Undertow - 1.0 - Rise
Loose Ends
EPISODE CREDITS:
Luke Alphonso as Waylon Grant
Bianca Skinner as Derby Bell
Molly Zhang as Lin Feng Mian
Kenneth Faircloth, Jr. as Amari
Amanda Hufford as Club Dancer
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Dan Boud as the Narrator
Written by Damian Szydlo
Direction by Amanda Hufford
Sound Design by Chris Henry
Script Editing by Jupiter Sanders
Show theme by Doug Maxwell
Music from Audioblocks & Fesliyan Studios
TRANSCRIPT
FADE IN
[Loud sound of waves, someone fighting against the current before being plunged under the water for the final time - The scene continues on the back of when Derby Bell was shot before falling from the hood of Evan’s cab to the waves below]
DERBY BELL
[Mental monologue. She has resigned herself to the fact that she’s not getting out of this situation alive after fighting with the waves.]
“So this is how it ends. Put under by my own hand, so to speak. This could have gone a different way. Ohhh, but Pride. Ego. Too much success; losing only ever felt like another obstacle to vault over. Just an opportunity to rise up from the ashes, again and again.
Maybe I knew that this was where I was going to end up eventually. All roads pointing here. To the water. I’ve always hated the ocean, maybe because I knew it would be the one to finish it. Leaving me so damn powerless; despite everything I’ve accomplished… how hard I’ve trained… how great I’ve become.
I heard Andrew Indri went out slow as well. Thought it was pretty funny at the time. That there was some irony in it. A random thug and a well timed pull of the trigger took down Neo-Atlantis’ best, left him… bleeding out and alone. That’s hilarious to me. If that’s a joke then I guess it’s come ‘round full circle cause we’re all catching a case of that slow death. Just… we’re candles being snuffed out, one after another. Dramatic to the last. Gotta wonder if ‘The Gentleman’ panicked when he saw death coming up on him? He was always so cool under pressure. Like he had the reaper on his quick-call list.
Maybe that’s how you deal with it, when it’s certain. When you know you’re out of road to travel. You just embrace it. Like the phoenix must before it bursts into fire and ash. So if I’ve got to lose, I’m going to surrender under my own terms. I’ll have Poseidon himself come up from the deep to claim me. Make damn sure that when he gets here he’ll find not the bloated corpse of some scared little girl but rather the body of a queen. Ophelia with bloody hands. A machine of grace.”
NARRATOR
She watched the surface drift away, her body sinking into the ocean. There was peace in this moment; in this acceptance… and with it an overwhelming need to be alone in these last moments, unfettered from her killing tools as she went to meet her end. Raising a hand to activate her holo-comm’s projection menu, she disengaged the critically damaged battlesuit and was immediately rewarded with a rush of relief.
Derby Bell just watched as each bit of the armor unclasped and floated away from her. Piece by piece. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad death afterall, she mused before finally closing her eyes for what she imagined would be the last time.
[sinking bass drone as Derby continues to descend]
A soft, orange glow stirred her from what surely seemed to be an eternity spent within this watery void. In her haze, she’d expected to be greeted by the soft radiance that always pulsed from the nano-tattoo on her chest. The phoenix was ever persistent, even now. It wasn’t the warmth of the firebird that had shook her from the water's embrace, though. Slowly her muddled senses began to realize that the light that had disturbed her… that now flooded her world, was much brighter than that.
[sounds of underwater panic]
Panic tore through her former resolve almost immediately. It set in tightly around strained lungs as she found herself at the mercy of an undercurrent that had become far too strong… and the lights…
The lights were originating from the turbines. Massive rotating blades the size of entire buildings, covering the underbelly of Neo-Atlantis. They provided energy to the city in harmony with its sizable solar net. While every smuggler knew these hulks stood still below the damaged infrastructure of Arcadia, they continued to farm the current elsewhere in the city just as well as the day they’d been built. Hers was now a predicament to be sure. In what was surely a one in a thousand chance, Derby Bell had been pulled under the Breakwall instead of being carried up to meet it. In short order, she’d be fed to these giant machines and their insatiable appetites, churned out in a grisly mess. That harrowing realization turned panic into a fevered struggle, her survival instinct flaring alive to thrash against the inevitable. Her breath becoming harder and harder to hold.
REVIK
[Voice from the Past]
“Listen for the moments between the machine. Let the waves be a cradle to fire.”
NARRATOR
She didn’t know why the old android’s words came back to her in this dire moment, though she was sure she now knew what they’d meant. At the time, her sword raised high for a killing strike… she’d assumed it to be nothing more than a malfunction. Rambling nonsense spilling out from the machine in reaction to the stress of its incoming demise… She’d seen it before. But that wasn’t it. He’d… seen this. Somehow he’d known. It was almost inconceivable that Revik might have chosen to guide her along a path, to save her life in the future even though she’d been on the verge of taking his.
There was no more time to question or to reflect upon the impossibilities of a machine that had somehow prophesied this future. With a new resolve to survive this, Derby stopped struggling and turned her energy instead to an explosive thrust that rode the current towards the massive, rotating blades… Which despite their capacity to be lethal: were not meant to be killing machines.
[Sounds of a Siren’s singing start softly in the background]
Meeting the challenge with eyes open, she darted to the side as the first blade cleaved through the water beside her. This was impossible, she thought. Navigating this web was a power outside of even her formidable abilities. Still, somehow she could almost see the area each blade would be moving through. Like sonar if it were precognacacite [Pre-Cogna-sit]… the ocean itself felt like it was guiding her to swim through the whirling blades, each dodge easier then the first until she was weaving in and out of danger with effortless efficiency. Soon enough and against all odds… she was rising through the turmoil and up into one of the many canals in lower Magaris.
DERBY BELL
[Gasp and a crack of thunder as she splashes up into one of the canals within the city once more]
FADE OUT
FADE IN
[Thumping club music as Waylon navigates himself through a concert at Club Jade]
WAYLON [NARRATION MONOLOGUE]
“Club Jade. One of several hotspots created by the Yakuza… a front to serve their varied public interests throughout Neo-Atlantis. Cesspools of gambling and debauchery. This place in particular saw much of it’s traffic from the surrounding ‘French Quarter’ of the Arcadian district. The French have always been uncustomary bedfellows with the crime syndicate in this city. At least as far back as anyone I’ve ever questioned can recall.
It is… not without it’s risk; being here. The Yakuza traditionally reserve little love for my people. For the Mer. Perhaps even less for the Authority. That is of course only where the coming complications of the evening begin. This place is not unknown to me and to be direct, the times I have known it haven’t been pleasant ones. I will find no friends within these walls.”
CLUB DANCER
“Hazard a dance? Might be your lucky night, fishman.”
WAYLON
“If only. [shows badge] I’m here on business, I’m afraid. Another time.”
CLUB DANCER
[teasing]
“Oh, a badge! Well… it’s your loss… detective.”
WAYLON [NARRATION MONOLOGUE]
“Perhaps I was unfair in claiming that I have no friends here. The Yakuza haven’t been the only ones to have found the inhabitants of this neighbourhood to be accommodating. I’ve… personally found them to be… more accepting… Less judgemental than other human communities. Perhaps this is a side effect to being close neighbors with one of the largest Mer conclaves in the city. This relationship is however irrelevant to the current case. A distractionary thought.
To say that I’ve been haunted is perhaps an understatement. I became a detective - more specifically a finder of lost children… as a direct response to losing ‘her’. Indeed, for the last five years since I’d… given up… I had thought it might be my only unsolved case, despite how personal it was to me. I moved on. Too many dead ends. Dedicated my efforts instead to ensuring that others might receive the closure that I never had. I’ve never stopped to consider whether it’s an act of therapy or a sense of justice that drives what I do. I am… not certain I wish to know that answer. I am sure though, that it was never about her. Not directly.
It is and has always been about how I failed her. As a friend.
Outsiders might find the concept of friendship to be somewhat flexible. This is not so within the conclaves. To the Mer, a bond like that runs as deep… if not deeper than blood. It becomes a matter of spirit… of souls. When we accept another into our lives they… become a part of not only our identity but our very being. We share something that is… difficult to explain to those who are not Mer. As could be surmised, to lose a friend is to lose a part of oneself. Ordinarily, it is a difficult grieving process to be sure; but one that is surmountable in most cases.
This was not the case for me. I was not permitted a chance to come to terms. Every question was met with… more questions. My memories on it are… fragmented. Obscured when all else is clear. I cannot get through the mist and have found that the more I try… the more damage I visit to… even unrelated long term memories. Feedback I call it.
What I know is that when Alex… vanished… I became obsessed with the inconsistencies. The facts that didn’t add up. I cannot recall exactly what transpired but… I know that I got close once… and that I bear the marks of my transgressions. In this case, these marks are not merely psychological scars but rather physical ones as well. Surgical, to be more precise.
NARRATOR
Waylon continued to slide through the crowd, careful to make as little contact with it’s patrons as possible. He needed to keep his mind clear. He couldn’t help as his hand drifted over the back of his head in response to the heavy thoughts he’d been entertaining; over smooth amphibious skin that bore only the slightest physical trace of the procedure that took his memories from him. Neo-Atlantis was a place full of both wonder and terror. In this place, fact was often truly stranger than fiction; in this instance for example: the same genetic tampering that had brought his people into existence would eventually become the key Kraken had needed to unlock the full potential of the human mind. Even though augmenting oneself to possess gifts of psionic marvel had become a quick, though expensive, commercial transaction… The technology that bore such advancement was still only about twenty years young. That fact led to one of his sole, remaining leads before he’d closed the case on Alex Webb. That whomever had done this to him had A) Wanted to keep him alive for some reason… and B) Possessed the financial power and knowledge to have funded a cutting edge procedure that had stripped nearly every memory surrounding the disappearance of a seemingly inconsequential street girl.
It had never added up. But it was unravelling now.
AMARI
“Well if it isn’t Detective Waylon Grant. A shame these visits are always so short. You have been warned that you are unwelcome here.”
WAYLON [NARRATION MONOLOGUE]
“Amari. Bouncer and bodyguard. His… sudden arrival in the crowd made it clear that my presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. Unfortunate… if not unexpected. On any other day it might have been prudent to heed this man’s not so subtle advice. To understand that the Wakagashira did not want to be inconvenienced with keeping face to a barely respected enemy right now. This is not, however, any other day.
It was obvious that he hadn’t expected me to be so bold as to move past him without a word. I had always been the type to respect the rules of the house. Truthfully… it was… unhealthy to do otherwise, even for a protected man such as myself. Fortunately, I didn’t need any direction to find who it was that I was here for.
Most club owners as a rule behave the way you might expect them to act… that being similar to every entertainment stream created within the last two centuries. Shady operators in smoky back rooms; walled off by one way mirrors… or perhaps roosting on exclusive, executive mezzanines. Overlooking their empire. Neo-Atlantis hadn’t done much to change the cliche. Not ‘this’ one, however. This lieutenant wouldn’t be far from the front lines.
Lin Feng Mien was the daughter of one of the old Triad bosses; that is of course before the organization made it’s peace with the Yakuza. This was around the same time the Korean moto-gangs were… absorbed as well. In Neo-Atlantis, a more adaptive version of the Yakuza knew that an alliance with it’s bitter Eastern rivals was perhaps the best path to securing a seat at the table. They weren’t wrong. I mention this only to highlight that it is my belief that even despite her roots in leadership… Lin would have risen to power within the syndicate. She was the sort that could not be denied.
As expected, it isn’t long before I spot her behind the bar. In the thick of it with her workers. I am… reminded that Ms. Feng Mien might easily be mistaken as beautiful at first glance. An easy, clumsy error to make… She was a predator. Her eyes… containing a ruthless yet playful cruelty just below the surface. Her seemingly gentle demeanor is nothing more than a cunning ploy… put on and worn like any other accessory might be. She stands amidst her bar staff while they efficiently serve the club’s many drunken patrons… unerringly as if they followed the practiced steps of a well choreographed dance routine. Note: Holographic displays of… jade coloured blossoms… and… leaves falling around us in perhaps the only ‘forest’ one might hope to experience without access to a growery or pleasure garden. The imagery becomes stronger, more vibrant, the closer one gets to the bar itself. A pleasant and no doubt expensive addition since the last time I visited the club. There is unfortunately no time to further appreciate my surroundings. The spurned bouncer… approaches.”
WAYLON
[calls out as almost a challenge]
“Lin Feng Mien!”
FENG MIEN
[Takes her time to approach Waylon, staying behind the bar, a smile of feigned amusement on her face masking her annoyance]
“Well… This is… unexpected. It has been some time, hasn’t it, Waylon? If I recall that WAS the agreement we’d come to.”
WAYLON
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.”
AMARI
“My apologies, Wakagashira. He got past me…”
FENG MIEN
[Annoyance]
“We will speak later on that. Now, what is this about? Hopefully you’re not here to shoot anyone this time.”
WAYLON
“That was a regrettable turn of events. To be fair… your people shot first. I have questions regarding the disappearance of Alex Webb. It would perhaps be best if this business was conducted somewhere more private.”
FENG MIEN
“Oh? Should I know that name? [scoffs] I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place, detective. You barge into my club with demands seeping from your lips. This was a presumptive and foolish move. Surly you understand that your badge and subsequent deputization is a gift from our allies and has no authority here. Please, allow Amari to show you out.”
WAYLON [NARRATION MONOLOGUE]
“Firm hands seize me by my arm. This line of questioning… It ended the way I’d expected it to. Suddenly and… with an unspoken promise of a lesson to come. It should be obvious to any detective worth his salt that you cannot simply walk into an enemy’s den, flash an ornamental badge and demand answers from one of a faction's most powerful representatives. Not without it going the way it had. My exit at Amari’s hands was expedient to be sure… rushing me roughly from the eyes of his superior… his shame guiding us off the floor and through the back corridors of the building with ever increasing hostility. I could feel his intent. This man wanted to hurt me for what I’d done to him. For ignoring his warning and costing him face. Truth be told, I was counting on exactly that… though admittedly it was not something I was looking forward to.”
[sound effects as the back door to the club swings open and Waylon gets thrown to the ground]
WAYLON
“If this is the point where you hit me so as to insure I do not repeat my mistake… I assure you that…”
[Amari wastes no words, sounds of hoisting Waylon up as he begins to strike the detective - Note: need effort sounds of Waylon getting hit plus one for when he was thrown to the ground]
NARRATOR
It was a familiar pain. One that sometimes came with the job of detective work. In asking too many uncomfortable questions. It wasn’t a surprise to Amari that the Mer tried to struggle, grabbing at the bouncers collar with scrambling hands. It had of course all been by design, the frantic defense only a cover as Waylon concentrated on the task at hand. That primarily being the premeditated theft of Amari’s most recent memories. The heist was not unlike sifting through murky water for diamonds. Security procedures. Combinations. Passcodes. The beating he was receiving, the brief physical contact it provided left precious little time with which to work his gifts on one of Lin Feng Mien’s closest lieutenants. Still, by the time Amari had finished with him, dropping the Mer’s bruised body down on the metal grating of the club’s back alley… he had all the information needed for a more… thorough after hours return to Club Jade.
Slowly making his way back to his knees, the detective touched shaking hands to his split lip. Without a doubt, any return visit to this place would require an expert. Someone who could handle themselves. Fortunately, Waylon Grant knew just where to find one.
FADE OUT