S4, E6 | Phone Light in a Long, Dark Car Ride

> Sunday, 13th November 2039 <

“I understand that you were never charged with her death, but would you understand why some people would assume differently?” an Asian woman inquires, dressed in a grey suit befitting of a television anchor as she sits across a room from a woman younger than herself by around ten years. Silent for a moment, Sophie continues to direct her face toward the presenter whilst her eyes fall to the side, contemplating an answer to the question at large.

“I think it’d be irresponsible to not see why people would have their concerns about me” she eventually replies, one leg crossed over the other as her arms sit atop one another in her lap, the drab, beige jumpsuit that she wears appearing more like pyjamas in the presence of her interviewer’s formal wear.

“Do you understand why they find such fascination in your case?” the presenter inquires, wearing a name tag on the left breast of her suit jacket bearing the name ‘Daphne’. Her squint deepening, Sophie considers her response for a moment before parting her lips, looking to respond before suddenly falling silent, as if second thoughts had prevented her from speaking out of line with what she wishes to say.

Exposing the right side of her head to the camera as she pulls hairs that cover it behind her ear, Sophie looks to the side of the room and sits with her thoughts for a second. Coating the walls, chipped paint lines the room in which they reside, presenting the drab reality of the living situation that the inmates dwell within. “Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t” she confesses, neither shaking her head, nor nodding toward the source of her self-inspection.

“Why sometimes yes?” Daphne follows up, watching the girl’s relaxed posture deepen as she’s given the food for thought, feeding on it like a starved child unsure of whether or not the delicacy is one she’ll ever get the chance to indulge in again. “Because my situation isn’t very unique, but it also is at the same time” Sophie admits, her hands tucked into the inner elbows of each arm as she speaks, “I’m not the first person to kill people at a younger age than others, but I’m also one of what seems like very few of them.”

Continuing to reserve her questioning for moments in which it is more deserving, Daphne waits for the young, brunette woman across from her to continue, watching the expression that she takes on imply that she’s deep within thought. “I also didn’t do myself any favours in trying to present myself like I was just an innocent little girl that got snatched up by her mom” Sophie explains, a refusing sway of her head taking shape as she furthers her internal investigation.

“I did terrible things that I wish I could take back. I did them to people that didn’t deserve them, and I did them because I was too much of a coward to see that I didn’t need to...” Sophie utters in a low tone, visibly disheartened with the recollection of the crimes that she’d committed, “...but I didn’t feel like I had that choice at the moment.”

“What choice didn’t you have?” Daphne queries, watching the girl’s line of sight fall back upon her as she shrugs with a guilty smile, one brought on by the disappointment in the memory of her actions. Repressing the emotion she wishes to present, Sophie opts to let her eyes fall as she thinks about the question, finding interest in it whilst also not seeing much in the way of depth to it.

“I felt like I was backed into a corner. I was worried that everything that unfolded- in the way that it unfolded- left me no choice but to try and cover my tracks” Sophie answers, leaving her statement there for the interviewer to feed upon like fish food. “And by covering your tracks, you mean...?” Daphne queries, an open-ended sentence left for the inmate to finish with the nod of her head.

“...by killing them” Sophie assures, watching the professional’s eyes linger on her for a few seconds before falling to the notepad tucked into the leather-bound binder atop her lap. “But there are times where I also don’t see the point of fascination” the inmate carries on, putting an end to Daphne’s attempt at moving onto the next question before the effort can even be made to do so.

“I’m a troubled girl who deeply regrets what she’s done. I have no one to blame for my decisions other than myself” Sophie continues, allowed to speak through the silence that Daphne provides her, the room filling with a hush that the inmate gets to shatter with the parting of her lips. “My father shouldn’t be to blame. He did nothing wrong...” the girl carries on, letting out a brief burst of laughter as she shakes her head, “...if anything, he’s one of the only people who shouldn’t be blamed whatsoever.”

Curious and intrigued, Daphne narrows her eyelids and remains silent, affording the inmate a chance to continue speaking unprompted, not wanting to interrupt the line of dialogue that’s presented in fear that it’ll be brought to an untimely end. “My sister had nothing to do with it, my dad’s new wife- Elaine- had nothing to do with it. None of them should be blamed or blame themselves” Sophie doubles down, making her point clear as she looks her interviewer in the eyes, “this falls solely on my shoulders.”

Continuing to look at the younger woman, Daphne places the tip of her pen to the notepad in her lap, swirling the ballpoint across the page with half of an eye toward it as she writes as legibly as she can muster amidst her divided attention. “I didn’t know the private investigator very well, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him” Sophie confesses, adamantly shaking her head at the comment, “but Izzy didn’t deserve what I did to her. That was the most cruel part about what I did.”

“Killing the officer wasn’t the most cruel thing?” Daphne interjects, bringing the most-recent killing up for the young woman’s mind to feed on, only to find the shake of the girl’s head to react immediately. “Killing the officer was cruel, but it wasn’t the most cruel thing that I did” Sophie assures, pressing her back into the cushion-less seat she’s been stationed upon near the centre of the room, “taking Izzy’s life took her away from Caden. And if anyone didn’t deserve what I did to them... it’s Caden.”

“Why is he the one that sticks out the most?” Daphne queries, feeling like the inmate’s line of thought has gone unchecked long enough, feeling the need to bring her back to the subject of her claims. “Because Caden and I were best friends for as much of my free life as I could remember. I still have dreams at night about days we used to spend together when we were kids” Sophie responds, attempting to continue speaking before forcing herself to break eye contact, looking toward the side of the room with teary eyes.

Beginning to jot down her discovery in the notepad, Daphne continues to hold her stare on the silent inmate, waiting for her to continue of her own volition whilst remaining curious to the insight that there’s potential to find in her remarks. Letting a slow breath roll free from her lungs, Sophie looks toward a window that lets daylight spill into the prison’s interior, a sight seldom seen without the obstruction of metal bars behind them or through bulletproof glass.

“I took the person that he loved away. And then, since I couldn’t face the music of what I did...” Sophie whimpers, struggling to keep her emotions in check as a tear begins to streak down the side of her face, her voice becoming soft as her eyes return to the questionnaire across from her, “...I ended up getting him killed as well.”

Settling into her seat further, Daphne goes without interruption as the inmate attempts to gather herself, bringing a hush over the room for a moment that’s only interrupted by the stuffy breaths she takes through her nose, trying to clear her passageways in order to breathe better. “I don’t understand why the public is so interested sometimes, though. I didn’t get why people were so interested when I was kidnapped in the first place all those years ago” Sophie confesses, her demeanour shifting from sorrow to confusion.

“You see stories of trouble all the time. Maybe I’m one of the only people that actually regret what they did, or maybe it’s because of how young I was when everything happened, but I just don’t get why it’s my case that intrigued everyone” she continues. Shaking her head as the tip of her tongue presses against the roof of her mouth, Sophie’s eyes take back toward the window as daylight continues to die, the blue of the sky above having become a darker shade halfway between noon and night.

“I was a girl who was sick. I was a girl who felt like she was boxed into a corner and had no way to get out other than to do what I did” the girl carries on, looking back to the professional directly opposite herself with a reluctant shake of the head, “I don’t see why that’s anyone’s business other than the people that I’ve hurt, or how that’s anyone’s problem other than my own.”

“You don’t see why people are so interested in your story?” Daphne questions, looking for clarification in a way that the audience this interview is meant for can better digest. “The only people that should have interest in what I did or what happens to me now are the people that I affected. Everyone else is just watching out of morbid curiosity and fascination” Sophie concedes, visibly disheartened, “maybe it’d be better if they didn’t focus on my case. I’m like an anchor, and every one less pair of eyes watching me is one less person that I’m weighing down.”

“You feel like an anchor?” Daphne queries, watching the smile appear upon the inmate’s face and the nod take shape, validating the conclusion that the professional had come to. “I’ve made it impossible for my family to truly move on. I’ve made it impossible for the families of my victims to move on. I’ve hurt people and I wish that I could take it back more than anything” Sophie replies, stubborn in the stance that she voices, “I’m an awful burden and that troubles me... But it shouldn’t be the trouble of anyone else.”

= 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 =

> Thursday, 24th November 2039 <

“More wine?” Elaine inquires, looking toward her husband with an open bottle in his hand, his hand covering the mouth that he’s stuffed with turkey that he attempts to chew as he nods, pulling away from his plate to free his white shirt from the danger of spilled red. “Can I have some wine?” Liv inquires, letting the stuffing that she’d gathered onto her fork remain suspended in the air as she looks forward with wide eyes, hopeful that her request will be granted.

“You’re still not twenty one, dear” Elaine responds, gently filling her husband’s glass as her adopted daughter’s face puts on a feigned look of sadness. “Go ahead and pour her a glass, honey” Andrew corrects, watching both girls look toward him as he shrugs at his wife, wearing a half-smile as he swallows the remnants of the bird that he’d chewed up, “it’s Thanksgiving. She might as well have one glass.”

“Can I have-?” Galen proceeds to inquire, slowly going through his words to form a sentence before being interrupted. “You absolutely may not” Elaine replies, looking toward her son before averting her eyes, carrying them toward the child’s father, who lifts his hands in surrender and backs as far away from the table as his chair will allow him to.

“I’m not going to fight you on that one” Andrew concedes, earning laughter out of his daughter as she pulls away from the dinner table in the corner and retreats for the cabinet of glasses just to the right of the sink. “In all seriousness though, I had my first drink when I was four” the man comments, watching his college-bound child return with a similar wine glass to the one that they use as his wife looks toward him with surprise.

“Really?” Elaine wonders aloud, setting her attention back on the glass that Liv extends toward her, filling it just as she does with their own, “how did you manage to swing that?” Scooping another mound of stuffing between his lips, Andrew pushes the food to the side of his mouth with his tongue and replies.

“By stealing my father’s bottle of scotch from the liquor cabinet while he was passed out” he comments, amusing both of the women at the table whilst covering his mouth with his fist, finishing the mouthful before continuing to speak. “It tasted awful and I’m pretty sure it’s the earliest memory that I have” Andrew carries on, further bringing subdued laughter over the members of his family that surround the table, “I’m much more fond of the taste now that...”

Furrowing her brows as she wipes the excess beverage from her top lip, Liv returns the glass to the table with a surprised look in her eyes, the bitterness of the drink making itself clear through the reaction her visage sports. “I’m glad to see you’re as much of a novice to the taste of our liquor as I’d hoped” Andrew proclaims, gesturing for his wife’s face to take toward their humoured daughter, “you’ve never sifted through our liquor cabinet before and that has never been more obvious.”

“It’s stronger than I thought it would be” Liv remarks, earning an unabashed burst of laughter from her father as his head tilts back, both palms pressing against the table’s top whilst Elaine hangs her head behind coupled hands that she props up at the elbow, concealing her amusement as best as she can manage.

“Welcome to adulthood! You’ll get more familiar with it when you’re off to college” Andrew reassures, rubbing the girl’s shoulder encouragingly as she licks her lips, still trying to accommodate the strong taste with her palet. “If only any of them would get back to me already” Liv responds, trying to make light of the delay through her humour.

“You’re an early applicant. They should be getting around to you by sometime next month” Elaine reassures, reaching across the table to rest her hand atop the young woman’s own, the warmth of her touch bringing a smile upon Liv’s face. “Besides, we have more than enough money to make a donation to that school in Chicago if the worst case scenario arises” Andrew remarks, earning a playful swat at his chest from the woman opposite his daughter.

“What!? All good and incredibly wealthy parents show their affection by buying their children nice things!” he jokes, watching his wife’s head fall into her hands as their daughter chuckles, “Liv just happens to not ask for a lot like some other spoiled children, so we buy her a college instead of a car!”

“I wouldn’t mind a car if that’s on the table!” Liv quips, pointing at her father as he begins to laugh quietly to himself, his head hanging as Elaine takes over. “You just graduated to a glass of wine on the holidays, don’t start pushing your luck!” the woman jokes, watching her daughter take the turn to lift her hands in a show of surrender, pulling away from the table as the humour settles down, returning them to a peaceful, holiday meal.

|

“Happy Thanksgiving” Denise remarks, tossing a pair of packaged noodles onto the top bunk of the cell she pokes her head into, surprising the girl that lays atop it with eyes following the barely-visible marks on the ceiling. Sitting up, Sophie looks to the doorway, where the charitable-seeming inmate leans against the doorway, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Thank you” Sophie answers in simple terms, not wanting to speak out of line with the uncertainty over the girl’s appearance. “You’re welcome” Denise responds, entering the cell at her own discretion before using the metal toilet as a chair, sitting upon it with one leg thrown over the other, staring at the younger inmate, who dangles her legs off the bunk’s edge as she sits on the overlook.

“You’ve been pretty radio silent for the last few weeks, what gives?” the visiting inmate inquires, watching a subdued look of bewilderment come over the resident of the cell. “I’m usually radio silent. That’s kind of why no one has problems with me” Sophie remarks, pressing her arms into the tops of her thighs as she leans inward, answering the comment accordingly.

“It’s common courtesy to tell people you’re not interested in teaming up with them if they offer you the chance” Denise remarks, still carrying a calm and composed demeanour toward the girl that she visits. “Why do you even want me to hang around you in the first place? I’ve only ever kept my nose clean in here” Sophie responds, looking toward the ground as she ponders the point, “I don’t know what I have to offer you that someone else out there can too.”

“The guards don’t seem to mind you as much as they mind us” Denise responds, leaning against the toilet’s tank whilst crossing her arms, settling into her seat as the conversation continues, “that’s just one thing that could come in handy.”

“Come in handy for what?” Sophie interrogates, unable to read between the lines and mostly desiring not to, “the guards don’t do me any favours that they don’t do for you.” With a smile, Denise looks away, removing one hand from her coupling of them to scratch at the back of her neck. “That’s because you don’t ask them to” the woman replies, letting the arm fall back into the other as she speaks, “and the rest of the girls out there... we appreciate that.”

“Why?” Sophie wonders aloud, earning a chuckle from the woman that’s approached her, the question of genuine interest being taken as a source of humour by the experienced inmate. “Because you could get privileges that we can’t if you really wanted to and you choose not to take them. You let yourself be on the same level as the rest of us” Denise replies, completely misreading the intention of the prisoner sitting at a slightly higher level than herself, “it’s respectable.”

Opening her mouth, Sophie responds to the woman’s comments with silence, letting her lips return together without providing the inmate a reply. “You did get the chance to talk with the press a few weeks ago, but the rest of us are willing to look past that” Denise explains, shaking her head as her eyes veer off toward the barricaded window in the corner of the cell, “but even with that, there’s only so much that good behaviour will get you. You know that, right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not on good behaviour because I’m trying to deceive anyone, I just don’t want to cause trouble” Sophie comments, choosing her words carefully out of fear that something she’ll say will shed light on something she’d rather sentence to a life of hiding in the shadows. “Sure, but it won’t change anything. You’ll still be here for a while, won’t you?” Denise queries, watching the girl’s face tilt to the side as she takes the question at face value.

“I’m up for parole in eight years. I’ve been told that good credit may shorten that, but not by much” Sophie responds, pulling back to correct her posture as her palms palms against the metal supports that her bunk is propped up by. “Sure, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the parole board will let you go” Denise responds, one eyebrow lifting over her right eye as she sports a slight smirk, “two of the people that you killed were a cop and a private eye, right? You think they’ll just let that slide by when they make their call?”

“I’m-” Sophie attempts to reply, only for her rebuttal to be cut off by the inmate beneath her immediately, a correction issued quicker than the beige jumpsuit had been when she was first booked. “No, they won’t. You can be as good as you want in here, but you’re still a cop killer to anyone that isn’t one of us” Denise interjects, affirming her conclusion to the woman that falls silent, kept from speaking further without deeper insight.

“Maybe they’ll grant you parole after four of five failed tries... enough to really beat you down and disparage you. But not on the first go around” the experienced, older inmate comments, watching the confusion leave Sophie’s flushed face in favour of slight and poorly-subdued concern.

“If you’re trying to keep your nose clean and not cause problems so you can get out of here early, you should rethink your strategy... ‘Cause that isn’t it” Denise comments, firm in the stance that her confidence prompts Sophie to lower her eyes at. Staring at the ground, the once-blonde girl now in her mid-twenties lets her worry sink in, feeling the dread of weight that’s brought on by the fear that creeps into her mind.

Having nothing more to offer, Denise steps off the pot and ventures beyond the entry to the young woman’s cell, leaving her to consider the circumstances she’s planted into her head and allowed to spread within like a virus attaching itself to a host. Watching the older inmate walk away, Sophie leaves her mind to run through thoughts of concern and worry that cloud her sights, making the floor appear as murky as it had once stopped being once she’d eased her way into this new life.

|

> Monday, 28th November 2039 <

Watering the Tree of Life at the centre of his store, Andrew flips off the warming light before approaching the doors at the front of the shop, locking them shut before venturing past the already-empty terrace extension, the plants that had once resided within it during the summer having long since been sold off or brought inside.

Untying the strings of his apron, the man returns the smock to a hook beyond the break room before picking his keys up from the bowl sitting just next to the employee entrance, shutting down the store for the night before climbing into his car and letting it carry him away. Checking his emails, Andrew answers a variety of different plant shops and farmers inquiring about the availability of seeds, which stack up in his inbox before being gradually run through.

Clearing one new message after another, he eventually finds himself finished with business for the day with another ten minutes of his drive left, leaving him with free time he has no other use for. Turning off his device, Andrew sets his eyes on the scenery to each side of the road with little satisfaction, seeing nothing more than snow-covered fields and an assortment of trees, none of which sticking out as being a sight worth noting.

“Screw it” he murmurs, returning his eyes to his phone before skimming through a list of videos recommended for him, his eyes being met with botany how-to’s, stock market updates and real estate informationals before reaching the podcast section. Having intended to spend his time disregarding one video after another until finally reaching his destination, Andrew’s sights inevitably begin pulling away from the thumbnails and, instead, focus on the text that each box presents beneath them.

One after another, the thumbnails and unimportant scrawlings pass the man’s eye like lights in a city that brighten the night, but are not unique from each other in a way worthy of focusing on individually. Eventually breaching the point of the conversational pieces, Andrew’s browser reaches the point where it finally just starts presenting him with videos of the news, affording his sights clips of pictures from across the country and politicians preaching to their supporters before finally prompting his destinationless browsing to cease.

Hit by the weight of a bus, Andrew turns off his phone immediately and lowers it to his lap, staring through the windshield with wide eyes as he searches for anything of importance in the world that surrounds his vehicle. For a few seconds, his attention fails to capture anything before it looks back to the map on his dashboard, still presenting him with eight minutes to go on his simple journey back home.

Breathing heavily, the man’s hand begins to shake as his palm rests against the back of his device, lips quivering as his leg begins violently bouncing off the mat that his foot repeatedly taps upon. Glancing back to the centre console just in time to watch the eight minute warning turn into the seven minute countdown, Andrew rolls his eyes and sets his sights back on the world outside, trying to preoccupy his mind for the final stretch of his journey before inevitably reaching back for the phone.

Watching the screen flood the cabin with light immediately, Andrew’s eyes take beneath the familiar face in the thumbnail in order to read the white letters that form a title beneath it. ‘Sophie Amari Interview’ the title reads, residing beneath a timestamp of just over an hour. As if frozen by both fear and dread, the man looks away from the screen and back toward the road before setting the phone down.

Bypassing the automated system, the father buckles himself in and turns the key in its ignition, assuming control of the wheel and pulling the vehicle onto the side of the road, bringing it to a stop before throwing on his hazard lights. Forcing himself to bear no other choice, Andrew pulls the key from the ignition and lets the car power itself down, entrenching him in darkness once more that only the phone’s light changes, returning to the cabin with the press of the man’s fingertip against its screen.

Giving himself no other option, the man lets out a long exhale whilst his face takes toward the sky, composing himself just enough for his impulses to let the digit he extends graze the screen and fill his car with more than just the soft sound of his delicate breathing. Looking toward the device, Andrew watches the network’s logo take shape upon the centre of his screen before watching it fade away, revealing a pair of women in the line of a camera within the stuffy, paint-chipping confines of the prison that hosts the interview.

“Good evening” the Asian host remarks, greeting the audience that she knows to reside on the other side of the camera, addressing them directly with one leg crossed over the other, a currently-blank notepad resting in her lap.

== Generation Alpha ==