> 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 ==
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