S2, E9 | Made to Hang

> 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 ==