[A/N: The finale of this volume will be told in seven dramatic scenes. Get ready for an emotional ride!]
[Scene 1: A Soft Prayer]
Even before dusk, in a quiet corner of AGM Church's prayer room, Ptr. Isagani Cruz knelt beside a crate of rice bags intended for the next day's feeding program. He bowed his head―not for the people, not for show―but in secret faith. No congregation. No spotlight. Just a soft beam of sunset light falls through a stained-glass window.
Ptr. Isagani softly praying after reading the verse, Matthew 5:16:
"
Let your light so shine before men...
not for them to see me, but to see You. Protect, my brother-in-Christ, Dence, oh Lord... Let Your peace cover his mind, and protect his soul even in places no man sees."
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[Scene 2: The Discovery]
Sam stood outside the Futagawa Warehouse. Under her purple warrior suit, her breathe steamed in the moderate cold air of spring season. She checked her watch―exact time as Ere's premonition foretold. The same night Dence would perform in Hamamatsu. The gates creaked open. She had to scale a rusted catwalk and perform silent ninja-like flips and slides just to get near. One wrong move and she'd be seen. But now, she crouches perfectly still behind a wall of old boxes―dust covered, silent sentinels guarding her secret vantage point. Her breath slows. Checks the time on her watch.
Below, Vietnamese workers in X-Spence Corp. uniforms feed green glowing cubes into a circular device, known as Storm Maker Machine. Each cube gives off an eerie sound ― like a whisper of a melody cut short. At the opposite side, another low green glow pulses from the far end of the massive, shadow-cloaked room Sam walks slowly, breathing steady but shallow. Her boots echo on the cold concrete. The air smells of rust, ozone... and something artificial.
There it is.
A metallic table stands at the center ― untouched by dust, almost ceremonial. Resting on it, surrounded by shadows; a green glowing cube. It flickers with unstable light, like a heartbeat under strain. Sam narrow her eyes, stepping closer.
Close-up: Inside the cube ― a visual projection flickers ― a ghostly outline of her former self, holding a guitar. Singing. Voice trembling. The exact take from the rejected demo. Next to the cube, a folded invoice. Sams opens it. Her breath catches:
Voice of Tomorrow ― Internal Materials Routing
Artist: SAM
File Name: Silverphone - Demo 1.17
Status: REJECTED - Emotionally Unstable, Pitch Insecure
Sent to: X-Spence Corp. | Creative Disposition Unit | Warehouse B
Date: PRE-APPROVAL
Stamped with bold red letters:
AUTHORIZED FOR CUBING - AHEAD OF REJECTION NOTICE
Sam steps back. Her face drains. The glowing cube... the invoice...
Sam (whispers):
"They knew..."She looks around ― suddenly hyper-aware. The table placement. The perfect lighting. The silence.
Sam (again, barely audible):
"This was meant for me."
A bead of sweat rolls down her cheek. Her fists tremble. Not just rage. It's betrayal. A trap. She was never just another rejected artist ― she was part of a plan. Far above, in the catwalk shadows, a surveillance camera rotates silently. Watching. Her breath quickens. Her eyes blaze.
Sam:
"I won't be your experiment."
She snatches the green cube from the table. Her reflection warps across its surface ― a distorted mirror of the past she's about to rewrite. She doesn’t cry. She burns. Quietly. Brilliantly. She’s waiting—for the right moment to strike back.
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[Scene 3: The Seventh Hole on the Guitar Bridge]
At Hamamatsu Station (a little rewind). The storm is brewing.
Wind howls beneath the rails, roaring through the underground tunnel like an angry spirit. Loose gravel skips across the platform floor. Neon reflections from above flicker on the puddles—blue, green, and red light shifting like stained glass shattered into liquid. Dence stands in silence. Before him, Amakuni—his face serene, as though carved from time itself—holds out the glossokomon, its intricate locks clicking open like the petals of a mechanical flower. A soft radiance blooms from within.
Inside: a set of guitar strings unlike any other—woven threads of light, humming with perfect resonance, like a choir of stars frozen in metal.
Dence’s eyes widen. No word is spoken. The storm has nothing to say to this moment. He kneels. Places the glossokomon beside him. His black guitar rests on his lap—scarred but waiting. He begins to restring it. Each new string hums as it's wound, tuning itself to his truth. As the sixth string locks into place, he notices something. A seventh hole on the bridge. His breath hitches. That’s not normal. That’s not… possible. He stares. Confused. Then—
A flicker of memory: Sam, her hands shaking as she gave him something precious. The seventh bridge pin. Hidden in a side compartment of the lyric notebook.
He pulls it out.
With reverence, he slides it into place. The moment it locks in—The guitar awakens.
A surge of light courses through its body. The strings vibrate—without being touched. A low hum rises, not from the room, but from within the air itself. Then, slowly… it floats. The guitar levitates behind Dence like a
phantom knight. Loyal. Alive. Unwired. D# chord sounded from the guitar. The glowing portal before him expands, tearing through space like a gateway of music and storm. He steps forward. The wind is stronger now. But so is he.
On the other side of the threshold, he sees Ere—the blue elephant, weakened and curled, breathing shallowly. Dence approaches with silent steps. Kneels. His eyes soften. From his pocket, he pulls the second black calling card (realm card)―the one that Sam left him. The silver “#” still glows. He presses it gently into Ere’s trunk. Leans in. Whispers something only Ere hears. Ere’s eyes glimmer, just slightly, in recognition.
Then, Dence rises.
He adjusts his guitar strap. Fixes his fashion glasses.
He’s no longer just a busker. No longer a dreamer hiding behind a melody.
He is the storm’s reckoning.
Dence (with fire in his voice):
“Let’s end this storm!”The phantom guitar hums behind him—strings glowing, soundwaves rippling like wings.
He steps through the portal.
And the final gig begins.
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[Scene 4: Black Maserati]
BRRRRING. BRRRRING.
An old telephone rings somewhere in the echoing expanse of the warehouse. Sam freezes. She lowers the cube and carefully peeks out through the crates. A big Vietnamese man—muscular, intimidating, in oil-streaked gloves—picks up the receiver. He listens, silent and stern. Then he utters sharply,
“Wakarimashita.” (I understand.) He hangs up. His eyes dart around the warehouse.
Then, he barks out a loud Vietnamese phrase. Sam doesn't understand the words, but his tone and movement are clear—he’s alerting the others. Someone important is coming. They need to clean up—fast.
She looks at her wristwatch.
She grins. Just as expected.
In the distance, an ear-piercing metal screech breaks the air—the massive sliding door at the warehouse entrance slowly opens. All heads turn. A sleek black Maserati cruises into the warehouse, headlights cutting through dust and fog. The workers stop. Silence falls. The car idles. But the passenger door never opens. The visitor doesn’t come out. The big Vietnamese guy approaches, leaning toward the tinted window of the backseat. His head nods as though receiving strict instructions. Again—
"Wakarimashita."The tension is electric now. The car idles for a few seconds longer—then abruptly pulls out of the warehouse, tires kicking dust behind it. The moment it leaves, the big guy turns sharply to the workers, raising two fingers in a sideways V-shape, followed by a chopping gesture.
A silent order: "Find the intruder. Now!"Sam’s heart pounds.
She’s already on the move.
Sliding back into shadow, she weaves through the crates and machinery like a wisp.
Sam (whispering inside her mind):"Here we go! Catch me if you can!"
Behind her, footsteps scatter. Workers with flashlights and weapons start scouring the warehouse. Sam pauses. Eyes harden. She saw an opened portal at the other side of warehouse where the huge ancient machine is situated. As alarms begin to sound, and shadows flicker under red emergency lights, the game of cats and mouse begins inside Futagawa Warehouse.
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[Scene 5: Inside the Storm]
The Realm of the Unwired — Midnight.
Darkness pulses with sound. Dence steps forward, his voice barely audible over the screaming wind.
DENCE (murmuring):
"So this is the Realm of the Unwired..."
Beside him, Ere gives a slow, exhausted nod. A silent confirmation. He’s weakened—his body trembling—but his eyes burn with resolve.
Then it begins.
A storm unlike any other—alive, sentient, and furious.
Notes fall from the sky like spears, sharp and fast.
Melodies clash midair, breaking into violent fragments.
Winds swirl with discordant progressions, howling like voices lost in time.
Entire structures—cathedrals of harmony—implode, crushed beneath waves of distortion.
The realm isn’t just under attack. It’s unraveling.
And at the center of the madness:
A southern beam. Faint. Invisible to the eye, but unmistakable to the soul—transmitting corrupted sound from beyond.
DENCE (eyes widening):
"Futagawa..."
A realization hits him—cold and electric. That’s where Sam is. That’s where the chaos began. The storm grows louder. The music, darker. They have to move—before the next note breaks reality.
Dence stood beneath the fury, soaked but standing. With him: his black guitar with the glowing seven bridge pins. Dence stepped further forward and unsheathed his katana, slicing through the air. The notes that once tore the sky now fragmented against his blade. Every time a strong wind touches the blade, it resonates a clean sound of D# chords that scares the storm and create a loud thunder and flashes of lightnings. He flipped open his lyric notebook. From a worn page, he read:
"Just keep on smiling, and build a happy place for you and me.
You don't have to worry. The Heaven knows the beauty your heart can be.
Believe you can shine!
Believe you can shine!
Believe you can shine!"In the center of the ruined land, a busker's stage formed―just like the ones he used to stand on back home. No fans. No lights. No donations or tip. Just soul. He sang his original song, "Shine."
As the melody soared, Ere ran to the body of water within the realm. In his small blue trunk, he carried the black calling card. Upon reaching the river's edge, he held it high. A projection unfolded: a holographic memory of the realm in its peace―flowers blooming, skies calm, music in harmony.
The storm paused. The storm is mesmerized. Distracted. Then, it chased the vision into the water. This is the plan of Dence, which he told Ere to do.
And in that moment―Dence struck. He can now clearly see the epicenter of the storm. Running. Floating. Stepping on the constellations of "#" produced by his black guitar. Reaching and slashing every beams of signals from the southern portal. His katana sliced through the last remaining signals. The guitar's autonomous chords merged with his human voice.
And the beam shattered.
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[Scene 6: Across Realms]
The chase has begun.
Sam darts across the catwalk, dodging crates and steel beams as flashlights and boots thunder behind her. The Vietnamese workers are relentless—fast, trained, and furious—but she’s faster. One man lunges. Sam pivots midair—twisting like a dancer—and drives a heel into his jaw. He drops. Another grabs a metal pipe and swings. She ducks, slides under a conveyor belt, then explodes upward—elbow to the chin, knee to the gut. He crumples. She bursts through rusted double doors. The room hums with power. At its center stands the ancient transmission machine—a tower of gears, wires, and glowing runes, pulsing in green like an infected heart. Cubes float and rotate, connected by beams of music—a storm in data form. Sam runs to the emergency lever, protected by a glass casing with warning labels in Vietnamese and Japanese. No time for subtlety. She smashes it with her elbow and pulls the handle down with both hands.
KLAAANG.
A deep metallic groan. Sparks fly. The lights flicker. The machine dies with a haunting wheeze. The transmission ends. Cubes fall from the air like dead stars, clattering onto the floor—flickering out one by one. But the portal—still open, swirling like an exposed nerve. Then, like a siren in a dream, a loud voice bursts from the other side.
Dence.
His voice—strong, raw, glowing with everything he's ever believed in—floods the warehouse. It vibrates through Sam’s bones. Through the cubes. Through the machine’s husk. And then—
FWWOOSH.
The portal implodes into light. Gone. Silence. The chaos is over. The biggest among the Vietnamese workers, tied, bruised and bound, slumps inside a steel cubicle, unconscious. His breathing is slow, chest rising and falling with reluctant surrender.
Across from him, Sam sits on a rusted metal chair, sweat clinging to her neck, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. She holds a single cube in her hands—not glowing, but warm. She wipes it clean. Inside the green haze, something faint becomes visible:
"Rejected demo: Silverphone
Lyrics by: Sam
Note: Flat voice. Untuned guitar."She stares. Blinks. Then—a smile breaks. One that trembles. Tears rise, uninvited. They trail down her cheeks, warm and silent.
Sam (softly, broken):
"You didn’t really take it away… You just made me forget."She presses the cube to her chest. She carefully puts the cube inside her sling bag, leaving a used black calling card
on the chair, walking slowly and crouches on a rusted catwalk. Successfully escaped from the shadows of the warehouse.
The storm has passed.
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[Scene 7: After the Storm]
Silence.
Butterflies with G-clef wings floated through the Realm of the Unwired. A rainbow acted arced overhead. The path of shattered signals and dried music sheets. Dence and Ere walking side by side under the soft sunrise in the middle of realm, back to the mouth of the portal, smiling at each other like old friends finally home. Ere sings few lines of "Shine". Happy not because the battle was over, but because something had been restored.
In Toyohashi Station. Ptr. Isagani and the AGM Church prepares for feeding program, together with Dence's three kids, their smiles warm, their prayers still echoing. The pastor stares at the rising sun,
"Salamat, Ama!" ("thank you, Father"). More people gathered now, hearts lighter.
In Futagawa Warehouse. Sirens cry in the distance—police cars and ambulances winding through the sleepy streets of Futagawa. The sliding metal door opens with a heavy clang. A Japanese police officer steps in cautiously, hand resting on his sidearm. Behind him, medics and more officers follow, their eyes widening as they take in the scene. Vietnamese men lie scattered across the floor, tied, bruised, bound, and unconscious—but alive. The warehouse is filled with silence and dust. The machine is mysteriously gone. The portal is also gone. There are no signs of a struggle anymore—only the aftermath. And then... the rusted metal chair.
At the far side of the warehouse, near the cubicle door, a single rusted metal chair sits alone, bathed in a beam of morning light piercing through a broken windowpane. It faces the silence like a monument. No one sits in it. But on the seat—a glimmer. A blank black surfaced card with no silver "#", resting in the center. Next to it—droplets of tears, still fresh, reflecting the sun’s first rays like diamonds on steel. The officers approach slowly, reverently. They look at each other. One of them whispers:
“Someone was here.”
In the alley behind the warehouse, a figure in a hooded purple jacket walks into the fog, back turned to the chaos she left behind.
Sam.
Shoulders low, pace calm—but there is peace in her steps now. She pulls something from her coat: The invoice. Attached behind it... is a lyric sheet. She unfolds it.
"Silverphone" — by Sam.
The words are faded, but real. She folds it back and disappears into the morning mist, vanishing just as the sun rises over the horizon—carrying her voice with her.
Fade out.
"To be Unwired... is to be heard, even when the world turns you down."
[A/N: And that's the end of Volume 1: The First Song of the Storm. Thank you for reading, reacting, and resonating with Dence's journey so far. Volume 2 is now in the works. Stay wired, stay tuned, and remember, some chords are meant to break mirrors.]
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