S2, E1 | This Story Has Holes

​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 ==