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> Friday, 3rd December 2038 <
“My father was addicted to gambling when I was younger” Andrew confesses, occupying his couch in the middle of an empty living room and staring at the wooden floorboards. “It didn’t matter what it was, if there was a way to throw money on a quick bet, he’d take it without a second to think” the man remarks, his face flushed with the dim light from a nearby lamp, “there were some days where he’d tell me to skip school and come with him to the racetracks ‘cause I was ‘good luck’ when I was a boy.” Resting his right forearm over his thigh whilst his left hand scratches at the back of his neck, the man sits in a quiet room with no one to share the space with, his focus only being on the object that stands across from him. “Of course, though... what’s a problem gambler without some kinda debt to owe, right?” Andrew persists, speaking in a low enough tone for it to appear personal and intimate. “I’ve said for years now that my parents were never proud of me. I’ve told people that I was always a disappointment to them, but that’s not really the whole truth” the man admits, staring forward with a gentle shake of his head, “they despised me.” Licking his bottom lip, the man’s eyes wander off toward the windows on the opposite side of the room, staring at the dark and cold night sky that lingers over the head of the quiet neighbourhood with a passing glance. “Mom had her own vices, but her demons were mostly devoted to figuring out how quickly she could empty a bottle of vodka in one sitting” the devoted father continues to recall, visibly lacking any favour toward the woman. “I bring this up to show why they thought so little of me. Dad was losing money fast and mom couldn’t find enough loose change in the couch cushions to hit the package store in good faith” Andrew continues, another shake of his head offered, “I was a waste of good money.” With a little, red light blinking just above its lens, the camera that his eldest daughter had unintentionally passed down to his youngest now finds itself recording the man responsible for bringing both of them into the world, voluntarily set up in the centre of the commons area. “I stayed a waste of that money until I left the house and got a job. It was a decent gig for minimum wage- nothing too special” Andrew proceeds, his free hand scratching at the hairs that make up his beard. “It was enough to move out and get my own place for a few months- maybe a year or so- after I turned eighteen. It was a nice little starter apartment for a few hundred bucks a month” the words continue to be spoken, caught on tape to be preserved as intended. “I’d been working for almost two years by that point, but whatever money I couldn’t hide from my parents would end up on some casino table or in some Pakistani guy’s Gandhi-mart a few blocks off from the trailer we lived in” the man continues to evoke the memories of, sometimes allowing his eyes to drift off into the distance in an effort of recollecting specific details. “Moving out was the only way to guarantee they wouldn’t keep lifting cash off me. I scheduled an apartment tour and took the first one that was available the day I became a legal adult” he proceeds, nodding along with the returning flood of details that reach his mind. “I believe it was two months after I moved out that I started dating Morgan” Andrew begins, reaching the line of thought that finds him in front of the camera now. “You know how it is when you’re in your late teens, right? I hate to be as vulgar as to say this, but- pussy is pussy. That’s the mantra of just about every man I’ve ever met” he laughs, amused at the crude and immature outlook he’d once carried, “anyway, we started dating for a while. Eventually, she moved in and not long after that-” Andrew carries on, pausing for a moment as he prepares to speak what he’s gone years now without saying, “-after that, we found out she was pregnant with Sophie.” Bowing his head again, Andrew’s face falls as he steadies his breath, feeling a pit grow in his stomach with a feeling similar to how an apple rotting from within appears from the outside. “Anyway, it wasn’t long before we couldn’t afford the apartment anymore. With all the food and the diapers and the formula we needed ‘cause I was scared to death that Morgan kept smoking while she was carrying- it added up” he rolls on, face taking back toward the camera’s lens. “She didn’t have any family she kept in touch with, and I figured that- with a bank account to keep my money in and agreeing to help them pay some bills...” Andrew again comes to a pause, frowning at the displeasure over even thinking back upon the situation at hand, “...it’d be better to move back in with my parents than to force my new family out onto the street.” Clearing his throat, the distressed father is again forced to hang his head, wearing the same hoodie that he’d been sporting all night long. “Not long after Sophie was born, Morgan was admitted into in-patient treatment for a whole bunch of psychological problems. I figured it wasn’t safe to leave so many things at the mercy of her to make while she was in that state of mind” Andrew confesses, “one of those things was a life insurance policy I’d named her the beneficiary of.” Directing visual bitterness toward himself for the choices that he’d made long ago, the secret-carrying father lets his mind settle with the upsetting circumstances that plague his mind. “The only reason for the change was to make sure Morgan didn’t have to be bothered with any of that nonsense while she was in treatment. I didn’t foresee us splitting up like we did” Andrew explains, defending his reasoning at the time, “the only people I could transfer those things to were my parents.” Leaning back in the soft supports of his sofa, the father stares off into the distance again as he continues to speak. “Around this time, I’d started becoming friendly with a woman named Daria Comiski. She’d just started at the restaurant I’d been working at and we got along pretty quickly” Andrew explains, nodding to himself at the memories, “I don’t want to take too long, so I’ll just cut out the troubles I had with Morgan in the years that followed. Daria and I were very close.” Stationary and uncontrolled, the camera simply remains put in the centre of the room bearing witness to the man’s confessions, serving its duties diligently as the only watching eye. “At this time, the stress got to be a lot. The fact that my parents kept asking for money to feed into their vices certainly didn’t help” Andrew explains, “had I been home to answer a phone call one day, the agent I’d been in contact with would’ve never told them to let me know I was approved for a new apartment.” Going cold, the father’s expression loses its look of intrigue as his mind races toward less pleasant and much darker recollections still yet to be uttered from his lips. “Fast forward to a few days later when my dad asked me to help him with this hunt he was insistent on doing” Andrew explains, a deeper squint carried in his eyelids, “for context, the trailer lived near a big plot of woodland. Sometimes- because it’s rural Missouri- people will head out of town to hunt out of season.” Shaking his head with a frown, the father confesses that such an out-of-nowhere dedication to taking toward the forest never quite sat well with him- even at the time. “My father wasn’t a hunter. He said he was offered a lot of money to take a chance and hunt for some deer for a local shop, and the idea that he’d pick up a rifle and try to hunt for a few bucks was the only part that made sense” he concedes, disheartened for even seeing sense in that. “What I didn’t understand was why I needed to go” Andrew doubles down, eyes again taking toward the reflective lens that the recording camera holds toward him before venturing back toward the home’s larger interior, “for days leading up to it, my father would really oddly tell me how much he was looking forward to teaching me how to hunt- as if he knew how to hunt or as if I was a seven year old he was finally showing how to be a man.” For a moment, the father gathers a massive breath into his lungs, filling the organs with as much oxygen as they can hold before letting them go at the glance of a clock mounted on the wall his eyes take to. “Shit... it’s getting late” Andrew mutters aloud, clearing his throat whilst looking down to the floor once more, shaking his head as if he were trying to physically clear his mind of the thoughts that fill it before looking back toward the lens, “we’ll continue this tomorrow.” = 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 = > Saturday, 4th December 2038 < “Going somewhere?” Andrew wonders aloud with genuine curiosity as he steps through the divider that stands between the kitchen and living room. “Yes, there are a bunch of lights on the van’s dashboard-thing that don’t usually light up” Elaine replies, dressed in a light brown coat with her hair tied up in a bun, descending the stairs with her purse in hand, “the dealership I bought it from referred be to this mechanic about eight miles north and the only time he had available was this morning.” “Are you gonna need a ride back?” the woman’s husband questions aloud, bending toward the ground just beside the staircase’s bannister to pick up a package of water bottles he’s intent on stuffing into the refrigerator. “I’ll let you know. They said things like these usually don’t look serious enough for a mechanic to drop everything they’re doing and work on it there” Elaine responds, shrugging her shoulders as she reaches ground level, “I’m pretty sure they’ll let me drive it back.” “Well just call me if you need a pick up” Andrew responds, stepping forward and pressing his lips onto those of his dearly beloved, “I love you.” “I love you too” Elaine says with a pleasant smile, turning back around with ease and making for the front door whose closure on her way through allows for the guise she wears to fall. More nervous than anything else, the devoted wife and mother stares at her van with great uncertainty, her face wretched by the anxiety that comes over her in the face of what her true reasons for the day trip are. “Hey, Liv!? Are you awake!?” Andrew calls out from the bottom of the stairs, waiting for a few seconds before his ears catch a tired groan. ‘I am now” the teenager shouts back with as much energy as she can muster, the retort bringing a smile over her father’s face as he returns to the kitchen. “The scene was described by detectives as inhumanly grizzly and horrifyingly morbid” a news anchor remarks through the television in the room’s corner, catching the package-carrying man’s eyes. “Police say Wolf was arrested late last night in connection to the murders of his ex wife and daughter, and that charges have been formally brought forward” the blonde woman confidently remarks to the scene of a home that appears familiar to the father’s eye, its front lawn surrounded by cars with flashing red and blue lights. Taking no emotion in the news story as the anchor begins to shift her focus to other stories, Andrew carries the heavy package the rest of the way toward the fridge, yanking open the door before beginning to stuff the plastic water bottles inside one at a time. Just overhead, a set of footsteps march along the wooden floorboards above and eventually make their way out from the room they’d inhabited, gradually making their way down the front staircase and onto the main floor. “It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday morning” Liv casually remarks as she draws closer to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes as they refuse to fully open once struck with the sunlight that bathes the room she now enters, “why’d you have to wake me up so early?” Lifting his right eyebrow, Andrew passes the young girl a look with humour taken from her question, paying no mind to the short shorts and sleeve-cut band t-shirt that had been passed down by her older sister. “Because, like you said...” Andrew responds, smirking at the girl as he jokes at her expense, “...it’s ten o’clock in the morning.” Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Liv walks up to her knelt father before crouching toward the ground, giving him a peck on the cheek before reaching past him and toward the paper carton of orange juice that sits on a shelf a few feet away. “Love you too, honey” he concedes, nodding toward his daughter as she walks off with the carton and allows him to continue his efforts of restocking the fridge with cold water. “Where’s mom?” Liv wonders aloud, noticing the lack of her brother’s presence in one of the chairs that’s been stored off in the corner of the room and the emptiness of the stovetop that the woman would most frequently cook at. “She put your brother down for a nap a few minutes ago and just left to take the van into the shop” Andrew replies, briefly putting a halt to his current chore as his eyes take back toward the teenager, “use a cup, honey.” Having placed her lips to the slot of her beverage’s container, Liv finishes her brief sip straight from the carton before lowering it back to the room’s island. Doing as instructed, the recently awakened teenager approaches the dishwasher whilst her father continues to empty the package of its bottles, another curiosity dawning upon her mind as she begins pouring the juice. “What’s for breakfast?” Liv wonders aloud, soon folding the container’s paper tab back inward and leaning over the fridge’s open door to return it for the shelf it’d been stationed atop. “Well, when your brother wakes up and you put on pants that don’t make me worry that your vagina will be falling out every time you sit down- I figured we’d all go out for breakfast” Andrew responds, standing up from the ground as he crumbles up the now-empty plastic bag and tosses it into the garbage. “Why? Did you forget how to cook?” Liv inquires, not understanding why the food-stocked fridge would be allowed to go without visitation in favour of dining in elsewhere. “No, I just figured it’d be nice to do something with my family on a Saturday morning” Andrew replies, leaning his back against the kitchen’s counter as he crosses his arms, “I’m still trying to get used to thinking of you as just another teenager. It’s not easy to just change the way you see someone after such a long time.” Lifting the glass cup she’d poured her drink into toward her lips, Liv nods to the man mid-sip before turning away, gesturing her acceptance of the gesture as she walks off with the drink in tow. Taking the answer for what it’s worth, Andrew smiles to himself and watches her walk away, rounding the bannister and heading back for her room whilst her father stares on with pride, pleased to see the woman that she’s become rather than dwelling on the way he’d spent the night prior. | “No, the guy says he can fix it today but that I’ll have to wait a few hours before I can get it back on the road” Elaine replies, covering one side of her head with one free hand whilst speaking into the flat, pink case-wearing cellphone that she holds in the other, “he doesn’t know if there are things he’ll need to do in order to fix it that I’ll have to sign off on, so I’m supposed to be here until the thing’s ready.” Allowing the man to respond, Elaine quietly shakes her head in refusal at what he speaks before voicing it aloud, wanting to allow him the opportunity to talk before doing so. “No, no! Go without me! Mom’s not going to feel left out just because you go out to get pancakes and waffles” she replies, wearing a pleased smile as she speaks, “let the kids spend some quality time with their father for crying out loud! Just have a good time together!” Conceding defeat to his wife’s point, Andrew caves to her request and begins the process of ending the call, sharing their departing quips to each other before both parties put their phones away, attending to the matters that they have on hand. On her end of the line, Elaine pulls her phone away from her face and smiles at the screen, allowed a few seconds to see her wallpaper of a family photo before it turns off, allowing the woman to see her own reflection in the dark screen. With a look of guilt, the woman tucks her phone away and into her purse before grasping its handles tightly, sitting with her own thoughts for a few seconds before reaching forward, pressing her thumb into the chrome button on the front of a box. Within moments, Elaine is met with the sound of a loud buzzing that preempts the unlocking of a large, heavy door she soon enters through, leaving behind the crisp, middle-America winter air in favour of a warm, narrow corridor. “Right this way, ma’am” a woman in a dark uniform gestures, stepping off to the side of a doorway to allow the now empty-handed woman entry into a large, communal space littered with circular tables. “You’ve got a visitor, kid” a heavy-set black woman calls out, her voice bouncing off the far-apart walls that make up the room she and the subject of her claim occupy, its interior lit with harsh, fluorescent light tubes that buzz loud enough to notice without fail. Picking her head up from its place within the crossed arms that she rests atop one of the tables in the centre of the room, a young woman in a dull, colourless jumpsuit turns back to face her guest, eyes widening slightly as she tries to conceal a smile. Feeling the moisture leave her mouth, Elaine stares toward the girl that’s spent the last near-hour awaiting her arrival, unable to put into words what kind of emotions she’s feeling. “You showed up” Sophie quips, her hair coloured a light brown and face lightened slightly with a smile. | Closing the door to his daughter’s room, Andrew quietly embarks upon a descent of the home’s central staircase en route to the living room, his upper body covered in a plain, black t-shirt and lower body wearing the faded, blue jeans he’d been wearing all day long. With ease and as if part of his routine, the father breaks the camera out from the place in which he’d hidden it away and sets it up on the home’s back patio, wanting to keep his voice as far away from ears to reach. “I’d come up with a cold on the morning of that hunt my dad was talking about. As far as I knew, the only people that were supposed to go out were me and him” Andrew explains, bracing against the noticeable winds that thrust frosty air in whatever direction mother nature dictates. “I’d never intended to go, but now I had a sore throat and an appointment with the person that’d be my landlord a few minutes past three that day” he proceeds, shaking his head with a smile, “mom wasn’t having that.” Though the winter conditions make for a brutal atmosphere to willingly reside in without many layers to bundle up in, Andrew spits in the face of the frigid air over what he considers to be the greater good, unphased by the weather. “Something was just so off about her that morning. I told her that I felt sick and awful, but it’s like she had skin in the game over this hunt like my father did” the man continues, the fog of his breath flying in the direction of the wind. “Eventually, I just caved in and agreed to go on the hunt. I figured we could get it done in time for me to leave for the meeting” he proceeds to explain, visualising the surroundings that had made up that cloudy day as if he were still in the moment himself. “Fast forward about twenty minutes. My father and I are deep in the woods and I just get this sinking feeling like something’s off” he says with a squint, “I don’t know much about hunting, but being there with only pistols was odd.” Envisioning the birds that flew over the treeline in the lightened skies above, Andrew’s tongue breaches his mouth and curls at his bottom lip, creating a gentle suction that pulls the flesh of it inward. “I couldn’t wrap my mind around why we’d gone out into the woods to hunt for this mystery man I’d never met and a payment that I’m assuming this is still for until it dawned upon me...” the man confesses, staring into the camera with a gentle sway of his head from one side to the other. “...who the hell goes hunting for deer with a pistol?” “Those things travel around here all day and night” Andrew recalls his father speaking aloud, the older man having failed to realise that his son has caught onto the lingering parts of the tale he’d spun that don’t line up the way they were meant to. Looking around the woods with wandering eyes, the original Carrion family patriarch pays no mind to the potential animals that roam the forest, his feet simply continuing to move forward in search of a quiet, secluded path to follow. Approaching his father with a quicker pace than the one he’d journeyed this far with, Andrew discards his pistol along the ground at the same moment that he thrusts his foot into the back of the man’s knee, forcing him to the ground before what’s unfolding can even be noticed. Succumbing to the unbecoming plot that he thinks up on the spot, the younger of the two men grabs his father’s inner elbow and uses his free hand to redirect the handgun’s barrel. *pop* In one motion, Andrew forces his father’s finger to squeeze upon the trigger with every ounce of his might before watching a hole open on the opposite side of the man’s head, torn through by a bullet that spews the older gentleman’s brains along the ground. Collapsing lifelessly into the dirt, the gambling addict’s body crashes into the ground and falls completely still whilst his dominant hand’s loosened grip keeps the firearm held within it, the barrel still smoking from the gunshot. “I don’t know if anything- other than Sophie’s birth- had sparked that much joy out of me in my entire life” Andrew confesses, keeping his pupils directed toward the machine that documents his every word on video. “I made sure to make it look like a suicide so no one would assume anything of me” the father continues, shaking his head as he speaks further upon that day. “When I’d walked back to the house, my mother was in the kitchen doing something- I’m still not sure what” he proceeds, vividly able to make out the events that comprised the fateful day. “She didn’t know it was me coming in, so when she heard the door open- she’d thought it was my dad” Andrew remarks, nodding to the camera before turning the bob of his head into a shake of dismissal and disgust, “it was the second thing I’d heard- the first was hearing Sophie cry in my bedroom.” “Did you make it look like an accident?” the mother questions aloud from the kitchen, too focused on the bag that she stuffs with whatever valuables she can strip from the trailer’s interior. Receiving no reply, the woman continues to prepare the bag for what can only be considered an unannounced departure, paying no mind to the footsteps that she still assumes are the ones belonging to the man she’d anticipated the return of. “To this day, I don’t think I’m capable of squeezing my hands together with as much force as I’d wrapped my hands around that woman’s throat” Andrew confesses, unable to hold back the smirk that the memory he thinks of fondly sparks from him. “I snapped her neck like it was a pencil” the man communicates, still pleased at his actions even with the benefit of hindsight, “I framed my father for it, let the police find his body in the woods, I took Sophie and left.” With one leg crossed over the other, the father turns his eyes toward the analog watch on his wrist before taking surprise in the late hour of the evening that meets him. “The police never suspected a thing. I moved in with Daria instead of the flat I’d been approved for, she got pregnant with Liv, and I’m sure you guys know the rest” Andrew concludes, visibly pained to have made it to the point in the story that he now reaches. “Liv, Elaine, Galen... I’m filming this now because- in the event that something happens to me- this tape will find its way to you” the man declares, adjusting his posture so he can sit upright and present himself to the audience he anticipates accordingly. “That stress I mentioned last night wasn’t actually stress” Andrew admits apologetically, disappointed in his lack of something better to offer, “I don’t know what to call it, so I’ve just been calling it ‘stress’ since I first noticed it.” Bowing his head in shame, the man begins cycling through his thoughts in hopes of finding something more fitting to describe it as, speaking aloud whilst he does so. “My head starts feeling light and my hands feel a static-like ping- y’know, like the one you get when your hand falls asleep?” he proceeds, momentarily returning his gaze to the lens as he nods. “It’s just like this violent fit that my mind goes to. But- in that moment- it also gives me that feeling you get when you’re kind of drunk and more willing to do the stupid stuff you’d never do if you were sober” Andrew describes, still fascinated by his inability to fully verbalise it. “I’d never killed anyone before what happened with my parents” the man assures, shaking his head at a loss, “and- even though I’ve had moments where I felt that urge again- I’d never followed up on it since.” Sorrowful, the man leans back in his seat once more as he stares back toward the camera, slightly frustrated at the need he feels to continue speaking. “The strangest thing about it though is that I can control it. Even though I’d had those urges, I’d always had that wherewithal in moments where my first thought was to just act on it and consider the consequences later” Andrew confesses, voicing his refusal of it, “even when it was at its worst, I knew I could never do what I did again.” Shaking his head again, the man presses his palms together and hurriedly begins to rub the surface of his skin against itself, trying to manufacture warmth in the frigid climate. “I could live with myself knowing that my parents deserved what happened to them, but what I could never live with would be leaving Sophie to grow up without her father” Andrew declares, voicing the vow he’d made for himself, “I made it my mission to be the father to my children that my parents never were.” Suddenly stricken with a bout of overwhelming sorrow, the man’s eyes fall away from the lens once more, taking to the distance of his snow-covered backyard as he simmers with the events of the last few days. With his mouth slightly agape, Andrew stares forward in silence as the eviscerating sensation of dread consumes him, swallowing him whole like a snake to its suffocated prey. “I never knew Sophie had something wrong with her. I still don’t know that it’s the same thing that I have, but ever since she was arrested, I’d always just assumed that- if there was anything wrong with her- it was something she got from her mother” Andrew promises, shaking his head as a salty tear begins to form on his eyelid, following his line of sight as it takes back toward the camera. “The idea that you have it, Liv... that horrifies me” he admits, trying to bring himself to think of his daughter with the added context of the same strife he’d suffered through in his youth. “It doesn’t drain me of hope, don’t get me wrong. I know that there’s a way to overcome it” Andrew proceeds, pleading with the girl- in the event that this tape is needed to reach her- to share the same optimism. “Even after what happened with Sophie, I refused to give into those urges... that plague inside of me” he compellingly remarks, shaking his head in refusal at the notion that it’s something that will inevitably grow too powerful to control, “I’d gone so long without feeding into them that it was almost like I was the one in control of it. The longer that stayed the same, the more it became impossible to justify acting on them. After all, I’d gone so long without succumbing to it.” Ashamed, Andrew’s nostrils flare as his lip curls, disgusted with the fact that he’s forced to face. “But then I saw this one kid trying to snatch a lady’s daughter out from her car in broad daylight” the man murmurs, his tone lowering as he conceals his anger as best as he can, “I marched across that parking lot and threw that scumbag around you would’ve thought he was a doll. I don’t know if I realised it then, but I almost took a pair of shears to his throat before some cashiers stopped me.” Clearing his throat, Andrew wipes his runny nose on the back of his hand as his knees begin to bounce over an increasing anxiety, one that prompts the man to try and regain control of his breathing whilst he speaks. “I didn’t know about the guy in a parking lot over that had caught the thing on video when I went hunting for the bastard” the father confesses, shaking his head toward the lens as he shrugs at the recollection, “I couldn’t risk him taking me to court and taking everything from us.” With a nod, the man keeps his stare held upon the camera’s lens as his tale finally reaches the moment of the present day, one that sparks a frown to embolden itself upon his face. “I stabbed the guy about two towns over. I buried his body under the dirt that I just had a pair of labourers lay the foundation for the shop’s terrace on” Andrew explains with a nod, “then, the other night- I met Ian in the park a few blocks away from the school so Liv wouldn’t have to.” Standing by his decisions, the man refuses to present himself as a villain for the atrocities he’d allowed himself to commit, fully devoting himself to the belief that they were all warranted. “I’m sorry that Sophie doesn’t have anyone to visit her in prison anymore, I really am- but I could not take the risk of that prick stalking my family until we gave in and played with his stupid little game” he continues, seemingly no closer to finishing his admission of guilt than he’d started. “He had a notepad with some names, and numbers, and addresses and such on it. So, I went to the place that I knew had gotten him back involved in all of this” Andrew proceeds, leaving none of his actions up for interpretation, “I shot Coleen Wolf’s mother, texted her ex husband to meet her at the home, and then called the cops and planted the gun in his car before they showed up.” Seeing no reason to present hesitation now, Andrew carries on with the timeline of events now that the truth has come to the spotlight, aware of what the intention of this recording is and refusing to leave its purpose unfulfilled. “Before that, I went to the factory that Coleen had gone to and I shot her too” he concludes, finally reaching the point in which he’d set out to build on, “even though I can justify the other two for myself, those last three I justify for you, Liv.” Again sitting upright with his face taking toward the machine he’d set up not too far away from his person, Andrew stares intently into the lens that films his every move. “If you have the same thing that I have- the same thing your sister probably has... I can’t let it get the best of you” the father cries, beginning to well up with emotion as he speaks, “framing the girl’s father was just a way to cover my tracks. The only reason I had to kill Coleen was so that it wouldn’t be you.” Quickly shaking his head at the argument otherwise, Andrew acknowledges its existence without providing it with substance. “Yeah, I know it’s not a feasible plan to kill anyone I might be worried my daughter will let out her plague on so she doesn’t get caught in the same thing that Sophie did, but I don’t care” the man sighs, wearing a smile as he shakes his head, “it gives me a little bit of time to help Liv get her mind right for now. And if that’s how I spend the rest of my life- so be it.” Pressing his eyelids shut, the man presents the most genuine smile he’s offered the camera thus far as his face holds itself toward the air, kissed by the wintery frost as the streaking tears warm his cheeks. “I’d rather be the one with blood on my hands then let you, Liv, be the one with it on yours” Andrew proceeds, intently looking back into the device that stands across from him, “under no circumstances will I allow the sins of the father to be the sins of his daughter.” Stepping out of his seat, Andrew approaches the camera and cautiously disconnects it from the tripod and begins descending the patio’s rear steps toward the snowy lawn whilst speaking. “If I die or get arrested or anything happens to me, I’ve got a plan on how to get this thing across to you. The only reason I film this is to give you closure” the man explains, looking into the lens whilst he does so, “I’m not a bad man... I’m just a loving father.” Shaking his head, Andrew accepts the terms that he agrees to despite their lack of existence as printed font, viewing this oath he takes to those he loves as a contract he’s fully aware of the implications to. “I never had a father who’d be willing to kill for me... only one willing to kill me” the man proclaims, declaring his allegiance to the souls he directs this tape to, “the first day of my life when I actually had a real family was the day that I held my little Sophie in my arms.” “I admit that I hold some hatred for her becoming everything that I hate most about myself, but the real reason that I’ve cut her out of my life is because I love her too much to admit that I failed her” Andrew concedes defeat, grimacing at the physical pain that his ultimate confession leaves him with, “maybe there was some mistake that I made along the way, but I can never allow myself to fail the people I love ever again.” Coming to a stop in the centre of the backyard, the man looks deep into the camera’s lens as he prepares to finish his proclamation, feeling as though he’s already said more than what needs to be spoken. “I’m sorry if this isn’t the man you thought that I was. I’m sorry if this hurts you in ways that I can’t even imagine” Andrew apologises, standing by the decision he’s made, “I hope I never have to do any of this again. But I bear the responsibility that comes with this choice.” Determined, the man’s eyelids inch closer toward each other as his finger rests upon one of the camera’s many buttons, ready to cut the video off as he makes his peace. “No matter what it takes, no matter the cost, and no matter what I have to do... ... I will never fail my family again.” == Generation Alpha ==
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> Friday, 3rd December 2038 <
“Inmate 64470, your phone time is up” a large, black woman in a brown uniform remarks with casual dismissal of any claims otherwise, “get out of the booth and follow the guards back to your cell.” Spouting vigour back toward the prison’s officer, a thinner black woman follows the order that was given to her, making sure to not do so without offering passive insults she knows the penitentiary’s staff is unable to present her with consequences over. Three booths over, a head of artificially-darkened hair sits in a chair with the palm of her hand wrapped around a handset telephone, eyes propped open out of surprise. “I didn’t think anyone was gonna answer the phone” Sophie confesses, her tone slightly more enthusiastic in light of the unanticipated result, “I’ve been trying dad for the last couple of days, but he’s never answered.” “I’m not really surprised by that” a flabbergasted Elaine retorts, briefly looking over her shoulder to the child that continues to play in her living room, keeping half of an eye out amidst her newfound preoccupation. “Neither am I” Sophie responds, hanging her head with a slightly defeated smile, the only interaction she’s had with her father being the one that had come about one year after her incarceration. “I heard the two of you got married... Congratulations” the inmate remarks, changing the topic to a more light-hearted note in light of the change in her demeanour, her entry to the set of phone booths having come without the expectation of the visit being fruitful. “Oh, thank you. We’re, uh-” Elaine replies, still carrying the slight touch of an artificially-pleasant tone in her voice, “-we’re very happy together.” “Yeah, I kinda figured as much” Sophie smiles, staring at the beige-painted tabletop that she sits at, nodding along with the reply she provides, “I always thought the two of you got along well.” Turning her back to the window, the watching mother sets her full sights upon the living room whilst going without a word, her silence noticed by the other end of the line and understood. Though not on purpose, Elaine’s refusal to speak is brought on by the outright uncertainty over what to say. “Did dad tell you about the last time he saw me?” the imprisoned girl wonders aloud, genuinely curious as to what the family has been up to since her arrest, “the time a couple months after my sentencing?” Pressing her lips together, Elaine stares intently at the floor as she considers how to reply, still effectively shaken too greatly to process the conversation that she’s vocally accepted being a part of. “Yeah” the woman answers honestly, nodding as she crosses her arms with the watch in tow, its screen facing upward in the palm of her right hand. “Did he tell you what happened?” Sophie follows up, trying to make the most of the short and unsure answers that she receives from the other line. Still widened, Elaine’s eyes start pulling as far from the watch’s face as it can manage, trying to create separation before the woman who holds it forces her stare back to the device. “He said he couldn’t recognise who was sitting behind the glass” she confesses, a response that- although greatly displeasing- is one that the inmate had already grown to expect. “He said that whatever ‘it’ was is someone he didn’t consider his family or his daughter” Elaine continues, adding emphasis to the remark that doesn’t necessarily need anymore than it already carried, “now we don’t talk about you.” Though she hadn’t believed that pleasantries would be offered in the event of an answer to her call, the fact of her status within what remains of the family strikes Sophie harder than it’d been anticipated. Though only a mere inch or two, separation establishes itself between the inmate’s ear and the phone itself, still allowing her to hear the woman on the other line as she stares blankly at the concrete wall that sits across from her. “Not long after your father and I got married, we found out I was pregnant” Elaine continues, noticing the dead air that lingers between her replies to be the reception of her remarks by the young woman on the other line, the call’s continuation making it clear that an ear is still listening in. “You’ve got a baby brother named Galen now. He just turned four about three months ago” she proceeds, again met without a verbal reply from the other line. “I’m sure he knows it’s not possible, but your father is trying to forget you” Elaine confesses amidst the additional silence she’s met with, not knowing what else to say in order to fill the space where words are meant to occupy. “He doesn’t mention you, he’s packed all of your things away in the attic and he’s just-” the speech continues without interruption, the pause only coming when she, herself, brings it into existence, “-he’s just tried to move on from you.” On the other end of the line, Sophie’s eyes hold a blank, empty stare toward the tabletop that she sits at, barely able to make out the words that her sister’s stepmother offers as her emotions struggle within in an effort to find out which one will present itself. “Liv went out to meet with Ian a few days ago. We heard about the follow-up documentary he wanted to film” Elaine explains, shaking her head in refusal before continuing, “your father will never do it.” “Ian’s going to hold that over Livy’s head until he does” Sophie admits, quickly returning the phone to the side of her head at the conclusion the recipient of her call brings herself to, “I told him not to but he didn’t feel like there was any other ammunition he could use. I didn’t even know she was cured until he told me some girl from school clued him in on it.” “She’s not cured, per-say... She’s just assisted in composing her tics and impulses a lot better than she was before” Elaine corrects, shaking her head as she stares back toward the living room, “and it doesn’t matter one way or another. Your father will pack us up and move us to another country as long as it means not having to bring you, or the past, or what happened up again.” “Sure, and Ian will just follow you there. Ms. Kirkpatrick, I’m not sure you understand how adamant about this he is. He’s desperate to restart whatever kind of stardom he had when the doc first came out” Sophie explains, visibly distressed over the potential that’s brought upon by the man’s threat, “he paid off some of the inmates in here to rough me up a few months back just to get me to agree to do it.” “Sophie, I don’t know what you want me to say” Elaine replies, finally stepping away from the kitchen in an effort of re-entering the living room, “it doesn’t matter what dirt Ian has on us, your father will not take part in anything that involves you or what you did.” Rolling her eyes, Sophie’s head begins to shake at the remark about Andrew’s stubbornness before they suddenly begin to squint, pressing closer together as a thought dawns upon her. “Wait, why is Livy even hiding the fact that she’s better now in the first place?” Sophie questions aloud, leaning back in her seat with one arm crossed over the inner elbow of the other, “you guys are way too wealthy to be collecting disability or something over it. What’s with that?” Leaning down to collect her son from the floor, Elaine bounces Galen in her arm as she ventures toward the stairs, beginning to climb them one at a time whilst she replies. “There’s a medication that she wanted to stay on and decided that the way to make sure we didn’t take her off of it was to pretend she was only making slight improvements” Elaine explains, too preoccupied with accompanying her son to his bed for nap time to speak as if the woman on the other line were any different from a coworker she’d known for years, her lines of dialogue now coming with an unintentional comfort. “I guess she must’ve thought she was in too deep after the charade was kept up for long enough” the mother continues, eventually reaching the top-most step before rounding the corner for her child’s bedroom. “Were the pills laced with twenty four-karat gold?” Sophie wonders aloud, confused by her sister’s unwavering need for the medication that she seemingly can’t function without. “No. According to her, they afford her an extra second or two to think things over. It slows time down or something along those lines” Elaine responds, her conclusion being one that subtly shifts the inmate’s confusion into something more akin to intrigue. “Unless she can’t function in school, that doesn’t make any sense” Sophie retorts, still unable to find the connection between the meds and her sister’s devotion to them, “is she being loaded with schoolwork or something?” “Not exactly” Elaine responds, portraying a pleasant and happy face toward Galen as she lays him into his bed, putting him down for the nap she knows him to be in need of. “Apparently the same girl that told Ian about Liv is one of her bullies. Liv punched her in the face a few weeks ago” the woman concludes, struggling for answers better than the vague one she’s able to offer, “she’s pretty paranoid about that girl spilling her guts about it and it’s leading her to think stupid things.” “Stupid things?” Sophie quips back, amused by the inherent ambiguity in that statement, “what the hell does that mean?” Taking a brief interlude from the discourse to set her son down for a nap, Elaine gently closes the door to his room before making back toward the ground level. “She thinks she’s suffering from the same thing that led you to jail” the mother replies, the way in which she speaks indicating that she knows not what to make of such a conclusion. With a dismissive shake of her head, Sophie smirks at the notion whilst tilting her head back, trying not to laugh at the connection that’s apparently been drawn. “That’s flattering” the inmate jokes, bouncing one foot off the ground in a way that causes her knee to repeatedly lift and fall beyond the edge of the small table, “if you need to ease her mind though, I’d remind her that what made her punch that girl in the mouth is different than what led me to- well, y’know.” Slightly becoming reintroduced with her earlier discomfort, Elaine takes notice of the ease in which the conversation now rolls before begging the question that lingers at the front of her mind. “What do you mean?” the woman wonders aloud, the inquiry one that adds little context other than the request itself, but being one that felt necessary to present in the moment. “She punched the girl in the face because she was bullying her. It’s what anybody else would do” Sophie reassures, believing herself capable of easily dissuading any of her younger sister’s concerns with a simple juxtaposition, “what I did happened because I couldn’t control it. There was just this urge in me that took over and I snapped. I don’t know what it was that came over me, but I know I couldn’t help myself but follow through with what my thoughts were.” Her walk slowing noticeably, Elaine continues around the bannister and begins venturing toward the kitchen once more, pausing for a moment as a second question presents itself concerningly. “What do you mean by that?” the mother questions, quickly thinking better of the spoken wonder before restating it, “what did you mean when you said that you couldn’t control it?” Somewhat puzzled, Sophie turns her eyes toward one of the corners of her wall-mounted table as she ponders the thought, formulating her reply internally before offering a final product. “I mean it was kind of like an urge that I had and couldn’t stop from acting on” she responds, trying to speak as if she were confident in the conclusion she makes, “when I felt like there was an opportunity to act on those urges, there was a part of my head that clicked into place and got me to take it.” Falling silent, Elaine’s stroll toward the opposite end of the home comes to a conclusion directly at the halfway point between the living room and kitchen, her feet stopping their progression toward the still-running dishwasher as she stares forward without a word. Her bottom lip barely falling from the one that sits atop it, the woman meets her husband’s disowned, eldest offspring without anything of value, prompting the inmate’s smirk to begin lessening. “Are you still there?” Sophie inquires, briefly pulling her head away from the handset to glance at the receiver before overhearing the faintest voice that pulls her back in. “Did you ever have those impulses before and not act on them?” Elaine soon wonders aloud, begging the question that she’s soon prompted to repeat, asked to do so by the other end who’d missed the first half. “Did you ever have the impulses before? Your first... uh, I mean... before what happened with your mother...” Elaine corrects, trying to speak in ways that skirt over the deeds that landed the inmate behind bars, “...did you ever have one of those impulses before then and not act on them?” The inquiry not being one that she’d ever asked herself even after all the years that have passed since her incarceration, Sophie leans back against her chair once more as she ponders internally, politely requesting a moment to consider. “I mean, it was nothing really violent like what I ended up doing” the inmate replies, shrugging her shoulders as the contemplations reach her mind, “I had impulses to break things or hit people before. But not stuff I acted on.” “Why didn’t you?” Elaine questions back almost immediately, trying to take advantage of the sincerity that the young woman now in her mid-twenties affords her. “Because it was really overwhelming. The urges were strong and it’d make my hands shake and stuff, but it just felt too weird... Like I was going crazy” Sophie responds, trying her best to put the sensations into words, “things kind of felt fuzzy and they made me feel sick. Everything was just moving so fast that I-” “-just wanted it all to slow down?” Elaine interjects, cutting the young woman off by finishing the statement on her behalf, catching the inmate by a slight surprise. “Yeah... I just wanted it all to slow down” Sophie concludes, allowing her answer to linger for a moment before her eyes squint, prompting her to wonder to herself internally the longer that she’s met without an immediate follow-up by the woman on the other end of the line, “why?” = 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 = “It’s just all a lot to sort of make sense of” Derby confesses, sitting with one of two ends to a hoagie in hand, the one that sits within her reach already having been halfway consumed, “I mean, it kind of adds up, but I still don’t fully understand why she’d hide it for so long.” Conceding equal loss, Andrew shrugs his shoulders as he bites into one of the slices of pickles he’d taken from within the sandwich’s halved loaf. “We think she was just too embarrassed to admit that she was fibbing about it the whole time” he confesses, trying his best to blend the truth into the fictional tid-bits that he adds in. “Oh, yeah- that makes sense” Derby responds, struggling to bring herself to eat anymore than she already has now that she’s becoming privy to what the father wishes her to know, “I just wish she would’ve let me know I could’ve helped in some way.” “She’s still trying to make sense of it all herself” Andrew reassures, waving off any other notion but the one he wishes to make evident outright, “when a family goes through what ours went through, it’s easy for all of the stress to convince someone of something that’s just not true.” Nodding, Derby displays her agreement with the man’s claims as obviously as she can, though it’s clear that some aspects still leave her struggling to process. “But she isn’t actually capable of killing anyone, is she?” the rebellious teen responds, watching the amused grin arise upon the face of her friend’s father. “Don’t get me wrong- anyone is capable of killing anyone. It’s happened for centuries, we’ve just advanced past the need for it as a whole” Andrew clarifies, quick to offer assurance in spite of the initial offering, “but Liv wouldn’t hurt a fly... Not unless it took the form of a preppy little nepo-baby like that classmate of yours.” “Got it!” Derby enthusiastically proclaims, smiling out of place of uncertainty over how to initially react, a second curiosity soon finding its way over her mind, “can I ask though... why tell me all of this?” With the inquiry reaching his ears, Andrew takes another slow bite from his salty pickle stick as he searches for the answer in his head, allowing the girl across from him to reiterate the question. “I know you want my help keeping an eye out for Liv and all, that part’s clear” Derby reassures, returning her sandwich to the paper wrapper that sits before her, “but what’s so special about me that makes you trust me so much?” Nodding along with the young woman’s fair quandary, Andrew fits the final bit of his mid-meal snack between his teeth before preparing to reply whilst wiping his hands clean. “My daughter had a friend named Caden when she was still with us. And at the time that everything happened, Caden was dating this girl named Izzy” Andrew explains, resting his right arm along the stoop that sits at the base of the window that sits beside him. “Izzy was the same kind of rebel that you are. She was very intelligent and was constantly overlooked because of the way she carried herself” the father recalls, a faint smile worn on his face, “but she was an excellent person.” Nodding to himself, Andrew adjusts his posture in the seat to ensure he fully presses against the chair he occupies. “You remind me a lot of that girl. I’m hoping that you’re every bit as good of a friend and of a person to Liv as Izzy was to Caden and my daughter” the man concludes, pressing his lips together in lieu of the regret for their fates that he wishes to hide at all costs, “and because I need to be able to trust somebody, I’m decided to trust you.” Genuinely flattered and appreciative, Derby’s face lights up with a smile that she soon forces herself to hide beneath the lowering of her face, a gratitude taken from the man’s comments that she’s too pleased to respond vocally to. For a moment, the rebel with a cause sits with the niceties before looking up, allowing them to acclimate themselves with her before assuring the man of his conclusion, “you can trust me” she responds. Eventually returning to his car, Andrew starts the engine and fastens his seatbelt before sitting back for a moment and clearing his mind, eyes staring at the school building his vehicle had been left parked facing. With no specific expression on his face, the man lets the vents that face him strike with cold air as they attempt to progressively warm themselves, though the sudden chill does little to affect the automobile’s only occupant. “Alright” he mutters beneath his breath with a straight face, nodding to himself before pulling his sights away from the scene that’s afforded to him through the windshield, eyes venturing toward the empty seat beside him. Retrieving a pencil from within the cupholders just off to his right, Andrew flips open the cover of a notepad and runs through the various pages that line it’s inside, eventually stopping at one filled with names and other information written in handwriting not of his own. | “Cry me a river, Coleen!” Susana shouts back from the foyer of their home as she walks off, directing her disdain toward the child that stomps down the main staircase. “What the hell is wrong with you!?” the woman’s daughter exclaims mid-descent, the frustration and vigour in her voice too obvious for the mother to ignore, “he’s done nothing to deserve this! You’re just trying to make him look like a bad father so you can walk into court pretending to smell like sunshine and rainbows!” “That man is a filthy bastard! He’s the cheapest waste of air on the planet in addition to being a bad father!” Susana shouts back, her finger pointed in the face of her now equal-level offspring. “Then what the hell does that make you!?” Coleen fights back, raising her voice to meet the level that her mother’s pitch sits at, “all you do is pamper yourself every day with the thousands of dollars he’s already given you!” “He should be giving me a whole hell of a lot more!” the teenager’s bitter parent rebukes, dismissing the claims that her daughter makes in favour of raising a different line of questioning, “why do you even bother defending that scumbag anyway!? He never comes around to see you! He never even bothered to send you a card in the mail for your birthday!” “He doesn’t come around because you won’t let him until he starts paying you child support!” Coleen answers, the retort one that stumps her mother at first, immediately compelling her to confront the teenager that stands in her presence. “Did he tell you that!?” Susana bites back, eyes widened as she begins attempting to speak further, trying to follow the question up with her own retort before stumbling over her words and inevitably conceding, “you know what? That’s, oh- that’s...” Turning around to walk off, Susana leaves the conversation that her daughter is as eager to continue as she is to depart from. “Go ahead and tell me that isn’t the truth, ‘cause I know damn well what I heard the other day when I walked in to hear you telling him to pay up!” Coleen shouts back, the revelation immediately drawing her mother’s spite and hostilities higher. “Who the hell do you think you are, little girl!?” the older-appearing-than-intended woman bites back, matching her daughter’s shouting tone whilst taking her frustrations out on the woman who calls her character into question, “I don’t need to justify myself to a spoiled little brat like yourself!” “That’s rich coming from someone that spoils me with daddy’s money” Coleen blurts back, immediately sparking the visage of outright offence that her mother takes in the riposte. “I don’t know who the hell I am, mom! That’s the whole, fucking point!” the livid teenager continues to bicker, “I’m doing everything I can to set myself up to get out of here as fast as I can because no big, fancy house is worth the hell that you make my life out to be!” “Oh, honey... Oh, honey!” Susana chirps back, filling the air with insulted and amusement-feigning empty words without anything of value to respond with. “I don’t care what I turn out to be! The only thing that’s important is that I don’t want to end up turning into you...” Coleen barks aloud, aware that her mother has nothing of importance to respond with, and instead takes the opportunity to dig into her skin, “... an empty shell of a woman whose only worth has been in opening her legs!” From the enraged sight of her mother’s face to a sudden squeeze of her eyelids, Coleen braces against the open hand that strikes her across the face, knocking her to the ground without the faintest hesitation. “Get out of my house!” Susana commands, throwing her finger to the door that her daughter angrily throws herself off the ground in favour of, stepping out of the home and slamming the entrance shut on her way out. Without so much as offering another word, Coleen storms down the driveway as her mother follows suit, cashing after her with bare feet whilst hurling half-baked insults. Falling on deaf ears, the words do nothing to prevent the teenager from staring her car and pulling out of the driveway before Susana could do anything to stop her, hitting the open road with intentions set on reaching preferable pastures as far from the house of horrors she drives away from. Within an hour, Coleen’s vehicle finds itself parked along a sidewalk along the edges of the city’s downtown, stationed outside of an empty warehouse with shattered windows that no amount of eye damage can help from being noticed. Alone and left without a shoulder to cry on or a pair of ears to vent to, the disgruntled teenager angrily sits beside a barrel fire whilst sipping from a bottle of cheap wine so recently purchased that it still has the orange “on sale” sticker along its bottleneck. Seething to herself, Coleen passes a glance at the glass bottle’s exterior to take notice of the liquor’s level, its surface roughly three inches away from reaching the bottom. “Holy fuck” she stutters, feeling the haze that comes with the speed in which she’d nearly finished the entire beverage, stirring from the effects that bring a brief chuckle out of her. “You’re not supposed to be here” a masculine voice calls out from one of the adjacent corridors that lead from a nearby set of makeshift office spaces and into the wider factory floor that the buzzed girl occupies. Quickly leaping off the stool that she’d sat on, the startled Coleen accidentally pulls her arm back too quickly for her hand to tighten in time, instead releasing the condensation-covered bottle from her palm and allowing it to shatter along the ground. “What the fuck!?” the hammered student exclaims, suddenly sporting a temporary sobriety in the face of the fear that she’d been stricken with at the unexpected guest, needing a moment to collect herself before she can identify just who it was that had interrupted her personal time. “Then again, you shouldn’t be drinking either” Andrew murmurs as he continues his approach, hands tucked into the pouch of the grey hoodie he’d adorned in the face of the cold, midwestern elements. “What the fuck are you doing here!?” Coleen blurts out, recognising the man’s face with little issue as she continues to retreat, though her ability to move is far more hampered than that of her visitor. “I didn’t feel the need to forewarn you that I’d be showing up here since you couldn’t afford me the same when you walked up to my shop the other week” Andrew answers, his stroll both casual and unassuming, though its lack of speed is outmatched by the staggered teenager’s own retreat. Keeping herself from toppling over, Coleen halts her back-tracking just as she passes the open flames, instead spreading her arms just enough to maintain something that attempts to resemble balance. Trying to regain her wits, the intoxicated minor watches the older man continue to slowly approach with an unamused expression, his unassuming demeanour allowing her enough peace of mind to organise her thoughts more effectively. “Don’t tell my parents about this” Coleen calmly requests, blinking more rapidly than usual in an attempt to better focus on the situation at hand, trying to become more accustomed to the decrepit surroundings that they now share. “Your parents are never going to find out about this. I didn’t come here to dig up dirt to send to your old man” Andrew replies, his reassurance enough to direct the teenager’s mind toward a different line of thought. “Why are you here then?” Coleen soon questions aloud, her ears taking a momentary notice of the cracking that the barrel fire beside her emanates before focusing on the sound of tiny pebbles being dragged along the concrete floor by the man’s shoes. “Because I’ve been led to believe that my daughter may have been justified in that punch you seem to be all worked up over” Andrew answers, his lips slightly puckered, “it sounds like you’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be.” “So? It doesn’t look like your daughter is as mentally-challenged as she makes herself out to be” Coleen retorts, a gesture that prompts Andrew to smirk as he conceals her chuckle. “No, she isn’t” the man confesses without much reluctance, his gradual approach continuing as he nods, “and from the sound of it, that’s not a detail you’re too shy about wanting people to know.” “What does that mean?” Coleen questions back, her regained composure allowing her to take a more confrontational and purposefully-irritating stance than when startled. “Well amongst a whole lot of things, it means that I know who spilled the beans to Ian Tomlinson about my daughter not being entirely truthful about her predicament” Andrew responds, watching the change in the lonely teenager’s visage assure him of the accuracy to his claim. “She shouldn’t be pretending to be autistic then” Coleen rebukes, a gesture that the man across from her can’t bring himself to entirely argue against. “You’re right, but that’s also not business that you should be sticking your nose in” Andrew responds, his slow, turtle-like pace leaving plenty of room to still exist between himself and the bratty teenager, “but with the kind of lengths you’ve gone to try and torment my child over it, I’m pretty sure you already knew what you were doing.” “Maybe I did” Coleen replies without much in the way of hesitation, a response that prompts the man just ahead of her to press his teeth together and pull in a long breath that bellows out the sound of a snake-like hiss. “You deserve it, though. Your whole family is crazy” the young woman continues, watching the man’s feet stop in their place as she speaks, “your daughter’s faking being a retard, and your other daughter is a fucking murderer.” His unassuming demeanour lowering into a dissatisfied grimace at the forced recollection of his family’s past, Andrew’s ear refuses to block out the conclusion that the young woman across from him leads into, his eyes instead falling toward the ground out of shame. “It makes me wonder if you knew they were fucking sick...” Coleen dares, becoming more brutal in her comments and intentionally malicious as she does, “...maybe you’re sick too.” Concealing his anger excellently, Andrew seethes quietly as the girl across from him begins to laugh, amused as she becomes more emboldened in her malevolent mannerisms. “Let’s see, if one of you is a murderer and another is a liar...” Coleen persists, filled with liquid courage that only further aids in directing her toward the antagonistic mirage she erects in the man’s direction, “...maybe you’re the nasty kind of sick.” With an unamused squint in his eye, the man’s face lifts toward the woman that stands across from him, plastering a softcore-esque seductive visage upon her face as she steps forward. “Are you the kind of sick that likes girls you’re not supposed to, sir?” Coleen quips as she steps forward, stumbling halfway through her question as she taunts the man that looks at her with a straight face, “maybe you just wanted to take a little peak at-” “That’s not why I’m here” Andrew interrupts, shaking his head as he stares off into the distance, having anticipated some psychological inspection on the girl’s behalf, only to appear disappointed at how unseriously he takes her. “Yes it is. Why else would you follow a drunk teenager into an abandoned warehouse?” Coleen replies, closing the distance between herself and the unflattered gentleman. “Is the wife not doing it for you anymore, sir? Do you need a newer, younger model?” the girl continues to question, humouring the older man across from her enough to earn a genuine chuckle from him, “we both know you came here to do something you’re not supposed to.” Finally latching onto a claim that he can work with, Andrew responds with a loud sigh as he nods, paying no mind to the teenager’s laughter. “Yes... I did come here to do something I’m not supposed to” the man responds as he looks back at the girl, pulling his hands free from his hoodie’s pouch as she stands before him, her taunting turning to torment. “Woah, what the fuck!?” Coleen hurriedly gasps, leaping back in shock as the charade is dropped, falling to the ground and losing her balance amidst the panic. Though the young woman crawls back, Andrew remains standing where he’d initially stopped. “I’ve hated myself for it for as long as I can remember. The urges, the impulses, the having to pretend like I’m as normal and well-adjusted as everyone thinks I am” the father confesses, wearing the expression of struggle that comes with accepting the faults he’d tried to hide, “you’re completely right... I’m sick.” “Wh- wh-?” Coleen stutters, crawling back with one arm out of total fear whilst using her other to press the shirt against herself, not time afforded to dawn it back upon herself. “I thought I could give my kids a better world to grow up in than my parents gave me. I thought they would have the chance to not succumb to their urges if I just showed them the love that my folks never gave me” Andrew continues to speak, beginning to resume his original approach toward the teen. “The love that I tried to give my kids was as genuine as any other father’s would be. My family means everything to me. My parents couldn’t have cared less about it, but I am nothing without the people that I love” the father continues to explain, watching tears well up in the horrified expression of the strikingly keen student. “Please...” Coleen whimpers, her bottom lip trembling as she desperately yearns to create separation between herself and the pursuing father, every ounce of regret she’s capable of having brings itself to the surface in such a moment. “I’m sick in the way that every father is sick... We’re sick in the way that we’d do anything to protect our families” Andrew explains, tears forming in his eyes as he walks forward, “if that means hiding some things from them... so be it.” “Please!” Coleen screams, again pleading for the man to not follow through with the act that has her fully succumbed to fear, the howl she lets out bringing the man to a momentary pause. “For the love of your god, cover your fucking tits up” Andrew remarks, rolling his eyes as he looks toward the building’s battered ceiling, shaking his head in disappointment as the young woman begins shakily returning to her feet, “at least let this happen with some god damn dignity inta-” Before he can finish his thought, Andrew watches the woman turn away for the faintest sight of aid. “Help!” Coleen screams as she takes off running in the opposite direction, leaving the man to shake his head as he turns to the side and lifts his hand toward her. *pop, pop, pop* To the tune of three gunshots, Coleen’s body slams into the concrete ground as a trio bullets rip through her back, two of them tearing through the front of her chest as the air goes quiet. Clenching teeth whilst growling at the sky, Andrew turns away from the gravely wounded teen as he angrily punches at the air, his fingers wrapped around the grip of the pistol that he’d used to shoot the helpless, inebriated student who’d never stood a chance at getting away. With his free hand, Andrew shields his mouth as the young woman’s faint groans of pain ring throughout the almost entirely-silent factory. “Fucking hell” he murmurs through still pressed-together teeth, seething with the outcome of his actions before forcing himself to close the space that had separated the two. “I swear, I thought what I had wasn’t something I could pass down” Andrew speaks aloud, knowing Coleen to still be alive through the continued groans that grow increasingly faint. “Everything that’s wrong with them was stuff they didn’t have to suffer through!” the father cries, dropping to a knee beside the dying girl’s body as he stares at the three bullet holes he’d inflicted upon her, blood rushing through the wounds in her chest. “I learned how to get better. I learned how to ignore the impulses and keep everything under control, and then...” Andrew pleads, his sorrow turning into anger that he directs at the young woman whose death resides upon his hands, “...and then you ruined everything.” Nostrils flaring, the father watches Coleen’s hand extend toward the ground she’d yet to make it to before being gunned down, fighting to escape even when all hope is thoroughly lost as she gasps for air. “You had to bring Ian... You had to bring that man back into our lives!” Andrew seethes, his hiss-like tone turning into a full onslaught of shouts that he aims at the cause of his strife. “He’s dead now because of you! And now you’re dead because of you, too!” the screaming parent barks, veins protruding from his skin as his vigour is fired at his victim just like his bullets had been, “and I swear to god, if almost twenty five years of overcoming those urges was for nothing ‘cause of-” Stopping himself, Andrew lowers his voice back toward a reasonable tone, watching the girl take her last breaths before choosing to wrap up his remarks. “This had to be done” the man concedes, shaking his head as he watches the girl’s eyes begin to find their way toward a final, glossy state. “Nobody hurts my little girl” the man concludes, standing upright once more as the teenager bleeds out, staring into the factory’s distant walls, “I’m not going to lose another daughter.” == Generation Alpha == > Thursday, 2nd December 2038 <
“Everyone’s finally healed- at least as well as they’re going to” Liv responds, staring into the camera with a disheartened visage before beginning to hang her head, wearing the obvious signs of stress that appear even more unavoidable on film. “Asking them to re-open these wounds now- after all this time- it wouldn’t be fair to them” she persists, her hands coupled together as they sit atop her lap, eyes still held toward her floorboards. Sitting on the front half of the chesterfield with her elbows pressing into her knees and hands coupled together at her chin, Elaine watches the recording of her stepdaughter from the prior night, her eyes finding difficulty in closing for even long enough to blink as her fixation grows. “I know that I kinda already re-opened my own wounds by making this, but my reasoning wasn’t the same” Liv explains, still focusing her sights on the ground, “there’s nothing for them to gain from this.” Though her cup of coffee sits on the corner of the table just a few feet away, the beverage sits in the ceramic mug untouched and undisturbed, growing cold the longer it goes without the touch of the woman’s lips. Instead, Elaine’s eyes hold steadily upon her troubled stepdaughter’s figure, apologetic eyes carried toward the top of the girl’s head, which is the only distinguishing feature of hers that appears readily able to be viewed. “I don’t know what other choice I have, though” Liv confesses, finally pulling her face away from the world at her feet and swiping the hanging strands of her hair back, “I don’t even know how to convince them. He may want to seem reasonable, but if he doesn’t get them on camera digging up the past, everyone’s gonna know that I’ve been putting up a charade.” Though her face is now within the focus of the camera’s lens, Liv’s eyes refuse to meet it with her own attention, instead pulling back with the rest of her head and coming to a soft stop at the back of the chair before staring at her bed. In a moment of helplessness, the teenager’s hands slip from her lap and fall to her either side, reacting with the weightless sensation that comes over the rest of her body in a moment of dread. “I should’ve never went up to Coleen in that bathroom... Either time” Liv confesses, the emotions that sport themselves in the form of her frown unmistakingly palpable, drawing a sorrow out of the woman that watches the film from the living room. “I’m in a no-win situation here, aren’t I?” the troubled teenager inquires, the question one wondered aloud to no one in particular, just voiced for the sake of being voiced, “what’s the point of picking either option?” Resting on the grooves of her knuckles, Elaine’s chin presses into her hands as the tape continues on, nothing more than the silence that accompanies her stepdaughter’s recording to meet her ears. “Dad, mom, and Coleen... Those are the only people that know about my condition” Liv remarks, pulling in a deep breath that she soon sends out in a heavy sigh, “even if Ian decided to take the honourable route and not answer my question, I know who told him.” For another few seconds, the falsehood-supporting teenager sits with her mind shrouded in dark, grim thoughts before suddenly adjusting her posture, sitting upright in her seat as her hands slip around the side of her head, pulling back her long, brunette locks. “Maybe this is what I fucking deserve” Liv concedes, a partial squint carried in her eyes as her face takes fully back toward the camera’s lens, “if I’d just kept the ruse up, I might’ve been able to just escape all of this.” Visibly annoyed, the aggravated girl keeps her composure intact well enough to speak with an indoor voice, not wanting to raise her reflection with her parents asleep in their room down the hall. “The worst part about it too isn’t even just what it’s probably led to, the worst part about it is that my meds didn’t stop me” Liv explains, speaking with a more coherent and intentful intonation, “when I jumped her in the bathroom, I at least could hide behind the excuse that I wasn’t on them.” Pausing, Liv shakes her head with a loss for explanation as her eyes turn away from the camera once more, an inarguable appearance of disgust wrapping around her expression like a snake coiling around its prey. “But I was on the meds this time around. I had that extra second, and I used it to do exactly what I would’ve done if I hadn’t had it” she concedes, clearly troubled with such an honesty, “maybe I would’ve done worse than just knock her on her flat ass, but I still did what I did.” Balling her hand into a fist, Liv gives a fairly decent punch to the top of her thigh, right above her kneecap. “I acted on my impulse. I know that it was something that was warranted and that Coleen definitely deserved, but I had a massive call to make- and I chose the wrong call” she accepts, holding herself accountable for the issues that she’s birthed from the action, “now it’s coming back to haunt me. And even worse than the consequences it brings, it drains me of hope.” Unable to look away from the television’s screen, Elaine keeps her ear attached to her stepdaughter’s every last word whilst her eyes swing with each new turn of the girl’s head. Her dread having turned itself into a bitter anger, Liv’s frustrations boil internally and direct themselves as herself, unable to do much more than offer an angry smile toward the far corner of her room. “If I’m at the point now where I can make this mistake while on my meds, how much longer will it be until the pills can’t help keep me from doing what I did to Coleen last time around?” Liv wonders aloud, shaking her head with uncertainty toward the camera lens, “how long would it be before even that would get worse? How much longer will it be until I’m pushed to the point that I just lose it? How much longer until the meds can’t keep me from joining my sister in jail anymore? How much longer?” Her ear being caught by the familiar sound of her husband’s car horn going off in the pattern that accompanies the locking of his doors, Elaine reaches for the camera she’s hooked various cords to and presses one of the buttons on its side panel. After a few seconds and as expected, the home’s main floor finds itself welcoming the return of the woman’s husband, who quickly sheds the toque from his head and stomps his boots on a floor mat, leaving two snow-covered spots. “Sorry for taking so long- traffic was brutal on the highway” Andrew remarks, pulling down the zipper to his coat as he leaves his shoes at the door, walking for the living room he watches his wife stand from the sofa in, “some car must’ve hit a patch of black ice and driven right off the road. There were three others that went with it, so that first car must’ve taken some friends with th-” Stopping his words as his eyes finally catch a look at his wife’s face, Andrew pulls his second arm from the coat’s sleeve and lets the article of clothing sit in his opposite hand. “Is something wrong?” he wonders after a few seconds, receiving no verbal response at first before his question is met with the same hush, leaving him to make his own attempt at uncovering the cause for such a quiet tone in the home. Without needing to do much more than look off to the side, Andrew catches a look at the video camera that sits at the centre of his coffee table, his eyes eventually following the various cords that sit attached to it toward the flat screen television at the front of the room. “Is this-?” he wonders aloud, again receiving no answer from Elaine, leading his sights toward the cardboard box the machine had been stored away in before recalling its origins, prompting him to look back to his wife. “I think you need to see this” Elaine remarks, her hands coupled together at her lap as she remains standing, waiting patiently for her husband to process the scene that he walks into. Without uttering a word, Andrew peers away from his wife and looks back to the machine’s box, his head flooding with awful memories that he’d pushed so far into the deepest recesses of his mind that their return to the forefront of his focus sends chills down his body and stiffens his muscles like a statue. = 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 = “You still haven’t told me what’s wrong” Liv explains, walking alongside her father whilst reaching her arm out toward him, accepting the vanilla ice cream cone that the man offers her. “That’s because it can wait” Andrew responds, holding a cone of his own near his chin as he joins his daughter in venturing toward an unoccupied group of picnic tables that sit beneath the shade of a pavilion, sitting atop a concrete foundation that’s surrounded by snow-covered ground. “Wait until what?” Liv questions aloud, yet to bring the tip of her tongue toward the top-most scoop of vanilla ice cream, its base resting on the top of two other circular dollops of dessert. “Until we’re somewhere that’s nicer to look at than the sand and dirt covered bullshit this place calls a parking lot, alright?” Andrew questions back, lifting both eyebrows as he takes his sights toward his offspring for the moment, also yet to have graced his mouth with the frozen delight he wields. “No one’s hurt, are they?” Liv soon wonders aloud, having tried to remain quiet and focus on her ice cream cone for the last five minutes as best as she can, though her curiosity proves too compelling to dismiss. “Nobody’s hurt” Andrew answers simply, offering no further context as he sits along the same side of the table as his teenage daughter, elbows resting against the wooden tabletop as he stares out at the wintery field that stands across from them. “Am I in trouble then?” Liv inquires, eyes taking back toward her father, whose preoccupation with the dessert is interrupted by her inquiry, the man’s eyes lowering toward the ground out of uncertainty. “What am I in trouble for!?” the girl soon questions aloud, taking the man’s immediate reaction as an answer to the quandary she’s raised, “is it really so bad that you needed to pull me out of school early and-!?” “You’re not in trouble, honey” Andrew interjects, redirecting his chin toward his daughter’s direction as he thinks twice of the statement, questioning himself internally before adding emphasis a few moments later, “well, I don’t think you’re in trouble.” Squinting, Liv’s eyes take back toward the open plot of land that sits before their eyes, it’s near mile-long length stretching all the way to the base of a large, wintery mix-covered hillside. Bowing his head whilst his child’s curiosities run rampant, Andrew concedes a lack of understanding on how to broach the topic that weighs so heavily on his mind, trying to speak in a way that makes sense and alleviates doubt. “Elaine and I couldn’t sleep last night and she went out to use the bathroom around midnight” the girl’s father explains, lowering the ice cream cone from his face whilst he speaks, “she heard you talking in your room and saw the camera.” Her squint lessening, Liv’s eyes take toward the scenery in the distance for a brief moment before taking to the ground. “Well, I’ve-” she attempts to reply, her efforts proving futile when her father’s voice continues speaking, breaching the air as if his offspring’s explanation were undesired. “Before you explain, or lie about it, or tell the truth, or whatever- I want you to hear me out first” Andrew explains, taking his eyes directly to the girl sat beside him, “we already saw the tapes.” Evening out the rest of the way, Liv’s squint dissipates in favour of her lids parting slightly further than they usually do, an immediate dread akin to the one that had consumed her the night prior returning to her active conscience. “I’m not mad, you’re not in danger, and I don’t want to make you feel like this is some intervention or whatever you could mistake it as” Andrew continues to clarify, freed to do so now that his daughter’s eagerness to explain vanishes entirely. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell us any of that. I know that- especially after what happened with your sister- it’d be easy to think that I’d react... Well, poorly” the father confesses, speaking with clarity and reason that’s portrayed accurately in his calm and collected inflection. “But I want you to know that you need to tell me these things” Andrew explains, shaking his head as he looks the girl in the eyes, “I cannot be the father that you keep these things from.” Slightly agape, Liv’s lips remain steady and unmoved, refusing to budge from their frozen places as the words she can potentially offer continue to evade her, leaving her father to continue speaking in their absence. “After everything happened with-” Andrew attempts to explain, falling silent in lieu of a description to the woman whose name refuses to leave his lips for just a brief moment, “- she never told me. If she had told me, maybe I could’ve stopped what happened to the others.” With his bottom lip quivering, Andrew breaks eye contact with his child and briefly wipes the tear that wells in his eye before setting the flat-bottomed cone on the picnic table. “I want to be able to tell you more than just this, but I can’t right now. There’s just a part of me that can’t bring myself to say any of it just yet” he confesses, struggling to keep his cool, “but what I can say for certain is that- ever since it happened- I’ve kicked myself for not doing something sooner.” Spouting a heavy breath of fog into the air as he clears his throat, the father falls silent for a few seconds as he sifts through his thoughts, trying to arrange his mind in a way that’ll keep his emotions in check. “I blamed myself for what happened until I shut it all out. I blamed myself for not making it clear to-” Andrew again pauses, struggling to bring himself to utter his disowned offspring’s likeness aloud, “- I should’ve made it clear that she could’ve come to me for anything.” Again left with tears welling in his eyes, the failure that breeds itself in the father’s mind prompts salty droplets to form in the face of his child, his emotions proving too strong not to share. “If I’d made that clear, there’s nothing that can convince me we’d be living in a different world right now” Andrew admits, his teeth showing themselves through his lips as his self-detestment prevails, “Izzy would still be alive, George and Rebecca wouldn’t have had to see Caden like that.” Free falling from her lids, tears descend upon Liv’s face as she looks into her father’s eyes, seeing the strife that her troubles have brought upon him, feeling the weight of heartbreak for being the cause of it. “Please don’t take this as me saying you’re going to end up doing the same thing... Please” Andrew hopes aloud, shaking his head with outright refusal, “I know you’re afraid otherwise, but just because you’re going through what you are now doesn’t mean you’ll end up the same way.” “You don’t know that” Liv whimpers in a soft, near-unheard manner, shaking her own head as her father’s presentation pursues the opposite reaction, bobbing up and down with assurance. “It’s like I said... I can’t tell you everything that I want to right now, but I can promise you that I’m right about this” Andrew retorts, reaching out for his daughter’s hands before taking them into his own, holding them steadily as they lock eyes once more, “it doesn’t mean you’ll end up the same way.” Squeezing her eyelids tight enough that the tears are forced through whatever space may remain between them, Liv shakes her head with as much opposition to the claim as her father holds certainty in it. “I already ended up the same way” the girl confesses, refusing to buy into the line of hope that the man whose hands hold her own provides, “I lost control with the meds and without them. I laid Coleen out both times... I’m already-” “One or two slip-ups don’t make you the same monster, Liv” Andrew reassures, watching the girl open her eyes once more, looking him in the face that he holds steady, “it’ll never be easy, it’ll only ever seem easier. You have to be strong, but mistakes don’t make you a monster... Trust me on that.” Sinking her top teeth into the soft, cold-touched flesh of her bottom lip, Liv stares her father in the eyes without offering a word in response, allowing the plea that he offers to simmer in silence as she considers herself a new line of thought. “What made her a monster?” the girl questions aloud, watching Andrew’s eyes squint ever-so-slightly in reply, reacting instinctively whilst he remains silent in lieu of added context. “You can’t even say her name. You can’t even call her my sister” Liv responds, shaking her head as it leans close to her left side, “why is she a monster that you left to rot inside a prison cell while I’m just a valiant little champ that needs to just fight harder?” Bowing his head, Andrew lets the question flow through his mind like the surface of water in a cup that leans slightly in one side before tilting back and toward the other, not sure how to answer at first. “You both have your own kind of demons, Liv” the father explains, mustering enough courage to at least refer to his disowned eldest in distant terms. “I figured that if I had just raised you in a good home, everything would work itself out. I figured that just being there and loving you two would be enough to keep you from giving into those demons” Andrew confesses, putting the blame on his own shoulders as he has since the truth came to light, “...she let hers win.” Openly weeping as she loses the faintest will she had to not emotionally collapse, Liv falls forward into her father’s arms, which wrap around in an embrace, holding her tight whilst whispering his reassurance as she breaks down against him. “You’ve still got fight in you, Liv” Andrew whimpers, putting aside the truth he considers to be his greatest failure as a father in hope that fate will play out differently this second time around, “you can’t let them win, kid.” | > Friday, 3rd December 2038 < “Come on, Liv! You’re gonna be late for school!” Andrew exclaims, snapping his analog wristwatch into place as he exits his shared bedroom, his upper body covered by nothing more than a tight, black t-shirt. “I overslept! Give me five more minutes!” the teenager calls back, hurrying around her room in only a tank top, a pair of ankle-high black socks and her underwear. “Just try to get a move on, alright!?” the father calls back, walking toward his daughter’s end of the corridor before making a left turn at the staircase, calling out to the girl along his descent, “I’ve got to be at the shop to get the labourers in for the terrace in half an hour!” With his palm sliding against the bannister on the side of the steps that faces the living room, Andrew makes his way to ground level and spins around for the kitchen, leaning in to press his lips against his wife’s own whilst taking a ceramic plate from her hand. “Good morning, babe” the man murmurs as he lowers the plate onto the open space of the kitchen’s island where his son sits, picking up the fork that sits beside a heap of scrambled eggs. “Got any plans while I’m out?” Andrew wonders aloud, fitting as much of the breakfast onto the utensil as he can manage before slowly gliding it toward Galen. “Just housework” Elaine responds, approaching the stovetop with an empty plate in hand before loading it with a small stack of pancakes, a vine of grapes, a side of scrambled eggs and a plastic sauce cup she fills with maple syrup, “why, are you going to be long?” Passing a glance over his shoulder for a brief moment before the sound of scrambling footsteps overhead ease his concerns, the father continues to feed his son whilst answering the inquiry. “Well, in light of what we saw yesterday morning... I think it might be best that we have someone keeping an eye on Liv while we’re not around to do so” Andrew replies, “I think that- while we’re on a more well-understood line of communication with Liv- now’s the time to get an idea of who she hangs with.” “If the two of you need anything, just give me a call” the father soon replies to the pair of labourers as he makes for the terrace’s exit, their agreement to the plan affording him the opportunity to leave the shop for them to handle. Journeying back the way he’d initially departed from, Andrew passes a look through the driver’s side window, a set of various red and blue lights reflecting off his windshield as he passes a rather quiet and secluded area. “Keep moving along!” a uniformed police officer replies, waving his arm in the direction that the street leads toward as he’s relegated to serving as little more than a traffic guard, keeping a line of cars that slowly roll past on the move. One after another, the drivers all stare in wonder at the tarp that covers an unknown object in the centre of a park, its presence seemingly important enough to earn the attention of countless officers, littering the street with dozens of emergency vehicles. Unlike the other civilians, Andrew’s wonder is left unchallenged and unearned as he drives by, paying no mind to the scene of what he can only imagine is a crime of passion or grizzly violence. “Welcome to Missouri, I suppose?” the man murmurs to himself, aware of the peaceful nature that the surroundings usually hold host to, but still reasonable enough to shake his head at the horrifying deeds mankind constantly proves capable of committing. With his eyes held forward, Andrew’s focus on the road eventually leads him to a more populated driveway to his daughter’s school than it was when she was dropped off, the few students that still attend classes in person finally making their way to campus. Out of the corner of his eye, Liv’s father catches the figure of someone that immediately resembles a soul he’s passingly familiar with, the spirit of whom the student reminds him of proving to be more of a gut instinct. “I’m going to take it that you’re Derby?” Andrew wonders aloud, stepping out of his car as the girl’s eyes take toward him, confused at his presence and unable to pinpoint where she would know him from. “Did I key your car or something?” Derby wonders aloud, prompting the man to bow his head with a smirk, trying his best to conceal the genuine humour he takes from her claim. “No, but I believe you’re friends with my daughter, Liv?” Andrew questions back, watching the student’s hesitant face begin to ease up. “Oh shit! You’re Liv’s dad!” Derby calls out, watching the man’s smile remain intact, though lowering itself just slightly as his daughter’s acquaintance’s is sparked a recollection of passing familiarity. “I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I saw you on the news” Derby confesses, genuinely apologetic for her immediate reluctance to acknowledge him, “I don’t mean to be an asshole, but you look a little older than you did back then.” Remaining intact, Andrew’s smile persists as he steps forward, presenting his typical demeanour of approachability. “I don’t take offence. If anything, I’d like to think I look good enough for my age to still seem youthful” the man replies, his admission being one that breaks the ice further, allowing his daughter’s pal to grow more comfortable with his unexpected interaction. “Listen, my daughter thinks very highly of you” Andrew explains, letting the metal ring of his small and simple keychain sit around the middle finger of his right hand, “I want to thank you for being there for her.” Genuinely appreciative, Derby smiles to herself wide enough to prompt her own bow of the head, trying to conceal the grin that he leaves her with. “Even if she can’t help it like others can, it’s really nice to not have someone look at me like I’m a total failure just waiting to be carried away in handcuffs” the girl confesses, nodding as she fixes the hair that falls from her ponytail, “besides, I don’t like bullies.” “Yeah, well I guess that makes two of us” Andrew responds, continuing to sport an affable and welcoming smile that his daughter’s friend reciprocates. “Anyway, I’m glad that you brought up Liv’s... uh... challenges” the man confesses, crossing his arms as the bell hooked up to the front of the building goes off to mark the start of class, “I don’t really want to get too into details here, so would you mind if we spoke somewhere else?” “If you’re asking me to do anything other than go to class today like I hope you are, the answer is ‘yes’ and ‘where’?” Derby jokes, her humour again genuinely amusing the visiting father. “There’s a sub shop at the end of the street the way that I just came down” Andrew suggests, not needing to say anything more before the girl begins walking in the direction, already taking him up on the offer. | With the push of a button, Elaine begins the dishwasher’s rinse cycle before walking for the living room, watching her son knock over a tower of stacked play bricks with ample glee. “Come on, Galen! It’s-!” she cheerfully speaks aloud, falling silent when a massive vibration rocks the room that she’d just travelled out of, its presence noticeable enough for the toddler to screech in jubilation over. With a confused glare, the home’s matriarch stares in the direction of the child-proofed kitchen before the brief vibration begins again, stopping just as quickly as it had the first time around. Finding this odd, Elaine hurries into the room as quickly as she can and immediately reaches for the door to the dishwasher, prepared to open its entry and interrupt its process before the trembling persists for a third time far enough away from the machine to influence her assumption. At a loss for much else to think, Elaine’s ears take toward her right side, following the third set of buzzes toward a cabinet that she knows isn’t used for much more than the storage of a few wooden spoons. Approaching what she believes to be the source, the mother pulls open the cabinet just as any other as the fourth set of trembling begins again. “Now honey, why would you leave your watch in the kitchen cabinet?” Elaine wonders aloud as if her husband were home, physically pressing down on the green button that the display presents before speaking. “Hello?” she wonders aloud, pressing her non-dominant hand against the edge of the countertop whilst holding the device with the other, staring through the kitchen’s window as she waits for an answer from the other line. “This is an automated message to inform you of an incoming call request” a robotic tone of voice begins after three brief seconds, furthering Elaine’s desire to know what the call is about. “Should you agree to accept this call, you will not be charged at any rate for your participation- regardless of the conversation’s duration” the voice proceeds, allowed to continue talking as the attempted discourse’s recipient waits for further clarification. “Participation in this call is strictly voluntary, and you are not mandated to accept being connected to the caller’s line. If you choose to disregard this phone call, no action will be taken against you” the robot continues, only prompting the woman to roll her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah- get on with it” Elaine whispers, shaking her head with feigned and uninfluential displeasure as she watches a small group of crows fly across the cloudy, midwestern sky. “You are receiving a requested call from an inmate at Potosi Correctional Center in unincorporated Washington County, Missouri” the robot finally reveals, sparking a widening of the woman’s eyes as her face pulls away from the view of her backyard and into the device’s screen. “No” Elaine mutters beneath her breath as she makes the correlation she’s meant to draw just as it’s spelled out for her. “The inmate in question is...” the voice follows through, falling silent in lieu of the segment of the call where the prisoner themselves is meant to state their name, allowing for a brief silence to fill the room that surrounds Elaine, who stares into the watch’s screen with a look of awe on her face. “...Sophia Amari” a tired and seemingly pessimistic young woman’s voice replies, affording the automated machine to resume its participation in the call. “Do you accept this call?” the robot inquires, waiting for a reply that Elaine fails to offer immediately, instead being left with the hairs that rise on the back of her neck and the cold, winter chill that overcomes Missouri just beyond the comfort of her home, which feels strikingly chilly to her in that moment despite the heat blasting. Parting her lips with no more than silence to offer at first, the woman looks into the device’s screen once more before falling quiet again. “Do you accept this call?” the automated secretary wonders aloud for a second time, refusing to take the hush that it’s met with the first time as a decisive answer. Pulling her opposite hand away from the counter, Elaine pushes the palm of her now-free hand against her forehead as she acts on instinct, allowing her parted lips to serve a purpose. “Yes” she replies weakly. == Generation Alpha == |
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