything I do is just focused on getting rid of it, and I don’t know how.” The metaphorical shoe now switching onto the other set of feet, Sophie finds herself the one in the conversation left waiting for a response, the tension built through the lack of an immediate response only worsening the knot tied in her stomach. As nearly a minute passes without a reaction, Caden finally begins to step forward, returning to the place in the field he’d begun his participation from. Without apologies or remorse, Caden’s blank expression only strengthens the effect of his dispassionate, almost-detached reply, the words he speaks coming with no emotion, nor glee or dolefulness. “Then you should die” he finally responds with the most callous attitude, affirmed in his demeanour as he gives into Sophie’s desire to uncover a solution. “Say it directly or don’t, I don’t think I can care less. Your lies don’t convince me at all- I know you killed Izzy” Caden confesses, his voice still empty and ostensible via way of circumstance, “that doesn’t get rid of your cloud, it just makes a new one. One new cloud for every life snuffed out that should have been yours.” Her hope in getting past this emotional scar in her life barely even intact up to this day, the final shred of Sophie’s reason to believe in a way out dies like a candle in the wind with Caden’s declaration. “Eventually, it’ll be me. Or maybe it’ll be someone else” the emotionally-wounded, permanently-scarred young man remarks, never once falling back from the position he’d assumed, “-it could be your dad, your sister, that lady that brings her to school. It doesn’t matter, the point is- it’ll be someone else that gets hurt.” Her mouth closed and eyes kept wide open, Sophie looks into Caden’s broken line of sight as his head turns to the ground, shaking as he begins to step back. “The point is, the only way to get rid of those clouds is to get rid of you” the young man responds, presenting his back to her as he resumes his departure, this time without any intention of turning back, finishing his thought as he makes for the car, “go jump off a bridge somewhere before anyone else has to die.” Her chin slowly lowering as another bout of wind flows through the air, Sophie lets the next minute pass as the isolation takes hold of her. The final thing to interact with her, the engine in Caden’s car roars before its tires spin with purpose, carrying the vehicle and its occupant as far away from her and the field as it can manage as quickly as possible. Finally wrapping her mind around the suggestion made, Sophie’s eyes retake toward the departing vehicle, watching it appear smaller as it travels away, leaving her behind just as it had months prior, an irony that does not go unnoticed by the secret-holding young woman. | > 11th May, 2031 < Blending in with the few pedestrians he journeys the sidewalk alongside, Dennis peers through the cover of his cheap, plastic sunglasses at the yellow tape a short walk down the nearest street he passes, the large presence of police in the area practically acting as a beacon to him. Adjusting the position of his head, the investigator’s eyes look toward the signage of storefronts he passes and to the corners of buildings overlooking various alleyways, setting out in search of leverage. Turning a few corners, Dennis’ casual stroll finally takes him toward the most accessible portion of the crime scene, an open road cut off by long lines of patrol cars and that familiar yellow tape. “Sir, I need you to steer clear of this area” an officer closeby proclaims, watching the presumed innocent civilian raise his hands in a show of good faith. “I’m just looking around for a shop my son told me about” Dennis remarks, taking a quick look around the area as the officer approaches. “Would you happen to know where-?” the curious man begins to inquire, feigning a need for direction before capturing the sight of a small, black bulb just over the front door to a corner store, “-nevermind. I’ve found it, thanks.” Innocently stepping away from the crime scene’s vicinity, Dennis steps to the small mart and pulls the door open with purpose, not owning the smallest amount of conviction as he approaches the front counter. Not speaking, the Mexican man operating the counter watches Dennis reach into his pocket to retrieve a chequebook, slapping it on the advertisement-covered bench in the same breath as he takes a pen to it. “Do me a favour and I’ll do you one, mister store-owner” the older man remarks, writing a ten-figured number in the amount box before tearing the small slip from its binds, presenting its face to the confused man, who waits for the catch. “You don’t know my name, you’ve never interacted with me, and you’ve never seen me before” Dennis proclaims, laying out the ground rules to this very obvious deal, “you get me in contact with the company storing your security logs and I’ll leave you with this cheque right now and never look back, got it?” Looking at the amount line, the clerk begins to read the written statement aloud before coming to an audible pause. “Twenty thousand dol-” the man murmurs beneath his breath, pulling his eyes away from the cheque before looking Dennis in the eyes, only taking a moment before reaching for the nearest sheet of paper. With a few motions of his hand, the clerk scrawls a number, address and email on the slip before handing it to the stranger across from him. With a phone in his hand, Dennis quickly inputs the number written before waiting a few additional seconds to punch in the extension number. “Hello?” the man on the other end of the line responds, waiting for an answer as the investigator holds the phone’s speaker back toward the store owner. “Brian, it’s Eberardo” the clerk responds, “whatever the man asks for, give it to him please.” Reclaiming control of the phone, the investigator removes the cheque from his possession, leaving it on the counter as he makes for the door, pushing it open with his hand as he begins to make his request on the way out. “I’m gonna need you to help me procure something, can you do that?” Dennis asks the man on the other line, returning to society by making the trip back the way he came, satisfied with what he’d come away with. == Generation Alpha == > 9th May, 2031 <
“You’re not answering my question” Andrew interjects, cutting off the voice that emanates through his watch as he stands at the window near the front of his home, “where did you get it?” Occupying the other end of the line, Dennis sighs as he rubs his forehead, rolling out of bed before replying. “I’ve already given you an overview of my background” the older man recalls, wiping his palm against his soft, grey shirt as he marches toward the bathroom, “I called in a few favours.” “This isn’t just a few security cams and some yellow tape, don’t tell me you ‘called in some favours’!” Andrew quickly refutes, returning to the open laptop on his kitchen counter, “hell, you’ve got stuff from the doc in here! How the fuck did you do that!?” Pulling his trousers down, Dennis holds the watch close to his mouth, speaking as he empties his bladder in his bedroom’s coldly-lit, adjacent bathroom. “You’re not focusing on the important part here- nevermind how I got some footage” the investigator remarks, tilting his chin toward the sky as he stands over the toilet, “your girl’s story doesn’t add up. The police can spin whatever web they want, but it doesn’t change the truth.” Defensive, Andrew stares at the open screen, his face flooded with its blue light as he locks eyes with his daughter’s past, her back pressing against the seat in her interrogation room. “She went through hell for eight months, I wouldn’t expect her to recite every little detail” Andrew replies, stepping away from the screen once more, turning away as he paces throughout his home. “Saying the woman never had a T.V when she very clearly did is a pretty big slip up, Mr. Carrion” Dennis replies, doing a little shake with his body before flushing, “add that she had no signs of a defensive struggle and the examiner didn’t believe her ‘trauma’ was genuine- it makes you think.” Shaking his head, Andrew returns to the window he’d just walked away from, watching a car slowly drive past his home, coming to a stop just outside of the Nurse’s home next door. “What exactly does it make you think, detective?” the father asks aloud, his question catching its intended recipients ear the moment it’s raised, bringing a smile to the investigator’s face. “You’re clearly trying to get me to see something that isn’t there” Andrew doubles down, listening to a creaking sound respond from the other end of the line. “It is there, Mr. Carrion- you just don’t want to see it” Dennis replies, settling into his old, wooden chair as he switches on the nearest light, bathing an already dark office with a splash of life, “her story has holes, her version of events don’t make sense, and she didn’t seem like someone that’d been held captive for eight months.” “People have different ways of coping. You don’t know what she was or wasn’t suffering through and how she was dealing with it” Andrew retorts, watching his neighbour’s only child emerge from the vehicle’s driver seat outside. “No, no- you’re right” Dennis confesses, taking a handheld phone off the nearby hook before holding it to his ear, his watch’s speaker going silent, “but this isn’t coping. This is a doctor- with a degree- saying your girl was not a shut-away for months on end.” Retrieving a bag, Caden closes his trunk and turns for home, taking a look in the direction of the nearby house to see a familiar face staring back at him through the window. Holding no emotion, the young man acknowledges Andrew’s oversight and nods, leaving their interaction at just that as he resumes his return home. “Alright, fine. Let’s pretend that everything my daughter said was a lie. What change does that make?” Andrew proposes, allowing himself to play along with the private eye’s theory in search of the point. “Well, if she were lying about anything that I just mentioned, there’d have to be a reason for it” Dennis responds, more than pleased to have opened the man’s mind as far as he has, “either she’s a compulsive liar, or trying to hide something. Either way, there’s something she’s not saying.” Hanging his head, Andrew again moves away from the window, a free hand pressing against the sides of his face. “If she’s the first one, I’d be interested in hearing what she was hiding and then look into getting her some professional help” Dennis explains, his clear and precise tone making room for a slight amount of sympathy, “if it’s the latter, then I wouldn’t just want to know what she was hiding, and more specifically- why she’s hiding it.” “And what if she is hiding something?” Andrew quickly asks, listening to a momentary silence take over the other end of the phone call, the slow creak of the investigator’s chair rumbling through the line as the older man leans back. “If she’s hiding something, the reasons for it could be endless” Dennis admits, leaning back in his rickety chair as he watches the slightest shade of blue enter the sky, breaking dawn, “but nonetheless, everything would be called into question.” “Everything?” Andrew immediately repeats, his spirits lowering as a slight fear enters his core, raising the hairs on his arms as a second vehicle rolls to a stop outside, this time into his drive, “what does ‘everything’ mean here?” Lowering his eyes, Dennis conceals an obvious disappointment, his eagerness to uncover the truth not leaving him incapable of holding sympathy for those his subjects pull in the way like cannon-fodder. “Anything” Dennis soon answers, his gravelly tone reclaimed as his voice drops to a low enough pitch for the unsteadiness to present itself, “self-defence ruling included.” With the swing of a door, the investigator listens to the other end of the call, a familiar voice interrupting the discussion that had awoken him. “What’re you doing?” a third-party asks, the question coming just before the line goes dead, prompting the P.I to return his phone to the receiver. “I could ask you the same question” Andrew replies, standing halfway between his kitchen and dining room as Sophie shuts the front door, her father’s presence surprising her. Amidst silence, the family’s patriarch takes a quick look at his awestruck daughter, her hand stained at the palm whilst the rest of her body stands in his front foyer, soaked just as her clothes are as if she’d just been pulled out of the ocean. “Why are you soaking wet?” Andrew inquires, watching his daughter’s lips make a few different shapes, adjusting to the response she conjures in that moment. “I went to the lake to clear my head” Sophie replies, her red hair having naturally begun to fade into a brighter shade of orange as the months have gone on, “decided to take a dip and didn’t feel like going naked.” With a nod, her father looks her up and down once more, his expression trying to shape itself into one of disappointment rather than worry. “It’s-” Andrew begins to speak, pausing momentarily to check his watch, its bright display splashing his features with unnatural shine, “-four o’clock in the morning. Why are you home so late?” Pushing back the knot in her stomach, Sophie presses her lips into a smile, trying to dissuade any further questioning as best she can. “It took a while to get my head straight” the young woman replies, concealing the small, barely noticeable patch of red still stained upon her palm by hiding her hands in each pocket, “can I go to bed now?” Unsure of what to think or say, Andrew gives his eldest daughter a second nod before watching her walk off, the moment of her disappearance allowing him to hurry back to the kitchen and close his laptop. With a short thud, the computer’s screen closes, granting its owner the chance to hang his head and gather his thoughts, a distinct anxiety running through him as Sophie’s footsteps trail from the staircase to her room just one level above. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 9th May, 2031 < His left arm propped behind his head whilst his right sits against his chest, Caden listens to the buzzing that comes off his wrist as he lays in bed, looking toward the ceiling as he waits for a reply. “Hey, it’s Izzy. Just text me” the device chirps, allowing a few seconds to pass before presenting its owner with a brief beep. “I’m trying to text you, but you’re not responding” Caden proclaims, speaking through sighs as his right foot taps on the left foot it sits upon, “call me back, or text me. Hell, just- respond, please?” Shaking his wrist, the young man ends the phone call before looking to his wrist, the point of mid-noon having already passed long ago as the clock nears closer to two in the afternoon. Rolling his head to crack his stiffened neck, Caden climbs off his bed and makes off for the rest of his home, his stomach’s growling proving too much to ignore. From the room, through the hallway and down the stairs, the only son of his currently-absent parents travels to the kitchen, an entire home lined with family pictures and decorative pieces left for him to occupy alone. Stepping into the sunlight of an afternoon day that splashes through the window over his counter, Caden twists the knob to his faucett and sets his attention on the pantry, letting the water run as he reaches into the cupboard. “Call Izzy” he murmurs again, taking a box of pasta into his possession as his watch begins to buzz. “Do I make a full box or should I just hope she’s stuck in traffic- in a tunnel- for two or three hours or so?” the young man asks himself, trying to fend off his increasing disgruntlement with playful humour. Shrugging, Caden turns back toward the counter with his dry food in tow, just barely missing the top of a black hat that ducks beneath his window, the only thing for the young man to find being the steam that lifts off the increasingly hot water. Placing his unprepared lunch atop the counter, Caden lowers himself toward the cabinets closest to his feet, incapable of catching the figure that strolls out from his backyard, turning the corner to approach the front lawn. Removing a metal pot and strainer from beneath the counter, the increasingly impatient high school junior listens to his call reach the line it had intended, a similar greeting to one he’d already heard plenty of meeting him once more. “Hey, it’s Izzy. Just text me” the voicemail greets, pausing for a moment before again opening the floor for the girl’s disgruntled boyfriend to speak. “I don’t know where you are or what kind of traffic you’ve got yourself in, but it’s two hours past noon and I’m hungry” Caden speaks, setting the pot beneath the running water and turning the dial on his stovetop, “I’m putting a pot of bowties on right now, so if you get here in the next twenty minutes- be ready to wait.” Shaking his arm, Caden ends the call, patiently waiting for the metal container to fill, the water’s surface rising at an incredibly slow rate. Blowing a gust of air into the sky, Caden presses his hands against the sink’s ledge before hearing a tap against his front door, a single knock just loud enough to capture the young man’s attention. Confused, Caden turns off the spout and carefully carries the large pot onto his closest burner, splitting off from his current objective to tend for the door. Without a sound or an interest in calling out for the noise’s cause, the home’s youngest resident approaches the entrance with his hand extended, reaching for the knob as the muffled sound of an engine firing up emanates from the road below. As if he were greeting the postman, Caden steps onto his front porch just as a black town car pulls out of its spot along the curb and fires down the street, vacating the area as swiftly as it had seemingly driven in. Confused, the home’s only currently-residing resident looks around his front lawn before setting his sights on the door, where a small white card waits for him to take it, dawning an unfamiliar name in light blue letters at its centre. | > 9th May, 2031 < Running off for her room, Olivia leaves her caretaker and father to each other’s company, abandoning the living room in favour of the colourful, lively room she ends each night in. “I don’t know if I’m getting older or if she’s getting younger-” Elaine remarks, looking to her increasingly-close friend with a smile through her familiarly ruby red lips, “-but it seems like she just keeps getting faster by the minute!” With a chuckle, Andrew leads the woman back toward the setting their warm greetings usually occupy, his hand pulling out the nearest stool to the kitchen’s island. “Sometimes it feels like they only get faster by draining that much more energy out of us” the man remarks, waiting for Elaine to be seated before making his way to the counter, “at this rate, I should probably start working overtime. I’m gonna need the money for that knee replacement I’ll need in- oh, let’s say two years?” “That’s- haha- that’s a generous timeframe” the welcoming and endearing woman jokingly replies, her eyes following the man as he rounds the room’s central obstruction, “I was thinking more along the lines of a year and a half?” Feigning an offended visage, Andrew opens the fridge as his face twists toward his visitor, “I played football for a few years- I think I can ‘play hurt’ for a couple extra months!” he quips back, letting the comical line of discussion come to a natural conclusion. “You’re not going out to dinner tonight, right?” Andrew looks back to ask aloud, “no dinner date or thawed plate of salmon to run home to?” With a brief laugh, Elaine shakes her head before speaking the same refusal. “I do have a casserole I’d like to get done by the end of next week, but I don’t think I’m in a hurry” the woman replies, watching the pleased look sprout across the man’s face as he retrieves a tray of fish from the middle-most shelf. “Good, we’re having salmon and pasta for dinner” Andrew proclaims with some pep, placing the platter of raw fish on the counter before turning to look his guest in the eyes, “care to join us?” Appreciative, Elaine quickly sets aside room in her gratitude for a healthy amount of polite declination. “Oh, it’s fine- I don’t want to overstay my welcome” she graciously responds, gently waving off the man’s gesture with a half-smile, “there are, like, five different pizza shops on my block alone. I’m all set.” Shaking his head, Andrew returns to the island, remaining on the opposite side to the one his well-liked guest occupies. “Nonsense!” he proclaims, wearing a disarming smile with an approachable charm, “there’s no need to order a pie when you’ve got a home cooked meal on the table!” Leaning back, Elaine laughs as the air grows quiet for a moment, her eyes falling into those of the entrepreneurial family man’s, his amusing tone lowering into a more hopeful and genuine one. “Besides, I want you to” Andrew admits, the witty and warm banter gradually becoming more hearty and wholesome, his head shaking subtly as his voice lowers further, “you won’t overstay your welcome- you’re always welcome here.” In silence, Elaine stares back at Andrew for a few seconds as the offer remains unanswered, though it’s seemingly begun to take a backseat to a more personal, less-obvious shared feeling. “Uh, o- okay. Yes, I’d- I’d love to stay for dinner” she soon responds, effectively pulling both herself and her acquaintance out of the curious fixation they’d apparently become embroiled with. “G- good!” Andrew belts out, shaking his head as if it hadn’t been sitting on his shoulders properly, a quick retreat to his initial chucklesome manner proceeding. “Yeah, um- yeah” he stutters, sharing the same loss for words as the gentle soul he shares the room with, “I’ll get to work on it then.” Holding her hand over her mouth to hide her smile, Elaine remains quiet for a moment as Andrew returns to the counter, reaching into cabinets to retrieve pots and pans, laying the foundation for the dinner preparation that lies ahead. “So, how’ve the kids been?” the visitor inquires, the ability to produce non-family related small talk evading her. “They’ve been- well, they’ve been good” Andrew replies, pre-heating the oven whilst preparing a pot of boiling water for the stove. Her facial muscles returning to a more-relaxed state, Elaine’s mind latches onto the unpersuasive tone in the man’s voice, noticing it in spite of his best attempt at concealing it. “You don’t sound very sure of that” she remarks, listening to the muffled laugh come off her friend whilst watching his head nod in agreement. “Well, I’m only half-confident in it. I know Olivia’s doing well- super well, in fact- but Sophie’s-” Andrew begins, struggling to find the word he sets his mind upon, not sure if any word truly encapsulates what he wishes to say, “-I’m not too sure about Sophie.” The new line of discussion having set aside what remaining unsureness the pair had shared minutes prior, Elaine leans further, watching the man intermittently turn back toward her as the conversation progresses. “Is something wrong with her?” she asks aloud, not certain what her friend is getting at with how little she has to work off of. “No, I don’t- Well, I don’t think so” Andrew unconfidently replies, wearing the look of a man without conviction in anything relative to the topical subject. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean, she came home at four in the morning, she was soaked and said she went out for a dip. Just a bunch of weird stuff. Like, she’s distant and uneasy” he confesses, not certain on how to broach the issue, “I don’t understand it. She’s been holding it together really well for the last few months.” “Is she still seeing that therapist?” Elaine queries, continuing to present questions the more Andrew shakes his head at each suggestion, “is she jittery? Is she in danger? Is she gonna hurt herself?” “No, none of that. I don’t even really know if I can put my finger on it” Andrew retorts, pulling the tab to a box of spaghetti open before fully turning back toward his close companion, “there’s just something different about her.” Squinting her eyes, Elaine stares into the distance for a moment to process what’s being said, unsure of what the apparent issue even seems like. “Does this have to do with that flash stick by any chance?” the woman wonders aloud, the sudden thought having popped into her head the longer any reasonable cause eludes her. With a sudden swiftness, Andrew’s eyes take toward those of his confidant, answering her question without needing to utter a word. “Did you look at it?” Elaine proceeds to ask, seemingly focusing her sights on the issue at play, the source of the man’s conflicted thoughts assumedly discovered. Hanging his eyes, Andrew nods his head, again leaving the woman without a verbal confirmation, though one is unnecessary as far as she’s concerned. “I don’t want to make any assumptions- I really don’t” Andrew clarifies, folding his hands as he leans further into the island, his face drawing closer to his guest’s as his voice lowers, “but- without going into detail- I think there’s a problem.” Almost able to sense the weight that she can tell presses against Andrew’s chest, Elaine unfurls her hands, placing them atop her friends’ own to provide something closely resembling comfort. “You’re an incredible father” she softly speaks, offering her opinion before purveying the best advice she can muster, “whatever was on it, I’m sure you’ll find the best way to keep your daughter safe from the world.” Before her remark can finish, Elaine listens to the sigh that leaves Andrew’s lungs as his head bows further, the man’s forehead pressing into the glossy island as she sits confused. “What?” she asks, watching her question slowly prompt the man’s head up, his soul disheartened to consider the thoughts that ravage his mind, “what’s wrong?” Pressing his bottom lip between his teeth, Andrew looks off to the side, unable to look his dear companion in the eyes as he begins to respond. “What if-” his voice murmurs, halting the moment his mind interjects, attempting to keep his voice from speaking the same fixture of self-wonder into existence. “What if- what?” Elaine replies, moving her head in front of the man’s face to resume their eye contact, her voice’s soothing embrace drawing out the words that sit on the tip of his tongue. Through a sigh, Andrew’s shoulders fall as his head gracefully shakes, his face taken over by the look of defeat, “what if it’s the world I need to keep safe from my daughter?” Taken by surprise, Elaine’s eyes open a slight amount wider as her lips slightly part, the woman’s expectations not only falling short of the discourse’s result, but kept from being explored the moment a quick succession of knocks beckons for an answer from the front door. Not having expected company, Andrew shoots out of his wavering stupor and hurries to the front door, recognising the distressing tapping as anything but ordinary. Following closely behind her friend, Elaine watches the family’s lone parental figure pull open the door with great haste, immediately looking into the eyes of an increasingly less-composed George, who stands at his doorstep with his wife’s distant sniffling easily heard next door. Looking past the man, Andrew stares at the Nurse’s residence to find Rebecca in tears at their doorstep, the street just beyond their doorstep littered with an assortment of officers and their accompanying cars, which surround Caden as he stands in the middle of the road, staring blankly at the second level of his residence. | > 9th May, 2031 < “Make call” Caden commands, waiting for his watch to dial the number he’d read off the small, white card as he leans back in his seat, looking through the window that sits just over his desk. Waiting for an answer from the other end, the young man glances at a clock near the back of his room, its digital display reading a time of forty minutes past seven o’clock. “You’ve reached Dennis, this is him speaking- may I ask who is calling?” the tired recipient replies, placing his keys in a bowl atop an end table to the side of his front door. “Caden Nurse” the caller responds, hearing the sudden invigoration shine through the investigator’s voice, the background noise ample as the answering gentleman’s front door shuts and jacket falls from his shoulders. “It’s good to see that- no matter how advanced society may be- leaving a card behind without giving anyone a reason to call continues to intrigue a nation long after landlines died off” Dennis responds, stepping through his dimly-lit apartment on the way toward his office. “I don’t really care why you left the card, I care about why you wanted me to call you” Caden corrects, discarding the contact slip with the flick of his wrist, “I don’t know why I’d be tailed, but go ahead and tell me.” “It’s not you I’m interested in, it’s your friend” Dennis quickly corrects, pulling the cord to his lantern as he takes a seat at the table, “there’s a little bit more to the story and it seems like I’m finding new threads to this case the more I dig into it.” Confused, Caden indicates his loss for thought with a simple reply, “who’s this friend you’re talking about?” he wonders. “Sophie, of course” Dennis replies, unable to see the visible shiver that runs down his caller’s spine at the mere mention of her name, “she’s only the dearest little darling of America at this moment, that should have been obvious.” His intrigue immediately lessening, Caden’s reluctance takes control of him, the dismissal of hearing anything further only more influenced at the hurried cry of his name from his distant mother’s lips. “She’s not my friend and I want nothing to do with her” Caden abruptly interrupts, leaving his seat as he speaks directly into his wrist accessory, “I know nothing and I don’t want you to come near me or talk to me again. Goodbye.” Punching the air, the young man ends the call without a warning and sneaks through his door, making for the stairs with the expectation of his overdue girlfriend to be awaiting him. “You were supposed to be here at noon, what kind of hassle did you get-?” Caden descends the stairs calling out, the greeting he’d anticipated flipped entirely on his head as he turns to face the front door. Freezing the moment he turns the bannister, the knapsack-carrying young man looks ahead to his mother’s distraught face and his father’s shocked expression, the space between them occupied by a small group of officers with an apologetic visage. As if overloaded, Caden’s senses drown out the sounds that surround him, his mother’s open arms brushed aside as they approach him, avoided as his bag falls from the grasp he’d cradled it in. The emotion falling from his face, Caden looks to the officers as his father approaches, holding his hands out to keep his awestruck son from stepping past. Having already side-stepped his mother, the young man’s head ducks beneath his father’s obstruction before steering through the group of cops, not allowing anyone to prevent him from leaving the home. “Caden, please!” his mother pleads through tears, stepping into her husband’s arms as he settles for restraining her, the news not necessary to be broken as their son had already correctly assumed what the fuss was about. Still walking with an empty mind, Caden descends his steps and walks through the space between his car’s bumper and the front of a squad car, entering the closed-off street without uttering a word. Of no apparent danger, the public units allow the teen to evade their presence, remaining frozen stiff at the centre of the two-way road. In utter silence, Caden’s posture remains unchanged as minutes pass, his father’s efforts already having allowed his son to grieve as he approaches their closest neighbour to break the news. As his face sits empty, the horrowed young man soon regains his hearing, the various miscellany of voices return to the centre stage as his mind comes around, recalling the world that exists before what remains of the unsolved pieces soon takes control of his body. With the briefest furrowing of his eyebrows, Caden turns toward the home beside his own, his eyes lifting from the paved asphalt to the building’s second story as its owner joins his father on the patio. Through the window halfway opened and bathed in the light of a nearby lamp, Sophie watches the events below unfold before noticing the redirected glare of her once-friend, able to see the muscles on his face contract as his blank stare turns into one of blinding rage. Putting one foot in front of the other, Caden steps a short distance closer to the home, not paying any mind to the litany of cops that surround him as he fixates on the woman he’s accurately directed his vigour at. “Take a good. long. look!” Caden shouts, drawing the attention of every soul within screaming distance, his own parents, Andrew and Elaine, and each cop refocusing their attention on him. “You’ve done it! You’ve done it now, Sophie!” he continues to belt, watching the worry begin to sprout among the girl’s face. “I told you to leave me alone, and now you’ve done it!” he furiously declares, huffing for every breath in between declarations, “I know it was you then, and I know it was you now!” “Caden, stop!” George commands, hurrying down the steps on the Carrion residence as Andrew and Elaine follow closely behind, the sixteen year old figure of public interest shaking her head from afar as she watches on. “No, I’m done with the bullshit and the cover up!” his son proclaims, staring at Sophie as the girl’s father draws near, a deranged smile beginning to form along his face. “You can get even with me however you want. Get back at me in whatever way you want, because as far as I’m concerned- it doesn’t matter” Caden declares, his face tightening as his voice breaks through its usual boundaries, firing off a statement of defiance as his target looks on, taking in every word as if it were a declaration of war, “YOU! ARE! ALREADY! DEAD!” == Generation Alpha == > 8th May, 2031 <
“Oh, I just love the colour!” a soft-spoken elderly lady remarks, standing by the side of a taller, much younger woman whilst gazing at a bouquet of flowers hanging from a nearby rack. “The tall, purple ones- what are they?” the younger woman inquires, the skirt to her bright yellow sundress flowing as she turns, redirecting her attention to a man in a green and white apron, his hands tucked behind his back. “The perennials?” Andrew responds, uncoupling his hands to point at the piece’s accents, their tall build protruding from the sides of the pink lily centrepiece. “They compliment the whole arrangement beautifully!” the young woman remarks, her eyes relocating toward a bundle of blue flowers near the shop’s window front, “mom, come look at these!” With a smile on his face, Andrew listens to the bell over his door ring, another patron entering the store as he turns around the front counter, leaving the mother and daughter to their mini-adventure. “I’ll be with you in just a second!” the store owner calls out, crouching behind the cash register in search of a large roll of transparent gift paper. Gently tugging at the sleeve with his hand, Andrew slides his scissors through the wrap and slides a clean, plastic pot out from a stack of similarly green-coloured containers. Returning to a surface-level, the entrepreneur stuffs the clear foil into the pot before looking straight ahead with a welcoming expression, the corners of his mouth that had formed into a smile now quickly falling into a scowl. “This is a cosy little shop” Dennis remarks, his right arm leaning against the store’s counter as his eyes pan across the room, “how much do you pay in rent? Like, ten grand?” His eyes wide, Andrew stands stoically as his two patrons continue to traverse his tiny plant heaven, clueless to the potential issue that resides just a few short metres away. Receiving no response, Dennis matches his opposition’s stoic posture, leaning silently with big eyes as he waits for the man across from him to speak. “What are you doing here?” Andrew finally inquires, his flared nostrils indicating to the investigator that his presence is not welcomed, a gesture the older man pays little mind to. “That’s funny of you to ask!” Dennis replies with a chipper attitude, slowly lifting from his lean as he strokes the patch of hair on his chin, “-I was in the market for a bouquet of red roses, and a quick search led me to the most well-reviewed little plant shop in town. I figured I’d stop in on my way to work.” Furious, Andrew rounds the counter and approaches the investigator, his fiery display doing nothing to intimidate the private eye, the strange man’s hands coupling at his lap as the father approaches. “Leave my daughter and I alone or I swear to god, I’ll-” the enraged family man remarks, his warning cut short as the source of his vexation interjects. “What are you going to do, Mr. Carrion?” Dennis interrupts, the question left in silence for a moment as the pest-like detective welcomes an answer, “go ahead- finish that thought.” Seething, Andrew remains standing in the investigator’s face, his heavy breathing the only thing to respond as requested. “Why won’t you just leave us alone?” the father relents, his confrontational attitude subsiding as his recognition of the circumstance takes a hold of him. “I’m not incentivised to do so” Dennis answers honestly, taking a quick look around the small, plant-covered shop before following up, “would you close down this little shop here if I lived across the street and asked you to stop obstructing the view?” Without a warning, Andrew takes the private eye by the arm, dragging him to a more secluded corner of the shop before continuing the conversation, his voice noticeably more quelled than it had been seconds prior. “There’s a difference between wanting a better view of some trees and wanting to put the worst eight months of our lives in the past” Andrew remarks, quick to defend his family’s right to privacy, “the girl you’re digging into like a badger just wants to move on with her life.” “Oh, I don’t doubt it” Dennis quickly retorts, crossing his arms against his chest as he leans back, both eyes kept at those on the father’s face, “if I did what she had, I’d want the same thing too.” Squinting, Andrew shakes his head with confusion, not following the lead that the thorn in his side appears to be leaving him. “Do you know why I’m investigating you?” Dennis wonders aloud, the thought never having truly crossed the younger gentleman’s mind for more than a few seconds, “why would someone pay me to be the bane of your existence if there wasn’t a reason?” Looking off into the distance, Andrew rolls his eyes and sighs, both shoulders shrugging as his head shakes, opening the floor for the investigator to answer his own query. Unfurling his arms, the investigator opens his left hand, the palm he presents to the father containing a white and blue flash drive. “I’m not following you so I can ruin your life, I’m following you because Sophie’s account of events can’t be trusted” Dennis explains, extending the open hand for the father to take the item placed within it, “and this isn’t a ‘she’s a kid, she doesn’t want to get in trouble’ kind of thing, it’s a ‘this girl may have done something illegal’ thing.” Pulling his head back a short distance, Andrew’s eyes lift from the flash drive and take back toward the private detective’s, a look of surprise coming over his face. “The public cops can concoct any little investigation they want, but it’ll never be enough to uncover any truth worth knowing” Dennis acknowledges, allowing the father to gently take the memory stick from his hand, “their reputation is already brutalised. None of them want to damper America’s party over their new feel-good story.” Parting his lips, Andrew looks to the flash drive for a few additional seconds, the palm of his hand held open before his chin lifts. Pressing the sides of his gums together, the man attempts to respond, only to find the space before him vacant as it had been for the majority of the day, the detective’s presence replaced by an open floor as the front door’s bell chimes again. “We’ll take the lily arrangement” the sundress-wearing young woman remarks, approaching the man with her elderly mother closely behind, the colourful assortment carried in her hands. His face still wearing the look of surprise, Andrew looks the woman in the eyes for a few moments before snapping out of his preoccupied state, trying his best to compose himself as he returns to the counter, a passing eye paid to the black car pulling off the side of the road just beyond his front doors. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 8th May, 2031 < “You don’t plan on spending the whole day in bed, do you?” Izzy wonders aloud, her feet shuffling along the clothing-covered rug that sits in the centre of her room. “Not unless you do” Caden responds, wiping his eyes as he sits up in his girlfriend’s queen-sized bed, shirtless in only a pair of blue boxers. “As you can tell- I don’t” the young woman replies, stepping into a pair of black jeans whilst setting aside a red tank top, “besides, the fact that my mom doesn’t get back for the next three days means that we have the entire weekend to ourselves.” Softly groaning as he stretches, Caden lowers himself off the elevated mattress in an effort to reach the adjacent bathroom door, his left foot wearing a grey sock whilst the other is bare. “We’ve had the last two days to ourselves too, I don’t see what’s supposed to be different” the young man explains, running the shower as his voice begins to echo. “It’s nothing different, I just think we should do something we haven’t taken advantage of yet” Izzy replies, throwing the sleeveless shirt over her head before approaching the bathroom, watching her boyfriend reach for a toothbrush as he waits for the water to heat, “like, going on a road trip with no one to tell us not to?” With a chuckle, Caden shakes his head as he lathers his brush with paste, a smirk having come over his visage. “My parents may like you, but they don’t like you enough to not kill me for hitting the open road with you” the young man responds, lifting the brush into his mouth whilst his girlfriend continues the conversation on his behalf. “That’s why we won’t take your car” Izzy insists, watching her boyfriend’s amused expression take hold as she continues speaking, “I drive a shift made in the late 2000’s. The only thing keeping us from going would be if the engine had an issue with it.” Forced into silence at the will of his brush, Caden looks at his reflection in the mirror as his significant other proceeds, spinning a promising web of potential that- whilst lovely in spirit- doesn’t immediately strike him as feasible. “We’ve both got straight A’s- as surprising as that is for someone with my work ethic- and can afford to miss every day of school from now until finals” Izzy proclaims, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door as her proposition is made, “we can afford to have ourselves a weekend in a cosy little town like, oh I don’t know, Chicago?” Having slipped his brush through his lips as the girl finishes her thought, Caden nearly loses control of his gums as he spits the used paste with force, his wide eyes quickly drifting toward the bathroom’s exit. “When the fuck did Chicago become a small town?” the young man queries, earning an amused laughter from his incredibly influential second half. “Around the same time I bought these?” Izzy responds, sliding a pair of thin, plastic tickets from her back pocket with a pair of logos adorned upon them, “I thought the games were in St. Louis, but Chicago’s close enough for them not to go to waste.” With her grasp, two reflective strips brandishing the logos of the St. Louis Cardinals and Chicago Cubs face Caden’s eyes, which begin to open further. “I got us tickets for Sunday, and if we leave tomorrow afternoon, we’ll get there by night” Izzy remarks, her proposition suddenly garnering more favour from the half-nude man with a brush in hand, “just say the word and I’ll return them, but if-” Stopped in her tracks, Caden rinses his mouth with a cup of water and places his hands against each side of his girlfriend’s face, their lips pressing together as the mood lightens. “Is that a ‘yes’?” Izzy asks aloud, watching the smile come over Caden’s face as he nods, letting out a laugh as he retreats to the bathroom. “Keep them and fill your tank” the young man remarks, slowly closing the door as he steps out of his underwear, the shower curtain sliding open as he steps inside, “we’re going to Chicago.” Her smile widening, Izzy nods to herself as she returns the tickets to her back pocket, a sudden buzz emerging from her watch as Caden steps beneath the running water. “Meet me here, we need to talk- it’s urgent” the young woman reads aloud, her eyebrows furrowed as she checks the contact’s name, a clear look of disgust appearing over her face. Preparing to dismiss the message, Izzy lifts the watch to her lips before a second buzz arrives, drawing her eyes to the screen once more. “Spare Caden the hassle and meet me instead. If you don’t, I’ll have to keep trying him. He doesn’t want that” the second message reads, only to follow up with a third and final memo, short and brief, “meet me and I’ll leave you both alone.” | > 8th May, 2031 < “Daddy!” Olivia shouts, bursting through the door that Elaine opens with her arms extended, her small limbs wrapping around her father’s leg with the force of a tiny weightlifter. “Hey there, ‘Liv!” the man enthusiastically greets, swiping the young girl off her feet as he lifts her into his arms, his look of exhaustion one that the girl’s driver can sense, though she cannot. “How was your day, sweetheart?” Andrew inquires, pulling his head back to get a better look at his offspring’s face, her lively eyes and cheerful display bringing a look of pleasure to his face. “Mrs. Delores said I was smart, and Duke said he was smarter, so we had a maths quiz and I got a better grade than him!” Olivia chirps, speaking as if she were trying to battle a bullhorn for vocal supremacy, “I got a better grade than the whole class too, and Mrs. Delores said I was the best at maths!” “You’ve got a little Albert Einstein on your hands, Andy” Elaine remarks, closing the door as she further enters the home, her bright, red lips arched into a smile. “It certainly seems like it!” Andrew responds, lifting his hand to receive a high five from his energetic daughter, “she’ll be writing the textbooks we used to land people on Titan in a couple hundred years, won’t she?” “What’s that?” Olivia replies, the question confusing her father, who asks her to clarify, “what’s a textbook?” With a wide-eyed response, Andrew stares at his youngest in silence for a moment before redirecting the conversation. “That’s not important, but do you know what is?” the father replies, failing to hold back a brief laugh as he slides the knapsack off his daughter’s back, “homework. Do you have any?” Responding with the affirmative, Olivia reclaims her bag as her father sets her down, allowing her to race off to her room to complete the assignments requested of her, a nightly tradition she takes glee in performing. “I’m serious, she could become someone really important someday” Elaine proclaims, watching the energetic exterior Andrew had erected fall aside as he nods, turning back for the kitchen island as he slides out a stool for his friend to occupy. “It’s only a matter of time before she’s as important to everyone else as she is to us” the man responds, rolling his once-cuffed sleeves as he opens the fridge. “Well, she has a great role model to get her there” Elaine claims, graciously accepting a glass of lemonade the family’s patriarch pours for her, “It’s really rare to see a father do so well when he’s given so little to work with. Your parents would be proud of you.” With a glass of his own, the father taps the rim of his glass against his acquaintance’s own, shaking his head as he lifts the cup to his lips. “No, they wouldn’t” Andrew replies, taking a quick drink before clarifying his response, “nothing I’d ever done was good enough for them. Every success had a downside that was somehow three times worse and more worth talking about.” With her head tilted to one side, Elaine remains quiet, allowing the father across from her to clear his conscience. “I got so much flack when Morgan told me she was pregnant. I’d just turned nineteen, I was living off noodles and water and had a kid on the way” Andrew recalls, his head continuing to shake as the memories flood back, “my father was so disappointed in me. He looked me in the eyes that night and said, ‘if only I’d raised you better, you wouldn’t have thrown your life away’.” Her spirits falling, Elaine watches the man stare toward the ground for a few seconds before jolting out of his glum mood, remembering the company he shares in the present. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, uh-” Andrew begins to speak, apologetic for having soured the mood before his friend’s voice interjects, keeping his remorseful remarks from continuing. “It’s okay. You’re not saying anything I’m not already familiar with” the woman proclaims, letting out a brief sigh as she leans against the island, her sombre expression meeting the father’s, “my parents were the same way.” “Really?” Andrew asks, watching the woman’s teeth shine through her ruby red-shaded lips as she nods, laughing at the man’s surprise. “I was born in Alabama. The hardest slap I’d ever been given in my life was when I told my mother I didn’t believe in god at the dinner table with all the family. I don’t think she’d ever been that embarrassed in her life” Elaine replies, her eyes falling as a sudden thought corrects her claim, “well, maybe a few years later when I told her I didn’t want kids.” “I don’t envy that position one bit” Andrew responds in a breathy tone, sharing a heartfelt laugh with the woman across his kitchen, her head shaking as their collective spirits lift. “I wouldn’t change it for the world, though” Elaine assures herself, shaking her head as she begins to return the glass to her mouth, “I’m sure she took it as me branding her lifestyle with my own stamp of disapproval, but I would’ve never known what I really wanted in life if I hadn’t.” As the air goes silent, Andrew nods to himself as he lifts his glass, “to us” the man toasts, waiting for the woman to join him in celebrating their individual successes. “And to the lives we’ve lived” Elaine responds, lifting her glass into the air before pressing it back against her bottom lip, joining the home’s owner in a drink as the conversation calms. “Is Sophie here?” Elaine wonders, the discourse’s natural redirection swinging toward the lone-unspoken soul of the home, her answer offered at the shake of her friend’s head. “She left the house before I woke up and- unless she has the quietest steps in human history- hasn’t come back since” Andrew answers, rolling his eyes as he sets his cup on the countertop. “She’ll be flying the nest soon enough, huh?” Elaine queries, the man she speaks to rounding the island and drawing nearer, taking a seat in the chair beside her. “I just want her to be safe” Andrew admits, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the multi-coloured flash drive he’d received earlier, “but hell, I want her to be able to move on from what happened, and not even that can happen.” As if it were a piece of trash, the man drops the flash drive onto the solid island surface, letting it gently bounce along the sleek finish before coming to a rest between himself and his close friend. “What’s that?” Elaine inquires, getting the hint that his mind has decided upon redirecting the conversation toward a more conscience-eating issue at hand. “Someone has a private investigator following Sophie. I don’t know why and I don’t know what he’s looking for, all I know is that he’s out and about” Andrew explains, resting the side of his face against his right arm as his left hand points toward the memory stick, “he stopped by the shop earlier today to drop off this.” Both confused and concerned, Elaine glances at the plastic device for a moment before looking for an answer to the obvious question. “What’s on it?” the woman asks, receiving a similar shoulder shrug to the one she’d received minutes earlier, the conflicted parent knowing as much as she does. “I don’t know. I didn’t get the chance to ask, and I’ve been trying to avoid finding out all day” Andrew responds, visibly holding back many of the thoughts that linger within his head. “He said there were holes in the story Sophie gave to the cops, and that no one in the public service wanted to say it because it would make them look bad” Andrew explains, lost for what to think the longer he speaks, “he said she’s hiding something about what really happened at her mom’s. Other than directly, he pretty much flat-out told me it was something illegal.” Her worries only increasing, Elaine tries to filter her thoughts before she can have the chance to speak them, not wanting to say anything that crosses a line. “So, what are you gonna do?” the woman settles on asking, listening to the chuckle that emerges from the father’s core, his answer to the question just as worthwhile as leaving it without one is. “I have no idea. I don’t know what’s on this, I don’t know what he’s referring to, I don’t know what-” Andrew begins to ramble, speaking until his lips press together, shaking with the rest of his head before keeping him quiet, subduing his rant before it can carry him too far, “I don’t know.” Her friend’s conflicted natural more than palpable, Elaine is left in silence, unsure of what she would do in this scenario, much less what she’d advise someone she cares for. “Do you want me to decide for you?” the woman inquires, watching the man’s eyes drift toward her in silence, his soft expression implying an assurance he fails to give vocally. “I would look at it” the woman replies, climbing down from her seat as she continues to speak, “maybe it’ll help give you more clarity on what this person’s looking for.” As his eyes begin to stare toward the front of his kitchen blankly, Andrew’s cheek embraces the warmth of Elaine’s lips as their soft skin presses against him, giving him a compassionate peck on her way toward the door. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” Elaine requests, only returning for her car when the man responds with a hushed nod, remaining sat as left whilst the woman departs, leaving the kitchen in total silence as Andrew is left to his own, only the memory stick’s allure to provide him with company. | > 8th May, 2031 < With the hems of her dark jeans tucked into a pair of calf-high boots, Izzy steps out of her car and shuts the door, taking a few steps ahead as she gazes at the apparent destination. Surrounded by a handful of five story-high buildings, the young woman sways from one side to another as she takes in the unimpressive scenery, moving the gravel that her feet stand atop. “Sophie?” the slightly unnerved girl calls out, not stricken with much confidence the longer she spends in silence. Having left her keys in the ignition, Izzy steps into the shining headlights of her car, casting her shadow along the unsteady parking lot she ventures further into, the vivid illuminations leading toward the open door of an old, rundown warehouse. “Are you alone?” a familiar voice soon calls out, its echo ringing throughout the large, empty interior, incapable of being missed by the approaching soul. “Yeah, why?” Izzy responds, halting her forward progress as her well-known counterpart emerges from behind cover, standing atop the loading bay she nears closer to. “Because I don’t even want to be talking to you right now” Sophie answers, her subdued voice still carrying a fair distance, “I’ll settle for you, but no one else.” “Why even bother settling at all?” Izzy queries, tucking her hands into her back pockets as she draws closer, though still put off by the ground she walks, given a slight comfort in the presence of a familiar face. “Because some things are more important than respecting boundaries” Sophie retorts, turning away from the loading bay to slowly re-enter the abandoned building, finishing her thought in the process, “right now, I’ve got a problem that I can’t solve alone.” “And what makes you think Caden would go out of his way to help you?” Izzy inquires, climbing the nearby steps toward the redhead’s level, “he hates you enough to give you a right hand, why would that change in the course of a few days?” “Because I know he’d rather never see me again than have to see me every day” Sophie replies, pressing her back into a column a short distance from the cargo dock, “and since you took me up on my offer, I’d imagine the same can be said for you.” “I don’t have any opinion on the matter” Izzy proclaims, a remark that finds the soft spot in Sophie’s head that controls intrigue. Still unsure of what this meeting is meant to be, the independent young woman comes to a stop across the spacious floor from someone she’d once been friendly to, but has now sided against. “Caden doesn’t like you, I like Caden, and I’m sure you can do the maths” she remarks, looking the changed soul across from her in the eyes. “You don’t like me because Caden doesn’t like me, and you like him. Got it- but that’s not what I’m interested in” Sophie concludes, leaning against the towering pillar with her hands hung by her sides. Squinting, Izzy waits for a few seconds before responding to her once-friend’s declaration, “then what is it you need my help with?” Her content expression turning into one of confusing glee, Sophie’s lips form a smile, one capable of bringing discomfort upon anyone it targets. “Information” the redhead replies, letting her hands sway back and forth as her back pushes into the pillar, thrusting her forward to allow her stroll to commence, the young figure of public investment beginning to pace from one side of the room to the other. “What’s Caden told you about me?” Sophie wonders, her casual walk forming a circle around Caden’s girlfriend, her eyes refusing to depart from the girl’s taller figure, “what do you know?” As if the air had began to thicken, Izzy finds it harder to breathe, her chest growing tight as her nerves begin to reappear, the situation she finds herself in only worsening the sinking feeling of dread that lingers. “That you did something really bad and he hated you for it” Izzy answers truthfully, her right foot pressing into the ground as her left moves with her antagonist, spinning with the young woman a few metres away. “What else?” Sophie asks, unsatisfied with the reply she’d been given, though receives little more than what’s already been stated. “That’s it. He refuses to tell me anything” Izzy declares, watching Sophie circle her as if she were the prey to a shark, the expression on the redhead’s face appearing unfulfilled. “Why should I believe that?” the menacing figure with a slender frame inquisits, narrowing her eyebrows as she continues to pace the floor, “you’re his girlfriend. If there’s one person he’d go to first- and it wasn’t me- it’d be you.” “He hasn’t gone to anybody. He said he won’t tell a soul” the rebellious teen proclaims, finally noticing the slight change in the expression worn by the figure of false narratives, “he said it’s ‘for my safety’.” With a change more noticeable and responsive, Sophie’s visage alters, her sceptical expression submitting to an acceptance of greater strength, her tilted chin and equally-lowered eyes indicating a disappointed finding that has been bestowed upon her. Her feet finally coming together, Sophie’s pace ends as she comes to a stop, looking to the ground with a disheartened look on her face. “You really don’t know anything?” the redhead asks aloud, only the following few seconds of silence preceding the turn of her head, looking her acquaintance in the moment straight in the eyes. “I don’t know anything” Izzy assures, the conviction carried through the calm tones of her voice acting as a stamp of certainty to the integrity of her claim. With a sigh, Sophie lowers her head and nods, taking in a deep breath before repositioning herself, standing upright and extending her hand as she approaches the girl she’d once considered a friend. “Make sure he says nothing and I’ll keep my end of the deal” Sophie promises, stopping within reach of the uncertain girl before her, waiting for the gesture she offers to be matched. “I’ve got too much on my plate to be bothered by things I’ve got no control over” she continues, locking eyes with Izzy as their hands collide, finalising the deal they’d initially agreed upon. With a suspicious look in her eye, Izzy lets her hand shake proceed for a few, uncomfortable seconds, the silence she’s met with only adding to the shock of the sharp pain that strikes her core. Her method subtle, well-planned and executed to perfection, Sophie pulls both of her arms back, the right hand removing itself from the girl’s palm just as her left hand removes the knife she’d pierced her stomach with. Her eyes widening, the wounded girl tumbles forward before standing with a hunch for a few seconds, the passing of which brings her to one knee. Stained with blood, Sophie’s left hand releases possession of the knife to her right, which swings through the air for a second time, this time plunging the blade into Izzy’s back. With a shriek, the unsuspecting bystander to a much greater, unresolved issue falls to the ground, the side of her face colliding with the cold, cement floor. Given not even the slightest chance of gathering her breath, Izzy’s hand is grabbed at by her assailant, who undoes the strap around her wrist and snatches her watch, cutting her victim off from contact with the world beyond her unkind and seemingly endless stretch of vacated floorspace. “I’m sure you make Caden really happy, but some things are more important than that” Sophie proclaims, an obvious hurry in her voice as she returns the way she’d entered, conjuring whatever sick justification her mind can weave the circumstances of her crime into. “You said it the other night- you were curious to know more than what Caden would tell you” Sophie remarks, burying the room and the horribly wounded girl in darkness at the flick of a switch, her free hand grasping the rope of the loading bay’s door, “I can’t have that right now.” With a tug, the red haired killer cuts off Izzy’s only route toward an exit, slamming and locking the cargo bay door shut before hurrying away from the scene, ducking into the alleys without a moment to waste. == Generation Alpha == > 6th May, 2031 <
“How many more weeks until we’re out of the fifth grade?” Andrew queries, passing the question off to his eager and energetic daughter. “Five!” Olivia cheers, holding her hand out for her father to see, each finger pulling as far from each other as they can manage. Pulling his youngest in for a hug, the caring father presses his chin against the child’s head and offers his departing words, “I love you sweetheart, have a good day!” “I will, bye daddy!” the innocent girl responds, hurrying to the door before pausing, the sound of footsteps descending from the home’s second level capturing her ear. With a bright face, Olivia races back to the bannister and climbs the first few steps, her arms wrapping around the jean-covered legs her sister prepares to depart the home in. “Bye, Sophie!” the young girl says with a smile, her face pressing against the older girl’s knee as she stops mid-step. “See you after school, ‘Livy” Sophie replies, gently combing her fingers through the smaller girl’s hair with a warm smile. “Where are you going?” Andrew wonders aloud, having stopped his slow approach to the door where the always-pleasant Ms. Kirkpatrick resides, “isn’t your first class in half an hour?” “Ian mixed up the days a few weeks back- thought our day off tomorrow was today and booked me for an interview with the paper” Sophie replies, hoisting her little sister in her arms before turning around the railing, “I’m passing in all of my classes though, so I figured I’d save him the trouble of rescheduling while I can afford it.” “What happened to your eye?” Ms. Kirkpatrick interjects, a look of concern on her face as Sophie’s smooth skin catches the kitchen light, the dark bruise around her left eye instantly noticeable. “I hit my head climbing into the car” the girl replies, gently setting Olivia back on the ground as she inches closer, “I saw worse things in that bunker, I’m pretty sure I can manage a black eye.” Remaining quiet, Ms. Kirkpatrick’s head sways toward Andrew’s direction, waiting for the man to cut through the silence that he’d resided with up to now. “You got that from your car?” the man asks, an obvious suspicion carried in his tone, though Sophie is quick to ward off. “I was in a rush, the street was busy and I was parked next to a line of cars backed up at the stoplight” the girl answers, “on the bright side, it didn’t take long for the traffic to disperse.” Opening his mouth, Andrew attempts to speak before his youngest daughter’s soft voice splits through his apparent concern. “Can I go with Sophie today?” Olivia wonders aloud, immediately drawing her father’s eyes toward herself, the pout she presents across her face holding an obvious intent. “You don’t mind, do you dad?” Sophie adds, the inquiry momentarily prompting her father’s eyes to drift upward, looking at her before falling back to his youngest. With a submissive sigh, Andrew passes a look toward Olivia’s driver, who bows her head out of the conversation- the call not one for her to make. “If Sophie wants you to go with her, I’m alright with it” Andrew replies, earning a high-pitch squeal of joy from the second member of his offspring to skip her classes. “Come on, Sophie!” Olivia exclaims, taking her big sister by the hand and racing through the front door, a chuckle from the older student preceding her surrender to her younger sibling’s quick retreat, their feet quickly shuffling down the stairs and to the parkway ahead. “How do you think she got it?” Ms. Kirkpatrick wonders aloud, closing the front door as she follows the family patriarch’s lead back into the kitchen. “How else do teenagers get black eyes?” Andrew answers back, shaking his head as he places his keys atop the kitchen’s island, approaching the fridge whilst the woman his home welcomes as a guest stands by with her hands coupled at the waist. “Who would she be fighting with?” Ms. Kirkpatrick wonders aloud, a question that her good friend has little answer to, his head shaking as he unscrews the cap to a carton of milk, “I have no clue, Elaine.” Adding a little more texture to his previously-black coffee, Andrew presses his left hand against the counter for support whilst his right blends what sits within his mug. “She’s been home for almost five months and hasn’t really opened up to me about much more than what happened with her mother” the man confesses, gently tapping his spoon against the mug’s rim before discarding of it in the sink, “I know Izzy and Caden aren’t talking to her, but aside from that- I have no clue who she talks to anymore.” “Why wouldn’t they be talking?” Elaine queries, watching the man take a quick drink from his cup before setting it down, joining the woman on the distant side of the island. “They had a falling out or something” the man responds, pulling a seat out for his visitor before taking the chair directly beside it for himself, “Sophie won’t talk about it in detail, Caden won’t talk about it at all, and I haven’t heard from Izzy since Christmas.” Her eyebrows lowering, Elaine watches Andrew’s hand reach back toward his keys, where he takes a familiar white business card between his two dominant fingers. “And even though the police investigation is over, it seems like some people had other ideas” the man remarks, passing the contact card onto his respected ally, his lowering spirits made obvious in the verbal disappointment he presents, “the Stewart’s hired a private investigator to tail Sophie.” In surprise, Elaine pulls her attention away from the card, looking at the side of the man’s face as he blankly stares ahead, taking another sip. “Why would they do that?” the woman inquires, earning a shrug of the shoulders in response, “they went out of their way to help you find her, I don’t understand this.” “Neither do I, but that doesn’t change the facts” Andrew replies, using his free hand to point at the face of the card, “that was on their kitchen counter last night.” Attempting to speak, Elaine goes silent momentarily, considering the little information she’s been given before opting to speak. “Them having this doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the ones that hired him” the gentle-spoken lady retorts, “if they hired him, why would they just be leaving his card out and about the house?” “Who knows why wealthy people do what wealthy people do?” Andrew answers, his confusion more than clear to anyone including himself, “if the answer’s not ‘to make a profit somehow’, then it seems like no one really knows.” Tilting her head to the side, Elaine looks to the card for a moment as a breath leaves her lungs, the hand she holds the contact slip in returning to the increasingly-tired man. “Just, please don’t blame the Stewart’s without knowing it’s them” Elaine replies, her plea drawing Andrew’s attention to her, “it seems like nothing’s ever simple nowadays. There could be a reason for them to have this that we’re just not seeing.” Pressing his lips together, the man subtly nods as the woman leaves her seat, his eyes falling back toward the front of his kitchen. “I’ll be back Thursday. Call me if you need anything” Elaine remarks, gently patting her friend on the shoulder as she shows herself out, the taps of her shoes along the hardwood floor leading her through the door she closes behind herself. Alone, Andrew sits with his coffee in hand for another few moments, hearing the engine to Ms. Kirkpatrick’s minivan roar before pulling onto the street whilst he sits on his own, mind racing from the thoughts that hurry throughout it. Going silent, the room sits empty, hosting sounds of only the sips of coffee Andrew takes in and the ticking of a nearby antique grandfather clock. As the seconds pass, the man’s mind begins to wander, his thoughts fading into nothingness as blank, preoccupied expression overcomes his face. His lips forming a frown, the man’s eyes fall from the heavens they’d focused upon and take toward the card beside him, the same name that lingers through his mind plastered upon its centre. “Pull up number pad” Andrew says aloud, moving his wrist off the countertop to raise his watch closer to the lips he speaks through. Reciting the number just beneath the familiar name, the father patiently waits through the process, listening to the dial tone buzz close to his ear before an answer arrives. “You’ve reached Dennis, this is him speaking- may I ask who is calling?” the man greets, sitting at a desk from the fifties whilst staring out the window of his high-rise apartment home. “Andrew Carrion” the father replies, pressing his left arm against his island’s surface whilst lifting his mug with his right. Pausing, a slight smirk comes over Dennis’ face as the name is spoken aloud, his eyes falling from the window to glance at his wrist. “And how may I help you, Mr. Carrion?” the investigator asks aloud, crossing his arms as he looks back through his window, gazing at the quiet street just over ten stories below. Staring at the business card, Andrew remains quiet for a moment, clearing his throat as he lowers the mug, “I want to know who’s paying you to stalk my daughter.” Through his nose, a breath is blown in place of a laugh whilst he uses his hands to roll up the sleeves to his dress shirt, Dennis’ posture changing as he leaves the seat he’d occupied. “That does not surprise me, Mr. Carrion” the man replies, casually approaching a coat rack in the corner of his room. “I’m not trying to surprise you. I’m not some freak show carny act playing pop-up magic” Andrew replies, gradually becoming more irritated as the conversation continues, “I want answers.” Shaking his head, Dennis slides his arm through one sleeve of a short trench coat before doing the same with the other, his feet sliding into a pair of penny loafers before carrying him through the front door of his flat. “I want answers too” Dennis retorts, locking the door to his apartment before venturing down a long hallway with rather poor lighting, “but if you think I’m just going to sell out my contractors to get them the easy way- you’d be mistaken.” “Do you take me for someone that cares about your code of ethics?” Andrew challenges, staring at his watch while he speaks, “you’re a grown man getting paid to follow my sixteen year old daughter everywhere she goes. As her father, I want to know who’s cutting the checks.” Shaking his head, Dennis presses his finger against the elevator button with the downward arrow, waiting for a moment as the audible sounds of the elevator lifting from below fill the cramped, tiny corridor. “I guess you’ll have to take a walk in my shoes, Mr. Carrion” Dennis jokes, watching the numbers tick upward as the lift rises, “take a walk in the life of an investigator and see how the other half lives.” Slamming his fist against the countertop, Andrew clenches his teeth as his eyes close, his frustration only continuing to boil. “What is there to gain out of following my daughter around?” the man angrily wonders, listening to the bell toll on the other end as the lift finally reaches Dennis’ level. “Uncovering the same truth that you- as her father- are too blinded to spot” the investigator responds, reaching his hand outward as the doors part, holding them open whilst remaining in the passageway. “Your daughter’s story doesn’t match up with the one she gave the police or the one you put in that trailer” Dennis remarks, stepping into the elevator before concluding his remarks, “if I were you, I’d sit down and ask my daughter if she was really telling me the whole truth.” As the bell rings for a second time, the lift’s doors roll to a close, the last thing Andrew hears before the call goes dead, the connection cut off the moment the investigator’s temporary tomb seals. Rolling his eyes as he leans over the counter, Andrew’s head presses into the sleek surface, his home returned to the silence of a quiet interior, it's only interruption coming from the ticking of the antique longcase clock. With a sigh, the man’s breath escapes his lungs in a rush, blowing the investigator’s business card to the other end of the island where it remains, overseeing the defeat in a father’s efforts to best protect his daughter. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 6th May, 2031 < “It was a pleasure, Ms. Amari” a friendly young woman in a burgundy blouse and a grey skirt remarks, shaking Sophie’s hand before feeling the embrace of Olivia’s arms wrapping around her legs. “Thank you” the interview’s subject responds, gently patting her little sister on the back to request the journalist’s release. “Can we get ice cream, Sophie!?” Olivia excitedly wonders, joining her sister in departing the brick-constructed building with her right hand held in the older girl’s left. “I guess so” Sophie answers, lifting the younger sibling into the backseat of her car before brushing elbows with a black town car on her way to the front seat. Pleased and content, Olivia sits with a smile as she buckles her seat belt, staring out the window as her sister turns the key in the ignition, glancing at the young lady in her backseat through her rear view mirror. A slight smirk worn, Sophie lowers her hand toward the gear shift, prepared to throw the car in reverse before thinking twice, her mind’s second thoughts emerging unprovoked. The hair on her arms raising, Sophie releases her grasp of the leather stick before glancing through the rear view mirror once more, her attention paid to the road that lies ahead of her back window this time around. “Give me one second. I’ll be right back” the young redhead proclaims, releasing her seatbelt before stepping through her driver’s side door, a nervous look having come over her face as she stares ahead, looking around the parking lot intently. Letting a few seconds pass, Sophie’s nerves begin to quell, her anxiety returning to ground level after firing itself through the roof. “What’s wrong?” Olivia wonders aloud, watching her sister climb back behind the wheel and quickly throw the car in reverse, affording no time to throw the seatbelt across her chest. “Nothing, I just-” Sophie begins to respond, visibly shaken as she pulls out of the spot, quickly returning to the road as she reclaims control of her composure, “-nothing. It was nothing.” “How’s your ice cream?” Sophie inquires, watching her sister make slow work out of a mountain of chocolate ice cream atop an incredibly inadequate cone. “Good!” Olivia cheers, her cheeks and the tip of her nose smeared with melted chocolate. Laughing to herself, the older girl nods as she licks at the three scoops of vanilla bean, her face much less stained with the aftermath of dessert-branded warfare than that of her younger sibling. “Why did you hit yourself with your car?” Olivia suddenly wonders aloud, looking at the dark wound over her sister’s eye with obvious concern, though her young mind takes more interest in the answer. “I, uh- I didn’t” Sophie responds, laughing off the question for the youthful unsureness, “the car hit me.” “But still, why did it happen?” Olivia reiterates, not letting go of the question until its existence is laid to rest at the behest of her sister’s response. Subtly shaking her head as her eyes wander through the air, Sophie struggles to come up with an answer, working simply off what her sister already knows. “Because I wanted to get in my car really fast” the older sibling soon replies, leaning on the left arm that rests against the small table the pair occupy, “and when I went to get in my seat, I hit my eye.” Her little legs swinging over the ground that they aren’t quite long enough to touch yet, Olivia puts her face into her mountain of dessert once more, the expression she wears indicating to Sophie that the conversation is not yet over. “Why were you trying to get in the car fast?” Olivia asks back, slamming her teeth into the summit of dessert mountain as her sister struggles to answer, stumbling over her words as her mouth hands open. “Because I didn’t like where I was” Sophie settles on, squinting as her sister digests the information just as she does the ice treat, “and I didn’t want to be there.” “Where were you?” Olivia counters, a question that prompts her sister to lower her chin, the soft part of her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. “I was in a bad place and I don’t know where that is” Sophie answers, no longer speaking toward a physical place, but instead, one mentally created, “I don’t understand how it works and I don’t know why I have to go there.” | With the top three buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned, Andrew climbs the paved steps to a beautiful home in search of the owners, his fist knocking into the pearly white door that sits in the light of an overhead lantern. Silent, the father sits in wait, anxiously tapping his foot against the ground as the seconds tick by, a distant pair of footsteps drawing nearer from the other side of the door. “Andrew” Hugh greets, stepping back in surprise at the man’s presence, barely able to proceed before moving aside on his friend’s advancement, “I wasn’t expecting y-” Stepping past the wealthy man, Andrew sees himself through the entrance, immediately stepping into the entry foyer before tucking his hands into each pocket, his body turning to reface his friend. “I wanna know why you’ve got a guy tailing my daughter” the mentally fatigued father demands, his right foot placed further ahead than his left, “and I wanna know what’s in this for you.” His polite visage quickly retreating, the expression of defence takes a hold over Hugh’s face, the larger man looking to his friend in confusion. “I don’t believe I understand what you’re-” the uncommonly kind-hearted business tycoon replies, interrupted before he can finish by the response of Andrew presenting the same card he’d stolen from the kitchen island one night prior. “I found this on the counter- your counter- last night” the father of two proclaims, watching the card flutter to the ground as it leaves his fingers, coming to a rest at his friend’s feet, “I wanna know why you’ve got a guy tailing my daughter and I want to know now.” His lips parted just slightly, Hugh stares at Andrew in silence for a few seconds before turning aside, walking to his kitchen whilst his acquaintance follows. “He came to my home yesterday morning and left that for my wife when she answered the door” Hugh responds, stepping through the archway that separates his kitchen from the front of the home, “He introduced himself, asked me to call him and that was it. I have no affiliation with him whatsoever.” “And I’m supposed to just take that at face value?” Andrew replies, an obvious irritation having come over his surprisingly irritable attitude, “my ex-wife had my child locked in a storage unit for six months- how am I supposed to trust anything out of anybody?” Quick to turn around and argue in his own favour, Hugh walks around the kitchen’s island and approaches the sink. “Because I was there!” Hugh responds, his voice strained slightly in stupefaction, shocked that he’d have to defend his own integrity to a friend, “I was there when we found her, there when we talked to your ex-wife, there when everything happened. Of all the parts of the system that failed both you and Sophie- I wasn’t one of them!” From the fridge, Hugh retrieves a beer bottle, the slam of his fist against its cap whilst running it beside the edge of his counter allowing the beverage to pop open. “I didn’t call this guy, I have no intention of calling this guy, and I’m not interested in having your girl investigated!” the man vows, stepping past the troubled father with great disappointment, “and with that, I’d appreciate it if you’d see yourself out.” Scowling, Andrew looks away from the decent man that walks past him, returning to business as he’s left to himself, standing in the middle of the same room that had kickstarted his bout of internal conflict. The cuffs to each sleeve of his shirt unbuttoned, his tie nowhere to be found and hair somewhat dishevelled, the man remains where he was left, trying to make sense of the chaos that appears to be unravelling around him as the days pass by. His button-up replaced in favour of a plain, white t-shirt, Andrew sits in the comfort of his own kitchen, though its silence and dark interior leave a feeling of anything but easiness. Listening to the horn of Sophie’s car sound off as the doors to the vehicle lock, the man’s eyes take to the same mug of coffee that he’d left unfinished just hours prior, his left hand running through his unkempt hair as the sound of his daughters nears closer. “Dad!” Olivia shouts, running through the door her older sister opens before jumping into her father’s arms, his tired response the only thing he has the energy to present. “Hello, sweetheart. Did you have a fun day?” Andrew inquires, listening to his youngest round off the bucket list of activities she and Sophie had accomplished. “We got ice cream, and we went to the movies, and we went to the zoo, and we went-!” Olivia continues to list, drawing a half-smile out of her father as he lowers himself to a knee. “‘Liv, I’d love to hear all about it, but I have to talk to Sophie about something for a few minutes if that’s okay?” Andrew whispers, the remark intriguing his eldest daughter, “When we’re done, I’ll come upstairs and you can tell me all about your day as we get you ready for bed, alright?” “Okay!” Olivia yelps, laughing as she wraps her arms around Sophie’s legs, giving her a hug on her way toward the home’s second level, the appreciation she holds for her sister more than obvious, “thank you for ice cream, Sophie!” Setting her concern toward the impending conversation aside, the eldest Carrion daughter drops to her knees to reciprocate the hug, pulling her little sibling in for a hug. “Of course, ‘Livy” Sophie whispers, rubbing the young girl’s shoulder as she pulls away, hurrying to bed under her father’s previous suggestion, leaving the room for the older, naturally wiser souls to speak. “‘Liv seems like she had a good time” Andrew remarks, glancing at his daughter as he rounds the island on the way toward the sink, “thank you for that.” Forming a smile with her lips, Sophie nods as her father empties the contents of what remains in his mug down the drain, unable to see the muddled look of confliction that spreads across the man’s face like a virus. “Your sister looks up to you- a lot” the man continues, filling the cup with water before turning the faucet off, his body turning back toward his daughter as the last few drops tickle down the pipe. “School’s not always easy when you’re not like other kids. Even though people spew off this rhetoric about being nice to everyone, it doesn’t take a genius to know that kids won’t always play by the rules you give them” Andrew proceeds, his spirits verbally waning, “it means so much to her.” Holding back a much wider smile, Sophie bows her head as she takes a seat at the island, reclaiming the same stool that Elaine had occupied earlier in the morning. “She’s trying to move mountains with a few sticks and a rock” the young woman responds, letting a sigh leave her nose as she concludes, “it’s hard not to love the little rascal for trying so hard.” “No, but it is difficult to do that when you have bigger things to deal with on your plate” Andrew quickly corrects, leaning against the island as he locks eyes with his daughter from afar, “specifically, bigger things such as a private eye following you around because someone, somewhere, likes to poke holes in your story.” As her face goes pale, Sophie sits upright, looking her father in the eyes as her sister’s footsteps toward her room on the level above. “Alright, and why is that supposed to be a problem?” the young woman inquires, confused as to why her father would consider the circumstance plaguing her mind to be an issue worth discussing, “I told the police my story and I was cleared of all charges. There’s nothing this guy is going to find that isn’t already known.” His mouth closed, Andrew maintains eye contact with his oldest offspring, the silence that sits between them persisting past the point of comfortability, bringing an aura of unpleasantness to the spacious room. “Is that true?” the girl’s father asks, a slight lack of conviction held in the way he asks the question, almost unsure of whether or not Sophie’s remarks are factual, “is everything- everything- already out in the open?” Parting her lips, the girl falls silent, a look of awe hidden behind the veil of betrayal in her eyes, the answer she wishes to give trying to hide itself deep within her. “Yes” Sophie finally replies, unable to speak much louder than a whisper just vocal enough to catch her father’s ear, his head pulling back as the response is provided, “yes, it is.” | > 6th May, 2022 < “You alright?” Izzy wonders aloud, raising the question to her clearly-distressed boyfriend as he waits for the car to pull itself into the open space just beyond the boundary of his home’s front step. “Not really” Caden answers honestly, circling his thumbs around each other as they sit in his lap, allowing his car to traverse the quiet, suburban road on his behalf, “I just get annoyed looking at her house every night.” Nodding, Izzy glances out her window at the Carrion residence as it approaches, drawing nearer as the car slowly rolls to its intended parking space. “Have you talked to her dad since whatever happened?” the girl wonders, hearing a breathy laugh leave her boyfriend’s lungs as he shakes his head, not offering much more of an answer than that. “Is he at least doing alright?” Izzy follows-up, watching a much more confident nod emerge from her boyfriend’s head. “Yeah, he’s just going about life. I think whatever he’s got going on now is more bearable now that he’s got her back” Caden proclaims, sitting back in his seat as the home’s front door passes, replaced in his sights by the barely-lit interior his own home sports through the main floor’s windows. “I don’t have a problem with him- or Livy” Caden concludes, moving with the momentum of his car as it comes to a slow stop, settling in its intended destination, “-just Sophie.” With the motion of his hand, the young driver sets his car in park, holding his hand over a colourful screen that turns from green to red at his desire. “He’s a good man” Izzy replies, sinking further into her seat as the dark blue lights that shine within the car’s interior power down, entrenching the car in darkness, “I’m just glad to know he’s doing alright.” Nodding, Caden pulls the keys from their place in the ignition, bathing the car in orange light momentarily as he opens his door, prepared to leave until his girlfriend’s hand grabs a hold of his own. “Come stay with me for a few days” Izzy blurts out, looking her boyfriend in the eyes as she presents her offer, his responding look being one of surprise. “I know this is your home and everything, but maybe you just need a few days away to clear your head” the girl doubles down, adamant in not rescinding her offer, “when you come back here- whenever that is- maybe it’ll be a little easier?” With a smirk, Caden sits back in his seat, locking eyes with Izzy as her hopeful expression catches his heart. “Wouldn’t your mom have an issue with me staying over at all, let alone for a few days?” the young man asks, matching his better half’s lean as their lips inch closer. “She’s barely around as it is, I’ve got no reason to run things by her” Izzy responds, turning her head to one side whilst Caden veers his face toward the other. “Caden!” an unappreciative familiar voice calls out, the individual it belongs to stepping around the back of his car to meet him at the wheel. “Is that-?” Izzy whispers, watching her boyfriend’s eyes angrily shoot open, his moment of solace crippled beneath the ear-piercing hum of Sophie’s voice. “Who did you tell about-” the vilified redhead remarks, looking through the open door at the young couple before falling silent, not having noticed Izzy’s presence until she’d already begun speaking. Slowly pulling away from his girlfriend, Caden’s eyes wander toward Sophie’s direction, an obvious anger contained behind his glare. “Sophie, leave” the young man demands, watching as the redhead’s eyes peer past him, centralising upon the girl he hosts in his passenger seat. “I’ve got a problem and I-” Sophie begins to respond, few seconds passing before she begins to speak, only for the words she responds with to be cut off by her once-friend’s voice. “Sophie, go the fuck away” Caden sharply interrupts, locking eyes with the steering wheel before him in an effort to not overwhelm himself with anger, “whatever shit you’ve got yourself into is not my problem and I’m not helping.” “It kind of is your problem and I-” Sophie begins to retort before once more falling silent at Caden’s interjection, though the physical response he provides her takes most of the praise for it. “Sophie, go the fuck away!” the young man shouts, bursting out of his seat and entering the road, his abrupt confrontation prompting the figure of public sympathy to jump back in fear. “Caden, stop!” Izzy barks, quickly leaping out of the car and dashing to her boyfriend’s aid, standing in the way of the bitter foes with hopes of de-escalating the situation. “Whatever she did isn’t worth it!” the reasonable-minded young woman pleads, gently pushing her boyfriend back into the side of his own car, “just get back in the car and we’ll leave.” “He’s kind of needed here, Izzy. He can’t just-” Sophie begins to retort, watching Caden slowly return to the driver’s seat as Izzy cuts her off, snapping back with the same vigour she’d ushered her boyfriend down from. “He told you to fuck off, so fuck off!” Izzy barks, immediately drawing the redhead’s ire as the confrontation seemingly finds a substitute for Caden. “I don’t know what the hell you did to fuck him up like this, but take it with you and get out!” the young woman shouts in Sophie’s face, her commands incapable of being misconstrued, “he gave you one black eye, now leave him alone before I give you another!” Grimacing, Sophie begins to seethe quietly as Izzy shuts the door behind Caden, prepared to return to her own seat before her ear is caught by the question that leaves the redhead’s lips. “What did he tell you?” Sophie asks, prompting the car’s passenger to halt her departure for a moment, turning to look the young woman in the eyes as her voice falls. “Not as much as I’m curious to know” Izzy answers, finishing her thought with an honest answer before following through on her return to the car, only a few seconds passing between the point of her re-entry and Caden’s hasty retreat from the neighbourhood. The rubber tires burning as they quickly scrape along the asphalt, the only child of the Nurse family hurries toward greener pastures as his lifelong friend stands behind, remaining in the middle of the street whilst watching him drive off. Letting out a sigh, Sophie looks toward the heavens briefly before turning home, stepping through her front door and slamming the door shut on her way in, the thud of the hardwood entrance’s closure ringing through the quiet street. Amidst an assortment of street lanterns that line the sidewalk, a second, more powerful light bathes the roadway, its harsh yellow lamps outshining the dim, orange bulbs from above as the engine to the car they belong to begins roaring. == Generation Alpha == > 5th May, 2031 <
“Alarm off” Sophie murmurs, putting an end to the classical music that emanates from the speakers of her phone, its ring spelling the end to a rather poor night’s sleep. Though her rest was undesirably deficient, the girl accepts the new day that has been afforded to her as she tosses the blanket off of herself, wiping the crumbs from her eyes as her hands ball into fists, carrying both arms above her head as she stretches her body as far as it can manage. Her hair tied into a messy bun, Sophie climbs out from her bed and steps upon her rug, the white strands of fabric sliding between her toes as she walks for the door. Through the quiet hall with no disruption, the young woman steps out of the bathroom with a washed face and brushed teeth, carrying herself into the empty kitchen where a pot of coffee awaits her, already brewed and waiting for its recipient. Lowering the porcelain mug from her lips, the yawning redhead rummages through her closet, searching for whatever grey t-shirt she can spot. The messy bun replaced with a high ponytail, Sophie steps in front of the standing mirror near the end of her bed, inspecting her outfit and starting from the bottom. Whilst fuzzy slippers cover her feet, the young woman’s legs are left uncovered, only shielding by a pair of tiny shorts she’d worn to bed the night prior. Though her top appears presentable, its chest sporting a pocket along her left breast, Sophie’s attention veers elsewhere into the reflection, staring back at herself as she looks her mirrored image in the eyes. Drawing a blank, the rest of the girl’s face sours as she glances at the discoloured patch over the left side of her face, its yellow and purple appearance incapable of being missed. Sensitive to the touch, Sophie’s wound sends a grimace-inducing pain as her fingers gently caress the side of her eye, feeling the subtle swelling that looms beneath her soft skin. Taking her seat at the desk in the corner of her room, Sophie’s thumb slides into the fold of her computer, lifting the screen as she sets her morning brew beside her. As the mouse beckons to the command of rolls across a smooth pad, the computer’s cursor is guided toward one icon after another, pages popping up from their metaphorical folders until only a grey screen remains. Waiting a few seconds, the natural light that shines over Sophie’s face through the parts in her blinds is overwhelmed by the screen she looks into, a few brief seconds of loading preceding her arrival into the first classes of her day. “Good morning, students” Mrs. Danielson remarks, her head hung toward the assortment of papers and soft-cover books that lay across her desk, a passing greeting made in the direction of the virtual students. Not joining the remainder of her classmates in reciprocating the woman’s gesture, Sophie takes a drink of coffee from her mug and sits back in her seat, watching her superior stroll from one side of the room to the other. “Alright, let’s- wait, no” Mrs. Danielson remarks, her mind apparently too preoccupied for the day’s lesson, which appears to get the better of her as she struggles to find her place. “Attendance, that’s what I need to do first” she mutters beneath her breath, just loud enough for the patient and tired students she stands before to hear her. “Alright, uh- Sophie” Mrs. Danielson calls aloud, the young woman she calls for taking a moment before responding with an obvious exhaustion concealed behind her reply. “Here” the young woman answers, earning a momentary glance from her teacher before a second look is taken toward her. “Is everything alright, Ms. Amari?” the absentminded teacher inquires, squinting as she looks toward the screen in the back of her room. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” Sophie asks back, the reason behind her teacher’s inquiry only apparent when mentioned. “Because the side of your face looks like a horror show” Mrs. Danielson responds, lowering her attendance sheet just a short distance, “do you need to speak to someone in private?” Incapable of holding back her grin, Sophie glances toward the floor as her arms cross, the subtle head shake she hides soon increasing in appearance. “I took a little tumble” the young woman answers, overhearing a few feedback-distorted chuckles as her reply is provided, “I don’t think I need to say anymore than that.” Her expression showing an obvious dislike for the conversation’s result, Mrs. Danielson lowers her face back toward the attendance booklet, calling out the next name on the list. Leaning back in her seat, Sophie glances at the seats around the classroom, a puzzled look coming over her face just as a pair of giggling voices emerge through the crack in her window. Lifting her chin, Sophie glances past her blinds and toward her front yard, her eyes latching onto Izzy just as the young woman dives into the passenger’s side of her boyfriend’s car. Not too far behind, Caden sneakily rushes to take the seat behind the wheel, his jacket carried in hand as he shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can manage. In seconds, Caden assumes control of his vehicle and pulls off the side of the road, driving his vehicle toward their suburban road’s exit in favour of the greater town that lies ahead. Passing a second look at the vacant seats her once-friends had frequently inhabited, Sophie’s core begins to burn, her breaths becoming heavier and more parted as each breath pushed through her nose heats up. Pressing her teeth together, Sophie closes her laptop without giving notice, her screen in the classroom going black as she seethes in her chair, uncrossed arms falling to her sides. Her anger intensifying, Sophie reclaims her coffee mug and leaves her chair, standing over her desk for a moment as her lips rest against the curved rim. Feeling the heat waft over her face, Sophie’s eyes widen as she stares toward the blank wall ahead, a sharp turn toward the opposite side of the room preceding the pull back of her arm. Without taking a moment to consider her actions, the now-absent student throws her mug across the room, its shattered fragments joining those of the standing mirror that breaks beneath the weight of its owner's anger. Groaning, Sophie pulls her head down, looking at the damage that lies before her. Collecting her thoughts for only a moment, the girl’s eyes fall toward the floor, looking at the destruction before finding her reflection in the largest fragment of what remains of her mirror. Her bruised face staring back at herself, Sophie’s angered visage falls out of favour, instead replaced by a disheartened look of betrayal and vitriol, one that brings even a cold chill down her own spine. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 5th May, 2031 < Wearing a baseball cap, large sunglasses and a pair of grey sweatpants, Sophie exits the luxury car she parks on the side of the road and approaches the entrance to a quiet restaurant. “Table for one, please” the young woman requests, chewing on a stick of gum as the hostess leads her through the mostly empty diner. “A server will be with you shortly” the polite greeter remarks, laying a menu atop the table before pulling away, seating the sixteen year old near the window. Sliding her knife through the second half of a syrup-covered stack of pancakes, Sophie covers her mouth as she chews, the diner having grown significantly more populated over the last half an hour. Paying no mind to the bell over the cafe’s front door now that it’s run nearly two dozen times since her arrival, the discreet figure of public interest retains her focus on the meal before her, an obvious frustration concealed behind her defined facial muscles. “Second period just started” a voice too uncommonly heard, yet too familiar to the young lady remarks, slowly drawing her eyes upward. “As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime” Dennis doubles down, lowering himself into the booth across the table, his hands folding whilst his subject of interest pauses mid-chew, looking the man in the eyes whilst leaving her knife and fork held within the hands she holds above the table. The hairs on the back of her neck standing, the diner’s hands lower to each side of her plate, her teeth slowly breaking up what remains of her bite. “Why are you following me?” Sophie quietly asks, her voice kept low as she releases her hold of each utensil, the alarming smile of her unexpected visitor discomforting her. “I’m a P.I, it’s my job” Dennis answers, his posture not changing as the conversation proceeds forward, his visage the only force of intimidation he presents, the rest of his body positioned in the least threatening manner. “Your job involves stalking me?” Sophie responds, looking the man in the eyes as her undisturbed exterior begins to slip, her expressions subtly adjusting to counteract the uncertainty of the circumstances she’s surrounded by. “Even if I didn’t have a licence, I know enough cops in this district to get away with murder” Dennis replies, his demeanour adjusting to display a more friendly countenance to the approaching server. “Excuse me, can I get a cup of coffee?” the man politely requests, met with an appreciative nod from the waitress that passes his table, the cold posture returning to his tall shoulders. “Like I told you yesterday- I’m paid very well for this” Dennis quips, reclasping his hands together as his sights return to his shaken target, “and the people signing my checks don’t even know my name. They’ve got no clue what I look like or who I am. I get to follow you for a living and do it with complete anonymity.” Leaning forward, Sophie adjusts herself as she inches closer in her spy’s direction, voice still kept to a hush as the sound of silverware tapping against ceramic dishes and bowls surrounds their shared dining room. “What’s your fucking end game here?” she whispers, watching the smile line her antagonist’s face in response to her obvious annoyance, “you trying to bust me for skipping class? Huh? What can I offer to make sure you go away?” His eyelids inching closer as his head shakes, Dennis remains silent, allowing the young woman’s concerns to fester as her internal hardships become increasingly difficult to hide. “Do you want money? Is that it?” Sophie wonders aloud, reaching into her small purse before removing a balled up wad of cash, extending it to the opposite side of the table to no response, her investigator’s hands unmoved and unreleased from each other, “whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it if you stop.” Not reacting, Dennis continues to look Sophie in the eye, remaining quiet for a few additional seconds just to watch the young woman’s response to the building tension. Without speaking, the man parts his hands and gently pushes the offered pile of money back in Sophie’s direction, returning his hand to the grasp of the other. “I want more than what you could ever give me. Or, at least- more than what you’d be willing to give me” Dennis replies, slowly pulling back in his seat, his back pressing against the booth’s cushions. “You may be America’s sweetheart right now, but the court of public opinion doesn’t know the full truth- no one does” the man doubles down, watching Sophie slowly guide the ball of cash back to her side, “but I don’t need to know what happened in order to know your story doesn’t add up.” Matching the man’s initial response of sitting back in his seat, Sophie’s shoulders sink into the soft seat as she leans back, the route this discourse appears to take only further deepening the pretzel-like twist knotting in her core. “It could be earth-shattering or something unimportant, but there’s someone willing to pay a lot to fill in the gaps you’ve left” Dennis concludes, pausing to thank the waitress that hands him his brewed beverage, “and I’m happy to get my hands dirty for them.” As her nostrils flare, Sophie parts her lips to speak before remaining silent, the knot she feels within driving her to pull away from the conversation entirely. Taking her unfinished meal and all the utensils she’d eaten with, the young woman scrapes what remains of her food into a nearby trash bin and sets the dirty plates and mug into a bussing tray as it passes by. Without another word, Sophie takes her bag and the wad of cash on her way through the exit, slapping a crisp one hundred-dollar bill on the table as she leaves. With a laugh, Dennis shakes his head and looks into his drink, blowing into the mug before taking a sip, taking little interest in watching the subject of his investigation ride off into the broad daylight. | > 5th May, 2031 < “Order number ninety-seven!” a man calls out from behind a deli counter, his hand raised with two paper-wrapped sandwiches on display. “Thanks, Jerome” Caden replies, leaving his ticket in a small, woven basket atop the nearby glass display case whilst reaching for the packaged lunch. “You got it, Caden” Jerome responds, returning to his duties as his patron returns to his usual table, presenting a half-smile to his girlfriend as he sets the subs on the table. “Finally getting to the end of another year” Izzy quips, unwrapping the sandwich as her significant other reclaims his seat, sighing as he leans against the seat. “I just wanna be done with school period” Caden replies, wiping at his eyes before reaching for his hoagie, “just one more year.” “Oh come on, it isn’t that bad” Izzy counters, picking up the first half of the sandwich before locking eyes with her boyfriend, “do you really think college is gonna be any easier?” Lowering his face, Caden shakes his head in refusal as he finally frees his food from its paper shell. “No, but it won’t come with so much baggage” he answers, pressing his teeth into the loaf before his other half begins to reply. “You’re talking about Sophie, right?” Izzy asks, her answer provided in the form of a nod, “is she still bothering you?” Rolling his eyes, Caden places his hand over his mouth as he speaks mid-bite. “Her existence bothers me” he remarks, lowering his hand to conclude once he’s swallowed his bite, “but she showed up to my house last night, yeah.” Squinting, Izzy’s shoulders shrug as she wipes the corner of her mouth with the knuckle of her right index finger, “well duh, she lives next door.” Shaking his head, Caden finishes his second bite before attempting to reply, his girlfriend’s voice speaking up before the chance can be offered to him. “I don’t really know what you’re expecting” she continues, her words taken into Caden’s ears as he finishes eating, “even if you try to cut her out completely, she’s still just one white picket fence away- or chain link fence, in your case.” “I told her not to speak to me, that’s the point” Caden explains, setting what remains of his sandwich back on the wrapper it was delivered in, “I can’t- in good faith- get any peace of mind when I know she’s just around the corner.” “Is it really that bad?” Izzy wonders back, quickly holding her hands in display of surrender as she respeaks, “I’m not questioning it. You just won’t tell me what she did, and I just assumed it was bad. But holy shit, how bad is it that you can’t even be around her?” His eyes falling, Caden slowly bites into his sandwich before quietly thinking to himself, leaving Izzy in silence for a moment as his mind processes. “It’s bad” he answers, his voice dropping a few octaves as he sulks, an odd low energy emanating from him, “it’s really bad.” “Then why won’t you tell me?” Izzy replies, the question one she’d asked before, though received the same response to at each occasion. “Because you shouldn’t know” Caden responds, wiping his hands as he doubles down, “I know you don’t want me being this ‘protective boyfriend’ kinda guy, but this is just one of those times where you need to trust that I know what’s best for you.” “I know that. I’m sure it is, and I’m not doubting that” Izzy retorts, trying to find her metaphorical footing within the discussion, “but when you don’t say much more than ‘it’s bad’, you kinda leave me in the dark as to how bad it really is. It’s all just a guessing game for me at that point.” “I know, and I’m sorry” Caden surrenders, wiping his fingers with a brown paper napkin as his tone becomes more sympathetic, “I want to tell you, but I don’t want to do it until it’s safe. When it’s safe, I’ll tell you everything- I promise.” Responding with a reassured smile, Izzy nods before reaching for her sandwich, “how did it go anyway?” she inquires, taking another bite. “How did what go?” Caden wonders back, nearing the end of the first half of his hiro as the question is raised. “You said Sophie came over last night” Izzy remarks, pressing her knuckle against her mouth to shield her chewing, “I can’t imagine it went well seeing how pissed you are.” Swallowing, Caden begins to speak before purposefully quieting, his chin going the way of the ground as a strange guilt comes over him. “I, uh-” he begins to murmur, his previously natural tone dropping as it had minutes prior, keeping his voice away from the ears of other patrons, “-I punched her in the face.” Parting her teeth to take another bite, Izzy freezes, able to spot the shame in her boyfriend’s face with minimal effort. “Are you seri-?” she begins to ask, stopping herself mid-inquiry when she affirms the answer to her own question, “Jesus, Caden!” “Like I said, it’s really fucking bad” the young man responds, a final bite-worth of sandwich held in the hand that now falls to his lap as he sinks back, “My mind takes a trip to dark places whenever I just hear her name, so of course shit’s gonna hit the fan when she starts screaming at me in my own frontyard!” Utterly shocked, Izzy’s eyes veer toward the window as she falls silent, her lack of a response not sitting well with the teenager before her. “Please don’t be mad” Caden mutters, a disheartened tone taken in his voice as his girlfriend is quick to respond. “What do you expect me to be?” Izzy answers, her boyfriend’s assumption of her thoughts allowing him to be surprised at her follow-up, “you’re the least-violent person I’ve ever met, what the fuck did this bitch do to you!?” Pulling his head back as his eyes narrow, Caden’s head leans toward his right shoulder, “you’re not mad at me?” he wonders, struggling to process the answer that follows. “Caden, you’re my boyfriend. If there’s any group that should be able to tell whether you’re a good guy, I would be in it” Izzy replies, lifting her sandwich for another bite, “you’re not the kind of guy to rock a chick in the jaw without being pushed to the fucking limit.” His guilt slowly washing away, Caden’s face sprouts a smile, a deep appreciation beginning to flourish within him as the sensation of acceptance comes over him. “Thank you” he replies, biting into the last of his sandwich as the sun just beyond their shared view of the window begins to fall behind grey clouds. | > 5th May, 2031 < “It’s real strong, I’ll tell you that” Andrew responds, pressing his fist against his mouth as he coughs up the smoke taken in from his cigar. “There’s a reason Cuba is known for its cigars, friend” Hugh replies, his arm draped over the back of his couch and around his wife’s back, his open palm resting on her shoulder. “I thought Cuba was known for its dictators- and classic cars?” George replies, sharing a laugh with the small group on the patio of the Stewart’s home. “It is! You’ve gotta travel to work to make cigars, don’t you?” Hugh replies, his query immediately poked holes into by the man just across the slow-burning fire pit between them. “And where do the dictators come in?” Andrew queries, watching Hugh stare into the sky in search of an answer, soon finding none worthy of providing. “Nevermind those people, here’s to Cuban cigars!” the Stewart patriarch replies, lifting his belvedere high in prost, a gesture mirrored by the three friendly souls that share the evening with him. “And to what’s soon to be the last year before our eldest children head off in search of higher education!” George adds, another round of unison salut provided, though with ample humour. “Getting tired of Caden already, Geo?” Andrew jokes, watching the man shrug as he pulls another drag off his smoke, “I know it’s only been, like, sixteen years- but you’ve gotta give it time to settle in!” Jokingly waving the source of their friendship’s origin, George lets out a deep puff of Cuban tobacco, tilting his head back as it sinks into the cushion of his chair. “He’s got a car, a girlfriend and enough papers due to write the declaration of independence on” George responds, propping up the back of his head with a free hand, “I think that slow break is starting to settle in.” “Like the empty nest syndrome, right?” Anne replies, holding her cigar in one hand whilst cradling a small glass of white wine in the other, “yeah, I always worried about that day.” Squinting, Andrew crosses his left leg over the right as he pulls a light drag off his own belvedere. “I must’ve missed that class in ‘Parenting 101’” the man jokes, gently leaning back as he raises the question lingering in the back of his head, “what’s empty nest syndrome?” “It’s what happens to parents when their kid goes off to college or gets their own place” Anne replies, her right leg crossed over her left, “the home feels empty ‘cause you’ve had the little ones running around it for eighteen years.” “Or longer if the economy is slow” Hugh jokes, though from a place of honesty, letting out a giggle as his wife gently swats his chest with the back of her hand. “But- of course- Logan wants to do online classes for college” Anne continues, taking another gentle sip from her thin, transparent glass, “so this nest is gonna be packed for another few years at least.” “Have you ever thought about having Logan do classes in-person for the last year of high school?” George wonders out of curiosity, “not that you should or shouldn’t, but the thought crossed my mind to let Caden stay home if he wanted.” “But Caden wouldn’t stay home now that he’s dating Izzy” Anne corrects, attempting to answer the question before her husband’s voice interjects. “That’s the delinquent’s name?” Hugh jokes, letting out a guttural laugh as his wife lovingly shakes her head as her eyes roll, “seriously though, I thought it was ‘Jasmine’ or something like that.” “Anyway- don’t mind the old fart over here” Anne redirects, steering the conversation back to the initial question at the expense of a jab at her humoured husband, “we have thought about it, but honestly, we’re not as fascinated by it as we used to.” “Yeah, I sort of switched up my tune after everything went down with Sophie” Hugh doubles down, his joking ways set aside for the time being, “we’re happy everything turned out well, but even though Logan always being at home doesn’t fill us with glee, there’s a part of us that’s sort of grateful we kept him home since she went missing.” “Besides, the kid still doesn’t fully understand the concept of kidnapping. He thinks he can just choose not to and doesn’t really understand that’s not how it works” Anne concludes. “No, it makes sense. If anything, I’m glad what happened to Sophie can at least be used for something productive” Andrew remarks, taking the last sip of vodka that resided within his glass, “I wasn’t too thrilled with her choosing to go fully online either, but I was more accepting of it after the fact too.” “Yeah, I think we all are” George reassures, a displeased look on his face at such an admission, “I think we’d all prefer that our kids experience the world we had growing up, but it’s that sort of weird guilt we have to admit that we’re all a lot more satisfied with the alternative in the wake of everything that happened.” “I’ll drink to that” Hugh replies, setting his cigar upon an ashtray and wrapping his fingers around a glass of single-malt whiskey, lifting its rim high into the air. “I’ve got nothing in my glass, but cheers all around!” Andrew replies, following Anne’s silent lead to round out the group. “Shit is the bottle empty already?” Hugh whispers to his wife, her head turning to face his direction as her eyes narrow. “Honey, the bottle was almost empty when we broke it out” Anne replies, her response enough for the man to redirect the concerns. “I think we have another full one on the bottom shelf of the liquor cabinet” Hugh explains, guiding Andrew in the direction to travel, “in the kitchen, past the counter, there’ll be a cabinet against the first wall you pass on the way in.” “Got it, I’ll be right back” Andrew replies, excusing himself into the home as he leaves his glass behind, still sober enough to maintain his balance on the way through the lavish, well-decorated interior of the couple’s home. Surrounded by pieces of glass moulded into curvy, enviable shapes, bright bulbs provide each hallway with enough light to the point where sunlight is barely necessary, the marble floors audibly providing each step the father of two takes. Finally rounding the nearest corner, Andrew finds the spacious kitchen he’d been directed toward, his eyes falling upon the redwood liquor cabinet just to his left. Whistling as he reaches for the first bottle of vodka he finds, Andrew turns to leave, passing the kitchen’s large island on his way before pausing, taking a step back as a small, white card catches his eye. His eyebrows narrowing, Andrew sets the alcohol on a stool and picks up the thin piece of paper, his eyes scrolling over the blue text that sits in the note’s centre. “Dennis Eaton” the man whispers beneath his breath, a visible look of displeasure rolling over his once-cheerful face. Shaking his head, Andrew slides the card into his back pocket and retakes the bottle, returning to the joyous gathering with his best attempt at a smile, a subdued sensation of irritation running through his body. == Generation Alpha == Season 2 Premiere
> 3rd May, 2031 < With her hands coupled together atop her lap, Sophie stares ahead with a blank face and cold eyes, her retinas focusing on the lips of a woman sitting on the other side of a long, wooden desk from her. One ear covered by the cushion of a pair of headphones, the young woman’s mind occupies a dull space, one that drowns out the slightly-older woman’s remarks. Tapping the tips of each finger against the desktop, the rambling lady continues to talk, her ears covered by the same brand of headphones as her guest, the microphone she speaks into no different from the one in front of Sophie. Each word the host has to utter appears calm and reflective, though the story she spins goes completely ignored by the younger woman across from her, each word ignored, and the greater point she’d worked to reach is entirely dismissed. Feigning interest through a half smile, Sophie continues to let the woman ramble with no interest in interrupting her, preferring to let the woman think she’s receptive to whatever nonsense she rambles about in the moment. Waiting for the social cues she looks for, the strawberry blonde figure of public support resides within her own world, one where no voice matters aside from her own, and the patience she presents is only offered out of obligation. Glancing toward a monitor near the front of the room, Sophie registers her reflection and that of those she surrounds herself with, a pair of men in casual wear shown on screen just to her left. With a glance over her shoulder, the woman locks eyes with the foremost man, his head nodding as the speaking woman continues to talk. From behind his glasses and patchy facial hair, the responsive gentleman in the white, long-sleeved sweater flashes a grin in his acquaintance’s direction. Not reciprocating the gesture, Sophie redirects her sights toward the room that surrounds her, its many colourful lights and decorative pieces coming together to form a presentable stage in which she occupies. Just ahead of herself and the table, various cameras and monitors capture those taking part in the recorded events, each small movement and gesture etched into history with the most incredible quality video can provide. “But that could be me, I’m sure you can conjure up a very different perspective” the curly, blonde-haired woman remarks, capturing her guest’s attention the moment her eyes veer toward her side of the table. “I would imagine so” Sophie replies, completely incapable of reciting a single line uttered within the last few minutes, “I guess that’s the one downside of being human- you’ll always see something differently from someone else. There’s no universal agreement.” Pressing her lips together, Sophie lets her host resume speaking, confident in her own mastery of stringing her interviewers along at will. “You’re so right. Everything becomes personal when you let people form their own ideas about it” the mid-thirties woman replies, actively redirecting the conversation back toward its origins, “I suppose that’s part of the thing you look forward to most with this documentary?” Taking a backseat to the conversation for the time being, Sophie steers her face toward the long-sleeved man just beside herself, his voice the first to speak up. “Absolutely! I mean, Sophie’s story has been followed for so long, and I can’t help but think that people haven’t really gotten to hear it the way she describes it herself” the man replies, one leg crossed atop the other as his right elbow presses into the side of his chair, “it’s really exciting to make something this raw.” Nodding once more, Sophie redirects her attention toward the host, watching the woman’s eyes settle upon her as the woman’s lips part. “And how relieving is this project for you to make, Sophie?” she asks aloud, clearing the air for the youngest guest of the panel to respond, a half-smile worn amongst her visage. “It’s very relieving” Sophie replies, her eyes panning across the room as she conjures the words to respond with, “to see all the support from people since I came home has been so touching. I’m just really happy to tell my story the way that I want to. Get to paint things from the way they happened instead of the way people report them as having happened.” Biting her lip, Sophie shakes her head gently, passing a look toward the one camera centred upon her before locking eyes with her host, keeping the woman captivated as she nods in the direction of the man behind her. “When Ian approached me for the film, it just felt like he understood where my head was at. He promised me a closure that I didn’t know I needed until then” the young woman remarks, a confident nod accompanying her conclusion, “I’m excited to share that with people.” Standing by her father’s side, Sophie watches the claw of an excavator ripped at the halfway-dismantled building she’d once spent a year calling home. Beside the large, orange-painted machine lies the remains of mangled steel, its contents formerly comprising the walls of the imprisonment the young woman had convinced the world she’d become all-too familiar with. “Thanks for bringing it down so quickly” Sophie murmurs, her arms crossed against her chest as the home her mother had once housed her in is turned to chipped and shredded debris atop a patchy lawn in the middle of nowhere. “There were too many bad memories for me to leave it standing” Andrew responds, his right foot placed further out from his left, his head shaking with a displeased expression, “I wasn’t leaving a monument to your hell standing.” A half-hearted smile replied with, Sophie watches a strand of crime scene tape blow through the air with the aid of a heavy gust of wind, more of the yellow procedural tape just left laying in the dirt and mud. “It didn’t take them long to clear the place, huh?” the perceived victim of such heinous crime inquires, met with a huff from the deepest chasm of her father’s chest. “I’m just disappointed it took them longer than thirty minutes to clear” the man remarks, turning around with his arms crossed as he makes for the passenger seat of the nearest car. “This was as open-and-shut as it can get” the man remarks, joining his daughter in the expensive sports car she takes the helm of, “there was nothing about that woman- or this place- that needed so much questioning.” With the press of a button, Sophie nods along as the vehicle’s engine begins to roar, its wheels pulling out of the dirt parkway of its own volition. “We got done what needed to be done, though” Sophie replies, falling back in her seat as the car’s destination is set toward home, “now we can just move on.” “We’ll do as best we can” Andrew responds, his facial hair beginning to grow beyond the point of control as his growing head of hair presses into the leather backing of his seat. Closing her eyes, Sophie presses her head back and lets her personal ride navigate the terrain itself, leaving the demolition site behind in favour of what rests ahead, set on the path toward the new life she’d wanted at the press of a button. His black, rubber shoes stepping into the place Sophie’s car once stood, a tall white man with a bald head and scruffy goatee steps into the settling dust, his brown khakis coming to a halt with the rest of his legs. Lowering the black sunglasses that wrap over his eyes, the man watches the young woman’s car take toward the open road with a suspicious look. “Sir, are you with the demolition crew?” Ian wonders aloud, calling out from afar beside a small group of camera men, their lens’ focused on the building as it crumbles at the seams. “I guess you could say that” the curious man replies, paying the weak-appearing, small-minded man not even a momentary glance before climbing into his grey car and departing the scene, following the trail left in the wake of Sophie’s expensive set of wheels. = Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards = > 4th May, 2031 < The prongs on her fork piercing a small clump of crisp lettuce drenched with balsamic vinaigrette, Sophie sits at the kitchen’s island in silence as her father paces from one side of the room to the other. His arms pressing as many bundles of flowers against his chest as possible, Andrew sets the ample supply of flora atop the nearby countertop whilst his daughter watches on, too preoccupied with her dinner to be bothered in helping. “You don’t mind having the house to yourself for a few hours, right?” the man wonders across the room, setting his eyes on his unbothered offspring, her shoulders shrugging. Shaking her head without a word to accompany it, Sophie remains silent as her father flashes a smile, too tired to do much more than lift the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be back before ‘Liv gets home” Andrew declares, snatching his keys off the countertop before casually departing the home, his flowers left behind. Her eyes pressing close together, Sophie sinks her teeth into another bite of her salad, the kitchen she sits within as empty and quiet as the rest of her home. Glancing to the watch that rests atop her bare arm, the young woman’s eyes take to the time that rests upon the device’s centreface, the late afternoon sunlight that spills into the noiseless prep space colouring the area an incredibly bright shade of yellow. Lowering her chin, Sophie pays little mind to the nothingness that surrounds her, unbothered by its presence just as much as she’s untroubled by the world beyond the kitchen’s drywalls. Sliding her fingers into the band of her denim shorts pocket, the young woman removes her phone and casually tosses it atop her island’s countertop, calling out instructions to the still-dark screen. “Alexa, start video player” Sophie heedlessly commands, watching the screen light up whilst her fingertips latch onto a piece of soggy green that had fallen from her fork and found home on her faded pink t-shirt. “Alexa, search ‘Sophie Amari’” she remarks, guiding her fork through what remains of her lunch as her phone’s presentation adjusts accordingly. “Alexa, play video” Sophie murmurs, not paying any mind to which videos happen to present themselves ahead of the rest as she takes another load of food onto her utensil. Going dark once more, the young woman’s desired video takes a moment to load, only needing a few seconds before following through on its orders. “In this day and age, it’s hard not to know what the biggest headline of the day is. If you’re even remotely plugged in, it’s practically impossible to avoid the daily topic sweeping an entire nation’s discourse” the unimportant host remarks, his buttoned-up, chequered shirt and joining the rolled cuffs on his eternally-moving hands caught by the camera. “Well, when something sweeps the rounds for months, it’s no longer practically impossible to avoid- it’s just fully impossible” the man continues, his remarks catching his viewer’s ear, but not her attention. “Such seems to be the case with Sophie Amari, the Missouri girl whose abduction swept headlines from one side of the country to the other” the gentleman’s voice declares, his bright eyes and energetic expression just enough to warrant his audience’s intrigue. Introducing himself as ‘Max’, the host moves on from his introduction to the chorus of futuristic instrumentals, the graphics to his program clouding the screen for a few seconds before progressing. “Now, it’s been a few months since we’ve talked about the case, but that’s for good reason- there was nothing new to say” the man continues, still only able to catch as much as Sophie’s ear, her eyes still set on the non-existent going-on’s of her home’s interior. “We knew the story, we got the announcement that she was getting a documentary to no one’s surprise, and aside from that- not much else” Max proceeds, his image disrupted every few seconds with pictures corresponding to the case in question, offering his audience little time to look away. “But things have changed just three months later. Our most significant midpoint updates have finally surfaced, and boy oh boy- they’re important.” Leaning back in her seat, Sophie takes the ceramic bowl into her possession before climbing off her seat, the fork that she rests against the bowl’s rim led toward the sink. “Local officials in Gentry have finally called off their investigation, and have reportedly cleared Sophie’s name from any wrong-doing” Max continues on, his voice just barely loud enough to overtake the running water her case’s subject begins to fill her empty dish with. “As for the rumours from a few weeks ago, those same officials confirmed some of the media’s queries within the last few hours” the voice proceeds, “they’d gone into investigate the statements made by Ms. Amari, and believed themselves to have comfortably filled in the gaps many have alluded to residing within the girl’s story.” Scoffing, Sophie shakes her head with a grin as she discards her lunch’s remnants in the garbage disposal, the sink and bowl sitting together in the near-full dishwasher just to the side. “Reports have also come out stating that the home in question had undergone the beginning of demolition the moment it was cleared of suspicion. Those reports were confirmed earlier this morning by visitors to the residence’s site.” With the turn of a knob and the push of a button, Sophie runs the dirty dishes through the wash cycle and returns to her uninhabited seat, the knock at her front door that precedes her return to the stool unanswered. “Though the documentary’s release date draws near, there has been an uptick in public calls for more of the subject’s own testimony to be released than what was simply left in the trailer” Max furthers, “this follows public outcry that the investigation ceased before such response.” Her video interrupted by a second series of knocks, Sophie rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, refocusing her sights on the well-produced topic with more intent, trying to drown out the person that awaits her answer. “As this case has reached more eyes, it has found itself at the centre of more and more politicisation” Max speaks further, finally capturing Sophie’s eyes in spite of her home’s plea for reply. “While some voices on the left have argued for stricter monitoring of public school zones in the wake of tighter educational funding, the right have taken a different approach” the video persists, again interrupted by a now-third set of knocks. “Republicans and other right-leaning voices in congress have spoken out against Gentry officials, calling their rather-curious questioning of Ms. Amari both ‘irresponsible’ and ‘reprehensible’.” Seemingly falling silent, the knocks appear to cease, their regular intervals of every twenty seconds passing just as the twenty-first unanswered digit passes. “Democrats have been quick to accuse Republicans of ‘victim-blaming’, whilst the right have defended themselves by calling the scrutinised interrogation a detriment to the overall case” Max continues on, his audience finally settling into their seat at the vanquishing of the repetitive front-door tapping. “The increased politicisation has- of course- resulted in two very divided sides” the host continues, “one side blindly defending the girl’s story and the choice to use such important first-hand account as advertisement for the film, whilst the other questions the girl’s innocence and call for regulations on what sort of material can be used for commercialised purposes.” Reaching across her countertop, Sophie’s thumb presses onto the button on her device’s side as the video goes silent, its flashy graphics replaced with a familiar dark screen. “This is a nice house you have” a rugged voice speaks from the kitchen’s entry, catching the girl by surprise enough for her to jump back, her back slamming into the island’s edge as her phone falls to the ground. With his hands in each pocket, the stranger leans his shoulder against the walkway between the home’s entrance foyer and the dining room. “Who the fuck are you!?” Sophie angrily responds, watching the man’s face scrunch in disgust at the sound of her phone’s screen slamming against the hardwood tiles beneath their feet. “Ooh, that didn’t sound good” the man replies, his bald head reflecting the light of a nearby window. “Who the fuck are you!?” Sophie repeats, hurrying to the flower-covered countertop without an additional word, her hand grasping at the handle to a knife that she aims toward the intruder. “Just someone passing by the neighbourhood. I thought I’d drop by, maybe say hello?” the man remarks with a smile, pushing himself off the wall as he takes a few steps forward, walking further into the kitchen with his wide eyes set upon the young woman, “maybe ask a few questions?” “Get out of my house” Sophie demands, refusing to play into the man’s apparent games as he steps closer, folding his hands atop the island as he claims the seat just recently abandoned. “I spy with my little eye yet another white lie” the man answers back, his eyelids pressing closer together as his head tilts to the left, a moment of self-inquiry coming over him, “or, at least you’d like for it to be a white lie- wouldn’t you?” “Don’t make me repeat myself” Sophie says back, the man’s physical superiority not the source of her worry, though his unwelcome presence and it’s apparent persistence is. “I’m not making you do anything. Under the court of law, I have no legal precedence to make you utter a word” the man replies, lowering his chin just slightly to the point where his ears and shoulders are level, “but what I do have the authority to do is put your claims under a microscope if I so choose to.” Going silent, Sophie remains where she’d taken claim of the knife, not having moved an inch since the stranger had taken over her chair. “And girly, I’ll have you know that I’ve got more than enough reason to choose to” the man continues to speak, a wad of cash held together by the strength of an elastic band removed from his side pocket, “I get one of these every day. Not only do I have reason to put your words under a microscope, but I’ve got reason to rip them apart for every little blunder.” “Who are you?” Sophie counters back, growing tired of the man’s presence as the sound of a car’s tires roll over the parkway’s asphalt, the home’s occupants able to hear them in part thanks to the still-open front door. “Dennis Eaton, Private Investigator” the man replies, sliding a card from the space between the wad of cash before tossing it to the opposite end of the island, the bold, blue letters just barely visible to the young woman at its stopping point. “Sophie, why is the door open!?” Andrew calls out, his keys rattling in his hand as he walks through the home’s entry, tossing the door shut on his way into the kitchen before stumbling upon the troubling scene. “That’s my fault, sir. The door was our only way of fanning out the house when I was a boy” Dennis replies, not only looking toward the man as he answers, his approachable tone doing enough to de-escalate the situation the father had assumedly entered. “Dad, get him out of the house!” Sophie orders, her visible anxiousness and wielding of the blade all the man needs to respond with. “Don’t worry, I can see myself out the way I saw myself in” Dennis replies, lifting both hands in a show of surrender whilst calmly leaving his seat, turning to face Andrew with an appreciative look on his face. “While you’re at it- don’t come back” the father doubles-down, watching the grin emerge from one side of the unfamiliar man’s face to the other. Nudging his head forward, Dennis presents the father a smile before leaving a second card on the newly-vacated chair. “Understood” the private investigator responds, calmly walking past Andrew on his way to the door, stepping down the front steps and to the vehicle on the opposite side of the street. | > 4th May, 2031 < Standing against the side of her home, Sophie watches the untraveled road ahead of her suburban house, it's quiet surface unfrequented for most of the day, bringing a peace she otherwise couldn’t have in the larger city. “Ms. Kirkpatrick is so much fun!” Olivia’s muffled voice speaks from her home two stories above, her half-opened window allowing her sister to hear the conversation from her hiding place in the shadows of her lawn. “I hear she says the same about you, isn’t that nice!” Andrew responds, an enthusiasm in his voice despite the physical exhaustion his body wears. “She’s way more funner!” Olivia answers back, eliciting a breathy giggle from her father as she leaps onto her bed, sliding beneath the yellow, character-emblazoned covers. “She knows all the songs and she wears all the pretty dresses!” the young girl continues, preaching to the choir as her father lifts the blanket up to his daughter’s chin. “She knows every song!?” Andrew jokingly remarks in disbelief, pulling in a deep breath as he shakes his head, the girl’s laughter putting a smile on his face, “well doesn’t that just make her awesome!?” “The awesome-est!” Olivia gleefully replies back, sinking into her mattress as Andrew presses his lips against her forehead. “Then I guess that means you really wanna go to sleep, right?” the man wonders aloud, backing away from the bed as he approaches the window. “Then I can wake up fast and see Ms. Kirkpatrick!” the young girl cheers, affirmed in her statement as her father closes the window, cutting off the outside from the tranquillity of his child’s room. Glancing upward, Sophie listens to their conversation hush greater than before, listening to the glass pane shut before the light above dies out, the blank expression she wears unchanging. Within a few seconds, the sound of rocks being kicked up by the tires of an oncoming car fills the air, the quiet road top increasingly brightened by the set of headlights that only come to a stop at the front of the home just next door. With her nostrils flaring, Sophie emerges from her cover, walking through the lawn and onto the sidewalk as the vehicle’s door opens, only the driver present to exit the car. “What the fuck did you do!?” the girl growls, her arms swaying from each side as she catches the ear of the man ahead, his eyes rolling before they can even attach to the approaching woman. Shaking his head, Caden shuts his door and makes for the steps to his home, the lights on his front porch present as he silently departs the conversation as quickly as he’d unintentionally entered it. “Do you think you can just stick some P.I on me and not think I’d take that as you breaking your promise!?” Sophie calls back, her once-friend turned bitter-adversary wearing a look of disgust as he turns back sharply. “I haven’t said a goddamn word!” Caden growls back, his right foot planted into the ground further ahead than his left, a defensive stance taken. “Whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into has nothing to do with me, so leave me out of it!” the man declares, pulling away to walk the rest of the way toward his front step. “Well someone’s investigating me and you’re the only person that has motive” Sophie argues back, not getting the hint that the subject of her aggression wants nothing to do with her. “The only motive I have is to pretend like you never-fucking-existed!” Caden jabs back, pressing his thumb into the key fob to lock his car’s door shut, “getting some guy to crawl up your ass and ask you questions does the exact opposite of what I want. So get off my porch and let me keep pretending you’re dead.” With a grimace, Sophie watches the man walk a few steps away before speaking out again, drawing his increased ire. “That’s the perfect cover, isn’t it?” she asks aloud, watching Caden slow to a halt before rolling his head, his face falling as she continues to speak. “There’s only one person that knows what happened that night, and all he needs to do is pretend there’s no way he could’ve called a sleuth” Sophie murmurs, watching her assumed culprit turn back with a face full of rage, “that’s some pretty good cover story if you ask-” Already pushed to his tipping point, Caden’s aggravation boils over the edge, his unassuming posture as he approaches quickly turning violent. Pulling his arm back, the young man’s fist rockets into the side of Sophie’s face, silencing her where in the place her proclamation had left off without a moment of hesitation. Forcefully swinging to the right, the muscles in Sophie’s face jolt as her head flies back, carrying her body to a quick fall to the ground, where she remains momentarily- dazed and confused. “I said I’ve got no part in this!” Caden shouts, unconcerned with the volume of his voice as he screams at the woman, her eyes widened as the rest of her mind attempts to comprehend the shot she’d just taken, “now leave me alone or I’ll ruin your life!” With his knapsack in hand, Caden hurls the bag at the front door before catching up with its landing spot, watched on by his victim as he retrieves his carrying case and steps through his front door, slamming it shut behind him. With a groan, Sophie’s head pulls back, the ponytail she’d tied her red locks into pressing against the pavement as she grasps at her face, still reeling from the punch as she looks toward the sky, it's dark contents void of any stars, only shrouded by clouds. == Generation Alpha == |
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