Soulbind — cutscene
The arc-ship Joanne-12, a self-sustaining vessel housing billions on a centuries-long journey, harbors Sector-5; one of its most decayed and dangerous zones. Neglect, overpopulation, and a powerful relic have twisted its environment, spawning abominations and psychological chaos.
On a mission to steal the relic, key to the coveted Astramorium, the protagonists face its disturbing effects. Separated from the group, Drake seeks refuge in an old woman’s home, uncovering the relic’s horrifying influence.
Cutscene Sample: Soulbind
Role:Pilot of the Starspear CrewAge: 28
Background:Former freighter pilot, self-taught mechanicPersonality Traits:Optimistic, empathetic, inexperiencedPrimary Motivation: Secure wealth and a new future for himself and his crew by reaching the Astramorium.Key Flaw: Overly trusting and emotionally driven. Susceptible to manipulation.
Character Profile: Kael Voss
Role: Enforcer of the Starspear CrewAge:35Background:Former elite soldier, discharged after refusing unethical ordersPersonality Traits:Disciplined, stoic, protectivePrimary Motivation:Redeem his past by ensuring the survival and success of his crew in their pursuit of the Astramorium.Key Flaw:Struggles with rigid thinking and emotional detachment, which can cause friction with the more idealistic members of the group.
A crumbling maze. Sector-5 isn’t a neighbourhood; it’s a pile of humanity jammed into broken towers. Walls patched with scrap metal lean at odd angles, barely standing. Light, If you can call it that, flickers from sickly green and yellow broken neon signs, casting jagged streaks across the puddles. A mechanised announcement echoes faintly across the sector.
Automated Voice (distorted): "Sanitation levels in Sector-5 at critical thresholds. Biohazard protocols remain in effect. Residents must report anomalies to local authorities."
The camera shifts to street level, Drake’s already in motion, his boots slapping through some kind of sludge. A patrol drone flashes red behind him, the sound of its rotors snapping louder as it closes in. His hand goes to his radio.
Drake (whispering, into a radio): “Patrol’s on us. I’m cutting through this block to shake them. See you at the plaza.”
Kael (on radio, tense): “Move fast. They’re tightening the net.”
Drake doesn’t answer. A rusted ladder rises in front of him. No time to think. He grabs the bars, the metal groaning under his weight. Up he goes, two rungs at a time, until he hauls himself into a narrow walkway above the chaos. There’s a door here, barely holding together, and before he even reaches it, it creaks open.
Old Woman (rasping): “Quick now, child. Inside. They’ll catch you if you stay out there.”
Drake hesitates, his eyes scanning her hunched frame and the dimly lit interior. The distant whir of drones forces his hand. He slips inside with haste.
The room is dim, illuminated only by the flicker of a failing bulb. Dark stains streak the walls, and piles of unidentifiable waste clutter the corners. A table in the centre hosts cracked bowls of congealed rotten food, the room filled by a sharp, acrid odour. From somewhere deeper in the house comes a sound; a strange cry, twisting between a human infant’s wail and something far more guttural.
Old Woman (hurriedly): “Sit. You must be starving. I’ll… fetch you something.”
She shuffles toward the table, her hands trembling as she searches through a pile of old containers. Drake remains standing, his expression tense. His eyes drift toward a closed door, where the strange cries grow louder, more erratic. He takes a hesitant step forward.
Drake (softly): “What… what is that?”
Old Woman (snapping, defensive): “Nothing! It’s none of your concern. Leave it be!”
The cry sharpens, a haunting sound that seems to scrape against his nerves. The old woman looks back and forth but after a moment of hesitation, she indulges; moving toward the door as if to block his path. But Drake follows, his curiosity mingled with a growing sense of dread.
A crib in the corner. The crying is louder now, sharp enough to dig into his chest. Drake steps closer. Something’s inside, but it’s not right. A mass of misshapen flesh with twisted limbs; too many, too long. Skin so thin you can see things shifting underneath, pulsing like they’re alive. His stomach churns. But then his eyes lock on the face. An infant’s face, staring up at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
Drake freezes. Fear grips him but it doesn’t last. Something else follows, pushing past the revulsion. Tenderness. Care. His hand shakes as he reaches out, his fingers brushing the edge of the crib. The cries soften, turning into something almost sweet to his ears. Tears sting his eyes, and he doesn’t know why.
Drake (whispering, pained): “What… are you?”
His radio crackles, breaking the moment.
Kael (urgent, on radio): “They’re close! We’re running out of time. Get out of there!”
Drake doesn’t move, his gaze locked on the abomination. His hand brushes against its malformed skin, and the crying subsides, replaced by an almost melodic cooing. His voice falters.
Drake (softly): “It’s… okay. I’m here.”
The scene shifts to the streets, where Kael and another companion crouch behind debris. The patrol arrives, a squad of armoured figures led by a tall man clad in dark tactical gear. His sharp, angular features are shadowed by dark sunglasses, and a long coat flows behind him. A katana hangs at his side, the hilt glinting in the faint neon glow
Patrol Leader (calm, authoritative): “Stand down. We’re not here for you.”
Kael exchanges a wary glance with the third companion.
Kael: “Then what are you here for?”
Patrol Leader: “To eliminate the contamination. A chaos relic is loose, bending the ship’s fabric. Until we find its source, its influence must be contained.”
He gestures for them to follow as his patrol pushes past.
Patrol Leader: “If you’re smart, you’ll want to see this.”
The camera returns to the old woman’s home. The Patrol Leader steps inside, his katana drawn. Drake stands protectively in front of the abomination, his expression conflicted and desperate.
Drake: “Stay back! It’s not… it’s not what you think!”
The Patrol Leader surveys the scene with a grim expression. He approaches the crib without hesitation, his voice steady.
Patrol Leader: “It has no soul. It never did. You feel the pull because it wants you to! This… thing, it feeds off your empathy, twists it into chains.”
Drake: “You don’t know that! Look at it, it’s scared. It needs someone. If we just leave it-”
The Patrol Leader cuts him off, his voice sharp as a blade.
Patrol Leader: “Enough. You’re already infected by its pull. I’ve seen this before; empathy weaponized. It’ll devour you, just like the others. Step. Aside.”
Drake’s grip tightens on the back of a nearby chair, his face torn between desperation and defiance. His hand hovers near his holstered weapon, trembling.
Drake: “If you want it… you’ll have to go through me.”
The Patrol Leader’s eyes narrow. In a flash, his katana arcs through the air, stopping just short of Drake’s neck. The blade trembles slightly as he presses the edge against Drake’s skin.
Patrol Leader (low, dangerous): “Brave. Stupid.”
Before Drake or the Patrol Leader can act, a strong hand clamps down on Drake’s shoulder. The camera pans to reveal Kael, his massive frame blocking out the light from the doorway.
Kael: “Stand down, Drake.”
Drake turns to look at him, his expression wild, his eyes pleading. Kael’s face is a mask of stoic determination, but his grip tightens, fingers digging into Drake’s shoulder.
Drake (desperately): “Kael, don’t let him; It’s innocent! We can’t just-”
The moment Drake’s focus shifts to Kael, the Patrol Leader doesn’t hesitate. With a swift, precise motion, he drives the katana through the abomination. The creature lets out a final, inhuman wail as blood spills onto the floor. Drake cries out, his legs giving way as he collapses to his knees, Kael catching him before he hits the ground.
Old Woman (sobbing): “What… what have I done? Oh, gods, my… baby?”
Drake collapses to his knees, the haze of emotion lifting from his mind. He looks at the Patrol Leader, his voice breaking.
Drake: “You didn’t have to…”
Patrol Leader (firmly): “I did. And if you want to survive on this ship, you’ll learn to do the same.”
The camera lingers on Drake's face as the Patrol Leader walks away, his coat trailing behind him. The old woman’s cries fade into the background as the scene transitions to the chaotic Section-5.