In Corde (Scene Compilation)

*Pilot version. Not final product. Any constructive feedback is kindly appreciated.*

(Early version. Might need further polishing.)

Year 2116

The United Arab Emirates

“Joshua?” a faint female voice echoes. “Joshua.”

The middle aged man is lost in his thoughts, reminiscing in the middle of a meeting with his psychologist, Carla, a kind looking old lady from Argentina.

“Joshua?” Carla snaps him back to reality.

He wears a tight navy-blue suit, a shiny watch and glasses. All pretty expensive. His beard is going gray and has a rather jaded expression on his face. The fifth decade is approaching. He chose Carla to be his psychologist because of their similar backgrounds: her being from Argentina and him being from Chile. That meant he could finally speak his native tongue with somebody.

“Oh, sorry, sorry, I—” he scratches his nape.

“You got lost for a second there, is there a problem with my question?” Carla waits for an answer, ready to note things down.

“No... no, uh,” he smiles uncomfortably, “what was it again?”

“...I asked you how you feel about it.”

“About what?”

“About your family.” Carla notices there's clearly something wrong about this.

Joshua sinks into deep thinking while Carla writes things down. He looks upset, but didn’t seem visibly traumatized. And to put an end to the silence, he builds up confidence by swiping his face from top to bottom and grabs his chin at the end with a thoughtful expression.

“I’m not sure,” he tells her, never looking at her in the eye. “I could tell you it’s incredibly painful to remember them, but in all sincerity, when I think about it...” he moves his hands in circles as he explains: “The pain feels only as distant as the moment that caused it. I don’t know if I’m expressing myself well enough.

It’s like... a blurry sort of feeling, like if I wasn’t really feeling the emotion completely. Like only feeling small ‘vestiges’ of it.”

“That’s a very interesting way of putting it; you sound like a writer.” She notes things down. “Do you think your job is helping you cope with your feelings of loss, somehow?”

“My, uh, job?” he inclines his head to the side.

“Let me rephrase,” she accommodates. “Do you feel good being what you are?”

Joshua inhales, and: “Well, I...” he waits for his thoughts to organize. “I do feel accomplished, I think... but being me doesn’t exactly make me feel ‘good’.

It makes me a bit sad, sometimes, when I realize why I’m here for. Knowing that there are still cases to solve and people to punish for them, and they just keep popping up one after another.” Carla is about to say something but Joshua continues: “It’s kind of a sad thing to think about: that my job is so highly required.”

Carla sighs. “So, would you feel better if your job wasn’t required, then?” Joshua goes silent, thinking. Carla stares at him with the notepad in her hands, waiting for his answer.

“I don’t know... maybe? Maybe I’d lose a part of myself,” he answers. “Is that too selfish? That even though I know it’d be better for everyone, I still want things to stay the way they are, just because I’m used to them?”

“No, that’s normal. That’s what we call the 'mere-exposure effect'.”

“Oh, the 'mere-thingy', yeah.” Joshua smiles staring at Carla. He notices she isn’t smiling back at him and goes serious. “Is that bad?”

“No. It’s normal.” She grins slightly after a small delay. “You should really try writing.”

Somewhere in Abu Dhabi

The local D.S.I. had received a call about a robbery in the city. The victim is an eccentric Asian man pushing for the century. He’s very angry about the issue and claimed that the things stolen were too important to him 'and the world', so the department decided to dispatch one of the best Agents to attend matters —and also he threatened the employees working at the calls center.

And so, there is Agent Jason Pierce, the man closest to the Chief of department, walking into the scene with his imposing presence, talking through his phone. He is a big African man, exactly 50 years old. Has the most formal demeanor of all, and is always seen wearing a black suit, even in casual situations. Maybe he just likes Men in Black a lot, although it’s hard to come across pop culture from so long ago during these times —but not impossible.

“Alright, I’m here,” he says with his pristine low voice and hangs up. He is at the 187th floor of a building called “The Skylight”. Shown big on the entrance.

He walks to the one and only door. The apartment seems to span the entire floor, maybe more.

Knock. Knock.

He sees the bell at the side of the door, feeling a bit dumb about knocking.

Ding...

The Asian old man opens the door. “Oh, oh, finally.”

“Mister... Hasegawa...” Jason remembers.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Agent Pierce,” he bows.

“Oh, no need to do that, Agent. Please, come in.” All the exterior walls are made out of glass, and the view is just above most of the buildings of the city, allowing the sun to bathe the entire interior evenly with a gentle white light; it is a calming look. The colors of the walls and the furniture are sober and the place is filled with plants, all with very deep green colors.

“Well, would you mind showing me about these stolen items?” Jason goes straight to the case.

“Sure, come with,” the old man leads Pierce into the living area. He is clearly a millionaire or a billionaire, although these type of people aren’t rare in here. Aside from all the plants, his apartment is decorated with many ethnic adornments and curiosities; Japanese vases and miscellaneous objects are more prevalent. Pierce looks all around him, following the old man.

“Where did you get all these things?” he asks.

“I’ve been collecting things since I was a young adult,” the old man answers. “Among all these things, you will find objects and ornaments that I found or bought close to as far as eighty years ago.”

Pierce is amazed, although his face rarely ever shows his emotions clear enough. “These things are very beautiful, where are they all from?”

“From all around the world. I began with rare things from my hometown back in Japan and the hobby grew so much in me I decided to travel the world. This here, for example,” he shows Pierce a wooden Tiki carving hanging from the wall. “I bought it in a island named Hawaii. It’s from Tiki culture; very popular back then. It wasn’t an expensive or rare item, but I liked it and it added to the variety of my collection, so I bought it. Well, that was until now.” He resumes leading Pierce through the place. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that Tiki carving is now the last one in the whole world.”

“Where are we going?” Pierce notices the old man is taking too long to reach the place. Maybe the apartment is just too big.

“Just come with, there’s a special room just ahead.” The hallways feel open and clean. “There,” he points at a big door. The lock got melted, somehow.

“What’s in there?”

“My most precious collection,” Hasegawa says.

“Show me.” Pierce takes a look at the melted lock before entering.

It’s a huge square room with very tall ceiling and no windows, something like a safe. Different rare objects and ornaments —and some not that rare for people in the 21st Century— are disposed on big pedestals all around the room, guarded inside glass boxes like jewelry.

An exotic jade urn, an old Holy Bible, pieces of armor and weapons from ancient times, all from different cultures, and more...

“Here,” the old man shows Pierce two pedestals with their glass boxes broken, and the contents missing.

“What did they steal?”

Hasegawa points at the placards: “M24 Sniper Weapon System.”

“A rifle? You owned a rifle here? You know weapons are illegal.”

“Don’t worry, it’s useless. It’s just a collection item from very long ago. It’s impossible to get ammo for it anywhere; it dates all the way back to the 1980s.”

“1980? That’s a long time ago,” Pierce tries to make sense out of this. “Why would anyone want this if it’s useless?”

“I’m not sure myself.” Both of them stare at the empty pedestal. “But look, there’s something else. This is what hurt me the most.” The old man shows Pierce the other empty pedestal. In the placard, Japanese kanji, and below it, the translation: “Magic Tanto from the Legendary Kamigite Clan.”

“What’s that?” Pierce asks.

“A Tanto is something like a knife-looking weapon, and this one is very, very special; it is a weapon that belonged to a legendary clan. It is said only a member could unsheathe it and unlock its power.” The old man seems passionate about the lore.

“Did you try unsheathing it?” Pierce asks him.

“Of course I did... and I couldn’t!” the old man giggled. “It was never clear if the clan actually existed or not, as its story was completely erased from the memory of the world...

...I know better. Not only I learned about the legend, I also know the clan did exist and it was all true, and for all I know, a descendant might still be around somewhere.”

“So, they stole an old useless rifle and a ‘legendary’ weapon from old Asian mythology.”

“It’s not myth.” Seems almost like religion to Hasegawa.

“How do you think these items might be of use to the thief?”

“I don’t know, but they left a note,” the old man searches for it inside his pockets. “I don’t know why they would do this, I don’t even know how to read Arabic.”

Pierce takes a look at it, as he knows a bit. It put something like this:

“Do not report the robbery or the Hat-Man will come for you”

The ominous note worries Pierce. “You should be careful from now on. Keep your doors locked and your curtains closed, alright?” He puts the note inside his pocket.

“Sure, Agent.”

“If anything happens, call us, we’ll dispatch an emergency unit as soon as you do.”

“I’m so glad we have people like you around.”

Pierce stands still for a second. He sighs. “Have you seen the news lately?” he asks.

Dubai

Somewhere at the adjacent city, an important conference is being held at the Le Méridien. A team of four scientists are about to present to the elite public a revolutionary project that could allegedly save civilization, and the leader of the team, Arnold Channing, was doing the exposition. He’s in his third decade, has blond hair, amber eyes, and a natural American accent.

His three teammates stay behind at the back of the stage. They are: Mikkel Mikkelsen, a quiet German gentleman. Katherine Clarke, his red-haired wife. And Charu Grinnan, the brains of the team, a young Indian girl.

Arnold steps forth into the stage fixing his tie. He maintains a straight posture and sports a charismatic smile. The audience is composed entirely by millionaires and billionaires, all people of influence and all from different ethnicities, visible due to their stereotypical looks. Their goal here is to get their attention in order to raise funds —and judging by how these people usually opearte, it might be a hard task to accomplish.

Everyone stares at Arnold as he prepares to release his first words. He opens his arms, and:

“Thanks everyone for coming!” he begins. His hand gestures are theatrical and attractive, making wide and open movements. He knows the drill. “Once again, I present myself on this stage! I am Arnold Channing, the voice from the 'Soter Science Quartet', the same team behind 'Project Cryo'."

He sticks his hands together and continues: "We're here today to present to you a new, huge project that we think might be our best chance to finally put a most desired end to all the problems we have been experiencing for the past two decades. We decided to call it: 'Project Constellation'. Credits to the brightest mind of our time —after her father—: Charu Grinnan, for coming up with the idea. And credits to the amazing Katherine Clarke for coming up with the name.”

The spotlight shines on them briefly. They wave as the audience claps in respect.

Arnold raises his chin in confidence and resumes: “As you might already know, our team is really small. We are only four people doing all these things, and that is why we are here once again...

...now, without any further ado, why don’t we just get straight to the point?” He walks to the front of the stage with powerful presence. “It had been twenty two years,” he says, this time with a calmer tone. “Exactly twenty two years since the last time a soul arrived at our city.” A native Arabic frowns at the usage of 'our'. “Many have theorized that we, here in the Emirates, are the last remains of human civilization on Earth.”

The audience nods in sadness.

“But!" he raises his finger in suspense. "Ever since I was a teen, I always gave it the benefit of the doubt, because as truthful as these ‘theories’ may sound to us, they are yet to be proven. So I asked myself: what if it’s not really like that?” He begins to walk to the right side of the stage. “What if people stopped arriving because they found another place?”

The audience agrees.

“How can we know for sure there’s nothing out there? Well, my team and I think we have come to an answer.” He pulls a remote control from inside his suit and turns on a projection right on the wall behind him as he hypes the audience with: “Check this out!”

It shows the planet and a grid of satellites around it. “The old Starlink Network Constellation! Or, quite literally, the internet.”

Applause.

“What if we could bring it all back online? We'd be able to scan the entire globe the same way we used to back then, and we'd finally be able to see for ourselves if there’s anything out there apart from us! And not only that, but we could also keep precise track of the toxicity around the entire planet and allow us to, in the future, begin to repopulate our world with no fear of radiation!"

He sighs. His face brims with dreams of the future. "If we find people out there, we will be able to re-establish communications with them. We will be able to recover everything we have lost when the grid got shut down. Knowledge. Culture. Arts. Entertainment. We will be able to completely re-connect humanity!”

The audience claps hysterically. They are amazed at the project, as expected of the team in which the famed Charu Grinnan herself is a part of.

But between all the people clapping, there is one mysterious man who isn’t: the Hat-Man. A pale man in a black suit. He stands up and leaves the place, covering his face with the tip of his hat.

Outside, the Hat-Man walks out of the building and goes into the parking lots. There is a limousine waiting for him. He gets in, and inside, three people waiting for him, side by side. In the middle is Greed, a man dressed similarly to him, and at his sides are Sayah and Uro. Sayah is an Arabic girl with tribal tattoos and long hair and Uro is covered by a black cloak and bandages, hiding her identity.

The Hat-Man opens the window to the driver. “Drive,” he ordered him with his crispy voice. He interlaces his fingers and looks at his subordinates. They wait for the Hat-Man to say anything, but he just stares at them as if he was about to interrogate them.

“What’s next?” Sayah breaks the silence. The Hat-Man looks at her, piercing through her eyes.

“I’ll leave the Emirates,” the Hat-Man finally talks.

“Where are you going?” Sayah asks.

“Far from here,” he answers, coldly. “I’m delivering the Tanto somewhere. Personally.”

“What’s our job here now, then?” Greed asks.

“I’ve already planned things out for you until I return. Do you know about Gregory Ghulam?”

“The owner of the bank.” Greed says.

“You’ll be following his orders.”

“His orders?” Sayah frowns. “Why would he be giving us any orders?”

“His orders will be my orders, that’s all you need to know...

...One more thing.” He reaches to his pocket, and from it he pulls a gray ring. “Greed,” he gives it to him. “Use it wisely, as you can only do so once.” Greed nods. The Hat-Man grins sinisterly.

“Anything else?” Greed asks, putting the ring away.

The Hat-Man takes his time. “About Ghulam—”

Somewhere in the desert

In the emptiness of what once was Saudi Arabia. Ruins was all that was left. Cold wind moves sand across the place and a gray haze restricts the view.

Suddenly, a footstep on the rubble.

A girl. She walks, tired. She looks pretty and young, but she’s dirty and her clothes are in bad conditions; how long has she been walking? And without supplies at all!

She breathes in and out, exhausted. Looks up ahead, the haze wouldn’t let her see much, but the figures are finally visible in the distance:

“The towers,” whispers unintelligibly. She keeps making way through the ruins, nearing Al Ain. Just a couple days more until she gets there. “The... towers.” about to crumble, but somehow keeps going.

A glitched audio plays. The voice of a classy British old man:

“I-I hope one day we-we get to meet each othe-other again undder diffe-different circumstan-stances.” The message repeats itself. “I-I hope one day we-we get to meet each othe-other again undder diffe-different circumstan-stances.”

The girl keeps walking despite her condition, with the sandy wind blowing her clothes violently and dirtying up her hair and face.

Joshua visits his family’s graves on a cold Sunday morning. Cold like every day of the year. Although the city always looks warm, it is chill year round. Desert and cold.

There are two gravestones: his mother Carol Varas and his sister Catalina Toro. Joshua only stares at their stones.

“I’m sorry,” he tells them. “I’m sorry, I still can’t get over you. I still cry every night, twenty years later. I know it wasn’t my fault, but I still—” he stops himself. Sighs.

Suddenly, his phone rings. It’s Director Oyen, his boss.

“Olga?” he greets her.

“Joshua, I apologize, I know you spend your Sundays with your family,” she tells him.

“It’s fine, what happened? I presume it’s important?”

“Yes, very. Remember last night’s case where I took Clarke under my wing?”

“Aha.”

“We just found two more bodies. They died at nearly the same time we received Clarke’s call, and one of them was also working on the Project Constellation.”

“That makes two.” Joshua stands up. His job is able to completely drive his attention away from any kind of pain. “Tell me more,” he tells his boss as he leaves the graveyard. He looks back at the gravestones, walking away. “Sorry, I need to go,” he thought to his family.

Joshua arrives at crime scene. It’s in a luxurious mansion. Agent Pierce was waiting for him to arrive.

“Joshua!” he greets him.

“Jason.” they shake hands. “Show me the way.”

“It’s in the master bedroom, follow me.”

And there they were. Two lifeless men naked on the bed. Their skin pale and their faces showing fear before dying. They are Asfour, a famous influencer, and Mikkel, one of the scientists working on the Project Constellation.

There are absolutely no traces of what happened. Joshua struggles, walking in circles looking for clues, but everything is clean, and their bodies display no wounds or signs of struggle.

“Have you found anything?” Joshua asks Pierce, a bit desperate.

“Nothing, just like you. They’re just... there. And somehow, they have no blood in their bodies, like if...”

“Like if something sucked all their blood out without leaving traces of it.”

Joshua looks at Pierce, confused. “I’m gonna circle around the place a couple more times.”

Meanwhile, at the D.S.I.’s medical department. Director Oyen is paying a visit to a peculiar person. She received news about a young girl who appeared from outside the city and is now under the care of Doctor Omar.

Oyen arrives, a little hurried. Besides the unconscious girl on the bed, there is also the Doctor and two Arabic men sitting next to each other in silence.

“Omar!” Oyen greets.

“Director.” They shake hands. “Ouch!” Oyen squeezed Omar’s hand too tight.

“I’m sorry, I...”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

“Who are they?” Oyen asks.

“They are the men who found her.”

“Good. How is she, is she poisoned?” Oyen walks toward the girl. She’s young looking. Doesn’t look injured or ill.

“No, I couldn’t find anything,” Omar answers. “I think she’s just... resting, from... tiredness.”

“Tiredness?” Oyen looks at the girl, confused. “But she came from outside, are you sure there’s nothing wrong with her?” The Arabic men scratch their heads in discomfort.

“I’m sure,” Doctor Omar reassures. “So far it doesn’t look like anything is wrong with her.”

“Have you done all the exams?”

“Sadly, I couldn’t,” he looks disappointed. “I think we should talk about the following in private, Director.” They look at the men sitting next to them, expecting them to realize they should walk out.

“Ah, ah. Okay.” They stand up and head out.

Omar stares at Oyen with confusion in his eyes. She shakes her head. “What is it?”

Omar pulls something out of his pocket. A syringe with a broken needle. “What do you make of this?”

“What does this mean?”

“It broke,” Omar tells her with suspense. “It broke before it could go in.”

Director Oyen’s Apartment

Director Oyen had taken Katherine Clarke to her apartment so she could be safe, and there she is in the kitchen. She is still shaken from what happened the night before, but she is trying her best to stay strong.

Unfortunately, when people reach a certain point, they are easily influenced, and easily frightened.

Sweesh.

Something just slid through beneath the door to the apartment. Katherine instantly turned her head to see:

A small card. She walks to it and picks it up. One side is blank.

She turns it around. Her eyes widen up. Her body begins to shake the same way it did when she was about the get murdered.

“The Hat-Man will wait for you”

She drops the card and walks back until she hit the kitchen surfaces and grabs her own throat trying to calm down.

“No...” she shakes in fear. “No.” Tears run down her cheeks.

There isn’t much going through her mind at this moment. Only fear. Desperation. Despair. Hopelessness. And between all these negative emotions, an idea flashes across her mind:

“They can’t get me if I do it first.”

And nobody will ever know if this was the right choice for her, for she has already made her decision. And her temporal caretaker, Director Oyen, would soon find herself with a horrible surprise and an ominous message.

END OF PILOT

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