The House on the Waste Ground

Surrealist noir extended treatment

© 2003-2026

In Mexico City, in early autumn,architect Alejandro, struggling under financial obligations receives a very strange order from a strange visitor, Marta, due to financial obligations: to design a house on the site of a landfill, four wings facing the four cardinal directions; area, 222 sq.m.; advance payment, 111,000 Swiss francs in cash. It would seem that the saving order has been received, but along with the money received, a new inexplicable reality begins to unfold before Alejandro, and now every day Alejandro...” it is a growing closeness to that which reveals itself and annihilates itself

Marta is played by Zola Jesus.


Mexico City. Morning. Early autumn. The interior of a trolleybus that stops at Cetram Chapultepec. The doors open too slowly, with a long hiss – as if resisting – and then everything fills with the sticky clamour of the avenue: cars, street vendors, music from nearby caf;s. Several people exit. Among them is a woman in a huge wide;brimmed hat. She walks along Avenida Chapultepec... We see only her back: thin, with a slow gait. Her heels tap the asphalt – tick-tock-tock – like a metronome on the verge of breaking.
On the walls of the head of Architectural bureau office, photographs of ancient Mesoamerican religious buildings are mixed with images of ultra;modern deconstructivist and parametric structures in the spirit of Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid. Sitting at his desk, a man of about forty;five (we’ll call him Alejandro) is drawing something on a piece of paper, while with his other hand he plays with a tiny souvenir in the form of an Aztec pyramid. He presses the speakerphone button.
Alejandro:
“What do we have there at the hotel?”
Female voice (over speaker):
“Nothing. Silence. Apparently they intercepted me. I think it’s Xulio again. One way or another, we’ll soon find out who...”
Alejandro’s face shows nervousness mixed with disappointment.
Meanwhile, the woman in the hat continues walking along Avenida Chapultepec and turns onto Calle Orizaba, heading into the Roma Norte district. We still don’t see her face.
Alejandro (into the speakerphone):
“In a month or two we won’t have anything to pay our employees with.”
In response, a heavy female sigh is heard:
“We have no one else to ask for help from, you know.”
During the conversation, Alejandro doesn’t notice a young woman enter his office with a mysteriously coquettish smile. Upon seeing her, Alejandro widens his eyes warningly and puts his finger to his lips, indicating that he’s on speakerphone. The woman silently blows him a kiss.
Alejandro (interrupting the call):
“Okay, Victoria, we’ll talk later.”
Female voice (coldly, with interference):
“Well, as you wish, Alejandro.”
Strange static can be heard, as if someone else is connected to the line.
Alejandro (sternly):
“Diana, I asked you not to come in without knocking. We’re in the office; Victoria could be here any minute. Is it really that hard to knock?”
Diana (mocking, sitting on the edge of the table):
“Tontito[  Fool], that’s exactly who you are.”
She leans toward Alejandro to kiss him. All her movements are theatrical, as if she were dancing in slow motion.
…Meanwhile, the stranger in the hat with a pin continues moving deeper into Calle Orizaba.
The receptionist – a plump, elderly Mexican woman with a short haircut and an inscrutable gaze – glances toward the boss’s door. She knows his mistress has entered the office. There is no judgment in her eyes, only the dull curiosity of a lonely woman.
Meanwhile, the woman in the hat turns onto M;rida and reaches the door of a three;story building. She presses the call button on the intercom for a long time. The secretary looks at the monitor; beneath the brim of the hat the visitor’s face cannot be discerned.
Secretary:
“Who are you going to see?”
Woman in the hat:
“I’m going to see Alejandro.”
Secretary:
“Did you agree?”
Woman in the hat:
“Hmm, absolutely. Absolutely. Well, of course. He’s really looking forward to seeing me.”
Secretary:
“How should I introduce you?”
Woman in the hat:
“Me? Well, uh... tell him Marta came to see him. Yes, yes, Marta. She came to order a house plan.”
Secretary:
“Just say it?”
Woman in the hat:
“Yes. Say so.”
The secretary dials the boss.
Secretary (into the phone):
“Se;or Alejandro, a woman named Marta has come to see you. She says she wants to commission a house plan.”
Confused by his mistress’s behavior, Alejandro is glad of the unexpected change in circumstances.
Alejandro:
“Of course, Luisa, invite her. Let her come in... Dianita, you’d better go out.”
Diana slides theatrically off the edge of the desk and, executing strange dance;like movements, heads toward the door. A dark;skinned, hulking guard lets the woman in the hat pass. As she climbs the steps, the thug watches her warily, almost fearfully. At the reception door, the visitor runs into Diana. After letting her pass into the office and jumping out into the corridor, Diana looks around, amazed by her hat and, apparently, something else. She can barely contain her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand, and again makes some mysterious moves. A hulking guard thuggish security guard lets the woman in the hat pass. As she climbs the steps, the thug watches her warily, almost fearfully.
At the reception door, the visitor runs into Diana. After letting her pass into the office and slipping out into the corridor, Diana looks around – amazed by her hat and, apparently, something else. She can barely contain her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand, and again makes some mysterious moves.
Marta enters Alejandro’s office. The enormous hat makes a lasting impression on him: it sways as though alive with its own rhythm. Alejandro politely extends his hand.
Marta (dryly, without extending her hand):
“Marta.”
Alejandro:
“Alejandro. Sit down. Would you like it with caf; de olla or with milk?”
Marta (suddenly laughing, like a tropical bird’s call):
“Water… with acetaldehyde, of course.”
Her laughter is too loud for the small room. For the first time we see her face – pale, asthenic, with makeup painted over a mask.
Marta (dryly, then with a sudden laugh):
“I was joking. I don’t drink anything at all. I’m on a total fast without water. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I came to make you a lucrative offer.”
Alejandro looks at her as if he cannot believe his eyes.
Marta:
“I want to order a house project. In advance. You will receive one hundred and eleven thousand Swiss francs right now.”
She takes a bundle of 1,000;franc bills tied with string from her bag. The banknotes look too new, as if they had just been printed.
Alejandro (hesitant):
“What kind of mansion is this? And where is the construction site?”
Marta (voice metallic, like from an old radio):
“Everything in its time. The house has a total area of exactly 222 square meters. Four wings to the four cardinal directions. You must figure out the rest yourself. Figure it out. I believe in the power of your imagination.”
She leaves the money on the table.
Alejandro (hesitant):
“But I can’t do a project in an unknown location. What territory has been chosen for it?”
Marta (voice even, but metallic, like from an old radio):
“The house is to be built on a vacant lot, on the site of a landfill. I have a permanent permit for this. That’s all I can say. You’re not happy with the price? This is just an advance payment. You’ll get the rest after the order is completed.”
Alejandro sits at the table, not knowing what to answer. At that moment, the lamp on the desk flickers, and for a second it seems the room is immersed in a greenish half;darkness.
Marta stands up, pivots on one foot, and marches to the door. From beneath her hat she winks mischievously at Alejandro – then leaves.
The strange guest skips down the stairs like a schoolgirl.
The stunned secretary and the security guard watch her go without blinking, their eyes a mixture of fear and curiosity.
The secretary hurries to look into the office, while Alejandro hastily hides the money in a small safe.
Alejandro (shouting):
“Luisa, find Victoria immediately!”
The sound of women’s heels clicking echoes down the hallway. A young, slender, brown;haired woman – her name is Victoria – hurries into the office. Upon entering, she looks questioningly at Alejandro, who is absently playing with the top of a tiny pyramid with his finger.
Alejandro:
“Do you know what just happened?”
Victoria (coldly):
“No, I don’t know.”
Alejandro (insistent):
“Vicky, sit down at once so you don’t faint...”
Victoria (curtly):
“Keep it short, I have a lot to do.”
Alejandro (nervous, almost breathless):
“There was a strange woman here. Very strange. Wearing an enormous hat. She brought money – one hundred and eleven thousand Swiss francs. Yes, Swiss francs. For a design for a house on a vacant lot. Four wings. 222 square meters. The design needs to be done anonymously.”
Alejandro takes a bundle of money out of the safe. Victoria looks at the money indifferently, as though it were blank paper.
Victoria:
“Aren’t they fake?”
Alejandro (smelling the banknotes closely):
“No, it doesn’t look like it.”
Victoria:
“Did you agree?”
Alejandro:
“Yes.”
Victoria (firmly):
“And rightly so. Now we’ll have money to pay off debts and people’s salaries. And Eliza needs new furniture for her room. We need a minivan for the office...”
Alejandro (confused):
“What are you talking about, Vicky?”
Victoria:
“About us. About the enormous debt hanging over our bureau.”
Alejandro falls silent. Victoria also falls silent, staring at the floor.
Film studio soundstage. Lighting technicians are setting up the lights. Camera assistants mount cameras on the crane and Steadicams. A low hum fills the air, as though electricity were conversing with itself. In the depths of the soundstage, several dancers are visible, each wearing large exoskeleton wings resembling car parts. A man in dark sunglasses enters the soundstage with a brisk stride. Several others accompany him. Their footsteps echo too loudly, like blows against an empty hall. A pretty young reporter with a microphone rushes toward him.
Reporter:
“Ernesto, hello! Shall we continue?”
Ernesto (briskly, adjusting his glasses):
“Dear Gabriela, we have a music video shoot in fifteen minutes. I need to put on my makeup... Maybe later?”
Reporter (insistent):
“The editors will take my camera away later. We need to talk now.”
Ernesto (surrendering):
“Ask away.”
Turning to face the camera, delighted with her tiny journalistic triumph, Gabriela says:
“So, we continue our conversation with the band leader of The Trash Sacks, Ernesto Torres.”
She turns back to Ernesto:
“Last time we interrupted our story about what brought you to the topic of death in art. Tell us more.”
Ernesto removes his glasses:
“The Trash Sacks aren’t just musicians. All members of my band are important witnesses.”
Gabriela (leaning forward):
“Witnesses to what?”
Ernesto (calmly, but with weight):
“Their own death.”
Gabriela (half;laughing, half;uneasy):
“Ha, that doesn’t sound very optimistic. Do you have any personal experience with death?”
Ernesto:
“For me, death is a means to see everything clearly: love, pain, peace.”
Gabriela (insistent):
“I’m asking about something else...”
Ernesto takes off his glasses. His eyes sparkled. He speaks slowly, his words accompanied by a strange background noise, as if the microphone were picking up the sound of the wind.
Ernesto (reminiscing):
“Once, performing at an open;air event in Texas, I threw up right on stage when I saw the tail of a kite tangled in wires...”
His voice grows more distant, as though fading into memory.
Ernesto (flashback):
“As a child, I lived in Nueva Segovia, in Ocotal. As boys, we used to go to the mountains. There were hidden arms depots there. We weren’t allowed – barbed wire, guards – but we climbed. I carried mortar shells, smelted TNT, and then we blasted fish in the rivers. And I had a magnificent Colt pistol, a real beauty...” (; flashback sequence begins).
He pauses. The only sound in the pavilion is the hum of electricity.
(Flashback: the image shakes, the sound is muffled. We see children in the mountains, ammunition caches, rusty detonators. Their hands are small, but tenacious. They laugh.)
Ernesto (voice trembling):
“One day, Valerio brought in a huge shell. The fuse wouldn’t unscrew, it was covered in rust. I ran to get a hammer and chisel. And then I heard an explosion behind me. I hadn’t even gone a hundred meters. I was hurled to the ground. My ears went silent, as if the world had turned off. I looked back – the sky was blue, blue. And Valerio was gone. And Leo, Sergio, Chispita, Guapo, Luchador, Gris… all twelve boys were blown away at once. The oldest was about eleven years old.”
(Flashback: into the explosion. Blue sky. Silence. There are no bodies. Only emptiness.)
Ernesto (distant, fading):
“I remember the tail of a kite, tangled in wires. Valerio and I had flown it in the city the day before. But it wasn’t a kite – it was the intestines of one of the guys. And many years later, on tour, I saw the same tail. I threw up. I was unconscious for two days, and then woke up with a resolution: to write only one book – about death.”
Gabriela looks at him for too long, her eyes unblinking, and then says softly, shaken:
“Yes, your story shocked me... Ernesto, tell me, what else besides this story will be in the book?”
Ernesto (with a faint smile):
“If anyone can tell me what my book is really about, I will kneel before them.”
At that moment, the administrator runs up to Ernesto and whispers something in his ear. The whisper sounds unnaturally loud, as if coming through a speaker.
Ernesto (spreading his arms):
“That’s it, lovely Gabriela, our time is up. We have a shoot. We’ll continue in three hours.”
Gabriela (voice trembling, almost in tears):
“In three hours the editors will take my camera away from me.”
Ernesto (winking, flashing a painted;on smile):
“Then we’ll continue next time, somewhere else.”
The lights in the pavilion flicker.

Architectural bureau office. Diana is sitting at the computer. Before her eyes lies a sketch on paper, and on the screen – a virtual sketch of a house on a vacant lot. She smiles mysteriously, as if she sees some special meaning in the lines. Alejandro enters the room, approaches Diana from behind, and kisses her on the head.
Alejandro (softly):
“So what do we have here, mi chiquita?”
Diana (serious, without taking her eyes off the screen):
“Know, Alejandro, every form is but a shadow of what slips beyond grasp – like time. The square, the circle, the triangle… traces of absence”
Alejandro didn’t expect this:
“Why are you telling me this, Diana?”
Diana (smiling faintly):
“I don’t know, fool. But for some reason I’m the one saying it. This is for you.”
After these words, Diana pulls Alejandro toward her for a kiss. At that moment, the phone rings.
Alejandro (into the phone):
“Yes, Elisita, yes my baby, I’m already on my way to get you.”
He strokes Diana’s head.
Alejandro:
“Sorry, I have to pick up Eliza from school. I’ll be back by four.”
School yard on Avenida Horacio. Alejandro is waiting for his daughter. As he paces the yard, he accidentally steps into a chalk circle. He accidentally steps inside a chalk circle drawn by children. At first, nothing happens. Then he notices that the air inside the circle is slightly denser than outside, and the sounds of the courtyard are muffled. A shadow of a young eagle appears on the asphalt, circling along the chalk line. Alejandro scans the sky for the bird, but sees no eagle. He only hears chirping and watches the shadow spiraling past him. Each turn is accompanied by a light whisper, like the breath of the wind:
“Umbra tua sum... Omnia sunt fragmentaria... Silentium loquitur...” [ I am your shadow… All is fragmented… Silence speaks….]
At this moment, Eliza comes out of the school doors.
Eliza:
“;Hola, pa!”
Alejandro flinches; the shadow disappears. He steps out of the circle, takes his daughter’s hand, and they get into the car.
Once inside, Eliza notices a small, fluffy feather on his jacket. She takes it in her hand, regarding it with great seriousness, as if seeing some special sign in it – but says nothing to her father.
Alejandro drops his daughter off at the entrance to their small townhouse on Horacio Street in Polanco. Elisa jumps out of the car, cups her fingers, and squints – as if peering through a spyglass at the blinding disk of the sun pushing out from beneath the clouds.

Presidente Masaryk, Polanco. Day. From the doors of a respectable office, a middle;aged gentleman emerges with a briefcase in hand. He walks busily toward his car. His mobile rings. A stranger’s female voice orders:
“Stay where you are. Do not move a step, or you will be killed.”
“Look at the sniper and don’t move,” the voice continues, then adds affectionately:
“Well done, clever one…”
A quiet shot. The respectable man, now with a bullet hole in his forehead, collapses onto the asphalt. By chance, a girl in a white raincoat – who half a minute earlier had left the same building and was getting into her car – becomes a witness to the murder.

Alejandro is rushing through the city back to the office when his car’s engine suddenly stalls. Forced to park, he abandons the vehicle and heads down into the subway.
He calls his office.
Alejandro (into the phone):
“Luisa, my car broke down...”
Luisa (urgent, from the office):
“Se;or Alejandro, everyone is here, the meeting is starting.”
Alejandro (muttering as he walks):
“Let Victoria start without me.”

Subway platform. Alejandro stands at the edge of the platform, surrounded by a crowd of passengers. Above the turnstiles, a City Television screen flashes a headline: ASESINAN A ARNOLDO BELMONTE. A voiceover reports:
“The investigation into the high;profile murder is being led by thirty;five;year;old Alex Cortes, a representative of the Mexican Ministry of Public Prosecution.”
The report continues:
“The victim was Arnoldo Belmonte, head of a prosperous publishing house specializing in popular detective and adventure literature, as well as illustrated books on astrology, mythology, dream interpretation, and fortune;telling guides.”
Alejandro stares straight at the screen, as if not registering what he’s hearing. The train pulls up. Inside the subway car, another screen continues the city news: the investigation has determined that the victim was shot with a small;caliber rifle. Alejandro stands, staring blankly at the TV screen. Suddenly, in the packed subway car, his eye is caught by a blonde woman in a red raincoat. Her gaze is too expressive – and apparently for good reason. Alejandro notices a plastic bag in her hand with the image of a house on a vacant lot. A wave of heat rushes through him.
The girl smiles mysteriously in response. She gets off at the next station. Alejandro jumps out of the train after her. A chase through the subway passages begins: the girl in the red raincoat disappears, then reappears, then boards the next train. Alejandro barely manages to leap aboard after her. All this time, from the screens installed between stations and inside the subway cars, the ongoing report on the high;profile murder continues.
The voiceover states:
“With the help of ballistics, investigators were able to determine the direction from which the gunshot was fired. Detectives discovered a small;caliber rifle abandoned on the roof of one of the houses, along with a mobile phone used to call the victim. However, no fingerprints or DNA traces have been found.”
The report concludes:
“By all appearances, a professional ‘worked’ this job.”
The girl in red exits the subway and immediately gets into a passing car. Alejandro also jumps in – the chase begins. Behind the blonde’s car, Alejandro’s driver has his TV on, broadcasting the city’s local station. The report continues:
“The SIM card used to call the victim was left in the discarded phone on the roof. The number ended with three consecutive fives. Remarkably, the SIM card was issued in the name of Natalie Weiss – the same girl who witnessed the murder...”
At some point, Alejandro notices the license plate of the car carrying the girl in red: MML 0555. The chase ends abruptly right next to Alejandro’s office. He leaps out, runs to the blonde’s car, and roughly opens the door. A female mannequin in a red raincoat, with a plastic bag taped to its hand, collapses onto him. From the driver’s seat, a slender man with a Charlie Chaplin mustache and an effeminate face – reminiscent of Marta – looks warily at Alejandro. The car speeds away, leaving the dummy on the road. Alejandro’s own driver jumps out, grabs the mannequin, throws it into his trunk, and drives off with a screech of tires. A stunned Alejandro stands for a long time in front of his office, not daring to go inside. Finally, with a terrible grimace, he presses his hands against his ears, as if hearing some unbearable noise.
Office. Alejandro opens the door to the meeting room, where several visitors and his wife Victoria are seated.
Alejandro (strained):
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m not feeling well. Victoria, listen to the guests, I’ll be in my office.”
In Alejandro’s office, Diana materializes as if from nowhere.
Diana (concerned):
“What’s wrong with you? You’re not yourself...”
Alejandro (tense):
“Don’t bother me. Better yet, tell me – did you send anyone the sketch of the house on the vacant lot?”
(Flashback: the blonde in the subway with a bag, the image seen through a phone camera lens.)
Diana (confused):
“What are you talking about, Alejandro? Who could I have sent the rough sketch to?”
Alejandro (curt):
“Okay, go and work. I need to be alone.”
Alejandro (muttering):
“Oh, no, no, no...”
Diana leaves dejectedly. In the reception area, her gaze meets the inscrutable face of Luisa.
Alejandro pours himself a whiskey. He drinks it in big gulps. Then he goes downstairs and hands the security guard his keys.
Alejandro (flatly):
“Mumo, go and see what’s wrong with the car. I’ll take a walk around the city.”

Mexico City. Evening. Alejandro enters a bar on Avenida ;lvaro Obreg;n. At the counter he sees her – the blonde in red. Yes, it’s the same blonde! But now her smile is routine, empty. The bag is gone. An Asian;looking bartender pours Alejandro a double whiskey, then leans close to his ear, whispering something. Alejandro is very drunk. Everything blurs before his eyes: for a moment the blonde turns into Marta, and then all the girls in the club become the same – blondes in red, identical to Marta...
Hotel room. Alejandro is in bed with a blonde, making love. She puts on the TV and heads to the bathroom. On the TV the crime news shows a package containing a fake explosive device found in the subway. On the package is a sketch of a house in a vacant lot! Alejandro instantly sobers up. He rushes to the bathroom. It’s empty. Only the shower is running. He falls to his knees before the torrent, as noisy as Niagara, and asks the jets of water as if they were deities:
“What is all this? Are they warning me about something? Or is it something completely different?”

Rehearsal room, evening. Agent Cortez conducts Natalie’s first interrogation. Her dance group, LAS ALAS DE TONATIUH, featuring designer Diana and their routines with exoskeletons and metal wings, is preparing nearby. We suddenly notice a striking resemblance between Natalie Weyss and the girl in the red cloak Alejandro was chasing – but Natalie is not blonde, she is brown;haired. The questions Cortez asks boil down to one thing: How did the SIM card from the killer’s phone end up registered under Natalie Weiss’s name? And how did she happen to be at the crime scene at the time of the murder? The investigation has already traced the point of purchase. Two months earlier, the phone and SIM card were bought by a middle;aged woman who claimed she was buying them for her niece, and provided Natalie’s personal information.
(Flashback: the phone salesman, the registration form, Natalie’s name written down.)
The salesman doesn’t remember the woman’s face – she wore a wide;brimmed hat that covered her eyes. He only recalls that she was slender.
“So it was your aunt, Natalie,” Agent Cortez concludes.
But Natalie replies firmly:
“I have no living aunts. My only aunt – my father’s sister – died under mysterious circumstances in the mid;1990s, at the same age I am now, twenty;six. She was also a dancer. And her name... was also Natalie.”

Mexico City. Day. A small Catholic church is filled with relatives and neighbors mourning Father Alejandro. The coffin is covered with white lilies and marigolds. The pastor reads a prayer, soft music plays, and people cross themselves. The procession enters the cemetery. The coffin is lowered into the ground, and everyone throws a handful of sand.
The deceased was also an architect, though his work involved classified projects: radiation research, industrial workshops for the university’s experimental center. In his archive, Alejandro finds a hand;drawn sketch of a strange brutalist structure, reminiscent of a house plan for a vacant lot. Beneath the drawing is written: “In memory of you.” The paper trembles in his hands, as if alive.
Meanwhile, Eliza tells her mother about the dream she had the night after her grandfather’s funeral. Flashback: She walks with her grandfather through the workshops, where people in protective suits move slowly. Then comes a long, narrow tunnel. Eliza emerges into a vacant lot. In front of her stands a cross;shaped house with four wings, one on each wall. Her grandfather is silent. A woman with an asthenic appearance appears out of nowhere. Her face is too pale, her makeup painted on like a mask. She says:
“My dear granddaughter, let’s go...”
Eliza asks her grandfather:
“Who is this?”
He remains silent. The woman takes the girl by the hand and leads her to an unfinished niche in the wall, whispering:
“My little granddaughter...” – as if to seal Eliza inside.
Victoria is frightened by her daughter’s story. She explains that Eliza’s grandmother died before she was born. In the photograph, her grandmother looks completely different. But Eliza insists: the aunt she dreamed of does not resemble the photograph of her grandmother.

Mexico City. Architectural bureau office. Day. Alejandro sits at his desk, reading a note in the morning newspaper: on a vacant lot near a former landfill, the Bicentenario administration of Cuautitl;n Izcalli plans to create a settlement for the homeless.
The locality looks suspiciously like the one where Marta might have ordered a house.
Alejandro calls the newspaper office, introduces himself as an architect and member of the College of Architects of Mexico City, and explains that the homeless settlement project interests him professionally. After some confusion, he is connected with a reporter.
We only see her lips and chin as she speaks.
Reporter (voice):
“I’d prefer my name to remain a secret.”
Alejandro:
“Are they planning to build a house over 200 square meters there?”
Reporter (surprised):
“This is the first I’ve heard of that. According to my information, there will only be trailers.”
Alejandro (pressing):
“Is this project connected with someone named Marta?”
Reporter (mysteriously):
“Marta was the name of my adoptive mother. She died when I was sixteen, from a radiation;related illness.”
Alejandro is stunned. What does her adoptive mother have to do with this?
Suddenly, the woman bursts into tears and hangs up.
While Alejandro is still holding the phone, Diana quietly enters his office. She silently performs ritual steps, then places a shell on the table in front of him – and just as silently leaves.

City Television. The report states that, in the course of the official investigation, it became known that the wealth of the murdered Arnoldo Belmont was based not only on the publication of popular literature, but also on the semi;legal distribution of sectarian texts. In particular, mass circulations of a so;called “Bible” of an esoteric pseudo;Aztec religious sect – The Partakers of Tonatiuh – were discovered. The text, a voluminous booklet entitled Scrolls of the Night Eagles, was distributed widely. The similarity between the name of this sect and the dance group of Natalie Weyss, linked via phone records to Belmont’s murder, may not be accidental…

Alejandro generates a portrait of Marta in a neural network from memory. With the print in hand, and accompanied by his thuggish black bodyguard Mumo, he drives toward the suburban municipality of Cuautitl;n Izcalli.
On the way, Alejandro notices for the first time that they are being followed: a Chevrolet Suburban with tinted windows and no license plates tails them all the way to the municipal building, then suddenly picks up speed and disappears.
“They were following us all this time,” Alejandro mutters.
“It looks like it,” Mumo confirms sullenly.
Inside, Alejandro shows Marta’s portrait to municipal employees. They shake their heads: no such person works there.
When asked about the homeless settlement project, Alejandro answers affirmatively. But when he presses further – about a house, a 222;square;meter site on the former Bicentenario landfill – the deputy mayor, a dry, sallow old man, smiles faintly:
“I’ve never heard of it. But anything can happen these days, my friend... However, there are some things it’s better not to know.”
The smile on his face looks like hidden mockery.

Polygon Bicentenario. Day. Alejandro and his security guard Mumo walk toward a group of homeless people sorting through a garbage heap. Among them is a former physicist – radiation;affected, toothless, completely bald, with no eyebrows. The homeless physicist sees Marta’s sketch and smiles romantically:
“I had an affair with a girl like that. Her name was Marta. Then she had an affair with an engineer or architect who designed the center’s buildings...”
An excited Alejandro asks:
“Where was this center located?”
The homeless man’s face turns serious:
“It’s a state secret.”
Then, suddenly, he snatches the print of Marta and eats it. His face contorts into hysterical laughter. A crowd of homeless people surrounds Alejandro and Mumo, their expressions openly unfriendly. Alejandro and his guard hurriedly leave.

Somewhere right on the central streets of Mexico City, amidst the city noise, We once again see Ernesto Torres being interviewed by the indefatigable Gabriela. This time, Ernesto tells her that he is preparing an unusual concert his own rock band “The Trash Sacks” featuring the American singer Zola Jesus. He'll only reveal the venue on the day of the concert. He doesn't care whether there's an audience. The main thing is that the concert takes place.
Gabriela:
“Ernesto, how is the writing of your book going?”
Ernesto:
“I was only recently told its name.”
Gabriela:
“Did they report it?”
Ernesto:
“Yes.”
Gabriela:
“And who is this?”
Ernesto:
“Her name is Inmuerta.”
Gabriela:
“Interesting! Can you tell me the title of the book?”
Ernesto:
“My book is called, The Wife of Silence.”

Mexico City. Evening. Reception at the College of Architects. Alejandro and Victoria are chatting with Se;or Carlos Espinoza, president of Espinosa Development, a major construction company. The conversation drifts from the role of AI in design to broader industry topics. Then Carlos lowers his voice slightly, as if sharing privileged information:
Carlos Espinoza:
“A tender for a crematorium project will soon be announced. At a recent city government meeting, one of the council members raised the issue of a shortage of crematoria in Mexico City. They decided to build new, model;size crematoria with recognizable architecture on the outskirts. The tender will be held in a couple of months. But already, customers are running around the city, and a lobby is forming. After the pandemic, dozens of crematoria are needed. You never know – it might happen again. So the contract is significant.”

The thought that Marta might be a representative of this lobby immediately occurs to Alejandro. On the way home, in the car with Victoria at the wheel, he mentions it to his wife.
Alejandro (hesitant):
“Maybe Marta is part of this lobby...”
Victoria (sharply, with irritation):
Victoria (sharply, with irritation):
“This is nonsense. Marta just wants to illegally build a brothel for the homeless.”
Alejandro pretends not to understand what she is getting at.
Victoria (coldly):
“Our task is simple: do the project, get the full amount, and forget about it. And don’t stir up spy passions.”
Meanwhile, in the rearview mirror, Alejandro again notices a Chevrolet Suburban with tinted windows, without license plates.

Mexico City. Day. Donceles. Alejandro climbs the narrow stairs of an old building, knocks, and immediately enters an office smelling of dust, coffee, and old paper. Files and diagrams lie scattered on the desk. On the walls hang yellowed plans and black;and;white photographs of Mexico City from the second half of the 20th century. A fan hums in the corner.
A wizened, elderly man greets Alejandro with a tired but attentive gaze.
Elderly Man:
“Hello, Alejandro. I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral. That day I had an acute attack of gallstones and couldn’t get out of bed. Know that your father was a true friend to me. May God protect his soul. He was a man of honor – a man of his word, the likes of which no one else has. We went through a lot together at the General Directorate of Obras. I will always remember his laughter, his directness. He knew how to see the world differently than everyone else.”
Alejandro:
“Thank you, Don Arturo.”
Don Arturo:
“What brought you to me?”
Alejandro (hesitant):
“Don Arturo, it seems I am being followed, persecuted...”
Don Arturo raises his eyebrows and looks askance at Alejandro. Then he quietly asks:
“Why is that?”
Alejandro (lowering his voice):
“I think it’s connected to something secret. Is it true that there’s a tunnel under the city – a secret metro line?”
Don Arturo looks at him for a long time, searchingly. Then he says quietly:
“Do you know who discovered it first? It was your father. We were working on the expansion of Line 3 at the time. He said, ‘This crack in the plan isn’t a mistake. It’s a trace.’ We both signed a non;disclosure agreement... Did your father tell you about it before he died?”
(Flashback: Late evening. A lamp with a yellow light. Father Alejandro draws a line on the map that goes into the void. Then he talks to himself:)
“There are lines in the city that no one designed. They lead to nowhere.”
Alejandro:
“No, Don Arturo. He didn’t tell me anything. And I didn’t find anything like that in his archive.”
Don Arturo:
“Why then did you decide that you were being followed because of the secret metro line?”
Alejandro:
“That’s why she can lead in Bicentenario.”
Don Arturo:
“Are you talking about the former landfill on the border of Venustiano Carranza and Nezahualcoyotl? A wasteland, a dump. Nothing more.”
Then he adds quietly:
“True... Don Arturo, I remembered one episode connected with those parts. In the distant sixties, a magnetic anomaly was discovered there when they were searching for the remains of soldiers from the Revolution. The compass needles were off by forty;five degrees to the west.” Flashback. Late evening. The same lamp with yellow light. Father Alejandro again draws a line on the map that vanishes into emptiness. He whispers:
“There are lines in the city that no one designed. They lead to nowhere.”
Don Arturo (continuing):
“The information was immediately classified. They began to think that an unknown weapon was hidden there, but they didn’t find anything. And no soldiers’ remains either. What they found instead were skulls with ritual holes, traces of sacrifices. The skulls were distributed among research labs. And then the magnetic anomaly disappeared on its own, the classification was lifted...”

 Architectural bureau office. Noon. Alejandro calls Marta.
Marta (on the phone):
“How is the design of the house going? Have you found the image of the building? The house should be recognizable.”
Alejandro:
“What should be recognizable about it?”
Marta:
“It doesn’t matter what. The main thing is that it stands out from the rest. And don’t forget to make room for an industrial oven with a powerful exhaust hood.”
Alejandro hangs up and rushes to Victoria, but she is not there.
Diana (smiling too deliberately):
“She left on an urgent call. She flew away.”
At that moment, in the office corridor, a young courier from the printing house arrives with samples of business cards and brochures. Alejandro flips through them quickly, barely paying attention – until suddenly he sees a business card:
“Espinosa Development – Marta Moreno, Director of Work.”
He memorizes Marta Moreno’s phone number, goes to his office, and dials. The number turns out not to be personal but corporate.
Voice on the line:
“Mrs. Marta Moreno has left for the site.”

Alejandro decides to dial Carlos’s number, but changes his mind at the last moment. Instead, he opens a search engine and types: “detective privado Ciudad de M;xico.”
A laconic website appears: “Guaranteed confidentiality. Delicate and discreet.”
Alejandro attaches the generative portrait of Marta Moreno and writes a short message:
“I need you to covertly film all women entering and leaving the Espinosa Development office. Particular attention to a woman with an asthenic appearance, a face like the one in the photograph. Cash payment.”
Downtown caf;. Day. The detective arrives for the meeting. A man of about forty, wearing a dark jacket, a mustache, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. His demeanor is calm, professional, clearly accustomed to secrecy.
Detective (whispering):
“I’ll be sitting in the car across from the office. Files with all incoming and outgoing data will be sent to you immediately in real time via an encrypted channel.”
Alejandro:
“Agreed.”
Detective’s car. Day. The detective sits in front of Espinosa Development. The camera records women entering and leaving. He comments into a voice recorder:
“Women with prototype appearance. Not visible.”
On the car’s display, city news is being broadcast…

One day, after making love in the evening with Alejandro is right in the office, Diane manages to lure her lover to a nightclub to see Natalie's dance group perform Wayss, LAS ALAS DE TONATIUH, in which, as we know, she also participates. Diana places Alejandro on the back of her motorcycle and takes him through the nighttime Mexico City...
A crowd of journalists had gathered at the entrance to the club, eager to question Natalie about her connection to the murder of publisher Arnoldo Belmont. A motorcycle carrying Dianne pulled up, and Alejandro followed. After a while, an SUV appeared, from which Natalie emerged, accompanied by two burly, stone;faced bodyguards. Natalie covered her face with a wide;brimmed hat, and the guards pushed back the crowd, preventing anyone from approaching her. The paparazzi could be heard vying with each other to bombard the dancer with questions:
“What did Arnoldo Belmont personally do to you?”
“Were you his lover?”
“Did he violate the covenants of your sect?”
“Why did you give your phone to a hitman? What did you mean by that?”
Diana drags Alejandro through the crowd of paparazzi to the club, but then leaves him, rushing backstage with the words:
“I’m going on stage soon.”
Alejandro is in a special world: semi;darkness, the cold light of spotlights, metallic hum...
The dancers of LAS ALAS DE TONATIUH appear on the stage. They wear white exoskeleton suits, and their skin is painted silver. The structures on their shoulders and backs open and close like mechanical wings. Their movements are angular and synchronized, as if they were not people but machines that had become gods.
Natalie Weyss is center stage, her wings higher and more massive than the others. Each of her gestures sets a rhythm that the others follow. Natalie seems to conduct the very energy of the space. The dull drum beats turn into an electronic rhythm. The vibrations travel through the floor, and Alejandro feels them right in his skull. Diana is among the dancers; her costume is slightly lighter, her movements sharp and precise. At some point, she glances at Alejandro. At the end of the performance, LAS ALAS DE TONATIUH completely fade away. In the darkness, the enthusiastic cries of the spectators are heard…
Alejandro sits at the bar, slowly sipping his whiskey. The ice has almost melted, and the amber liquid reflects the flashes of light from the dance floor. The background techno keeps the crowd animated, but to Alejandro everything sounds muffled, as if through cotton wool in his ears. Diana approaches, sits next to him, leaning toward him, her hair glistening in the spotlight.
“Well then, you fool, didn’t expect that?” she asks.
Alejandro is silent, takes a sip, his gaze sliding around the club. His eyes stop on a young man sitting at a small table at the entrance to the hall. Books and brochures are neatly laid out before him: esoteric literature, thin volumes with symbols on the covers. He adjusts the stack, as if afraid it will fall. His movements are timid, almost childish. Alejandro tenses, then leans toward Diana:
“Look, it’s the guy from the printing house.”
Diana smiles and shakes her head:
“No, you’re wrong. It’s different. He just looks similar. His name is Aglo. He’s Natalie’s admirer. He’s always giving her funny gifts – a figurine, a book, a strange amulet.”
Aglo notices Alejandro’s gaze, slowly rises and approaches the bar counter, holding a thin book with an embossed cover in his hands.
“Excuse me, sir...” The voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “Perhaps you’ll be interested? This is a rare edition about the secrets of Tonatiuh.”
Alejandro takes the book, looks at the cover, then at Aglo’s face.
“You were at the printing house... you brought samples of business cards.”
Aglo smiles shyly and lowers his eyes:
“No... you must be confused. I’m a bookseller.”
Diana intervenes, her voice soft but firm:
“I told you, he’s different. He just looks similar. He’s always around Natalie, but he’s too shy to approach her directly. So he hides behind the books,” Diana jokes.
Alejandro looks at Aglo with some disgust...

Mexico City. Day. During another interrogation, which Agent Cortes conducts with Natalie in a noisy caf; in the center of Mexico City, he informs her that the investigation has established a strange fact: one of the dancers in Natalie’s group Las Alas de Tonatiuh is a member of the totalitarian sect The Communicants of Tonatiuh. Her name is Diana Estela.
Natalie is completely confused. She has never heard of any cult, and it is hard for her to imagine that the charming Diana, a graphic designer by profession, could be a member of such a sect.
Natalie herself, being very impressionable and passionately drawn to Aztec mysticism, tells Cortes her version of Belmont’s murder: the murder was committed by her aunt – or rather, by her aunt’s spiritual reincarnation. According to Natalie, in response to the misinterpretation of the sacred signs published in the bestseller Scrolls of the Night Eagles, the anger of the descending eagle, the god Tonatiuh, was revealed.
This brings an internal smile to Agent Cortes, but he does not show it to Natalie. Instead, he becomes increasingly imbued with a purely masculine interest in the dancer. Natalie, however, seeing no skepticism in Cortes’s eyes, continues to develop her theory: her aunt, whom Natalie herself called simply “Aunt,” in the early 2000s was deeply fascinated by Aztec dances and mythology, and even traveled to receive guidance from Native American shamans, taking little Natalie with her.
(Flashback: the stone steps of Teotihuacan, the sun piercing her eyes. Aunt Natalie dances ritual steps barefoot, shells jingling on her body. Little Natalie, dressed in a white dress, stands nearby, imitating the movements. The shaman hands the woman an eagle feather and a bag of sand. Aunt leans toward the girl and whispers:
“This is a sign. Remember, Tonatiuh’s wings are always close. You can always see them when you look at the sun.”
Little Natalie folds her fingers into a tube and looks through them at the blinding solar disk – exactly as Alejandro’s daughter Elisa did recently...)
Natalie continues:
“Moreover, my aunt taught me at the zoo to feed the meat of axolotls by hand to the huge American golden eagles, Aquila chrysaetos.” (Flashback: the aviary, the wings beating, the child’s hand trembling as the eagle snatches the meat.)
Upon learning of the risk his sister was exposing her niece to, Natalie’s father strictly forbade her to take the girl to the zoo. Her parents were much more relaxed about the fact that the child liked to apply magical drawings to her body, hang shells around herself, and repeat her aunt’s ritual steps. (Flashback: the courtyard, shells jingling, chalk lines on the skin.)
But on her 26th birthday, the young aunt – three months pregnant – climbed onto the roof of a nine;story building and threw herself down. The cause of her suicide remained a mystery to relatives. The identity of the child’s father was also unknown. Natalie’s father, Dr. Thomas Weyss, owner of a private neurological clinic, never liked to speak on this subject.
And now, for some reason, the aunt begins to put bloody marks on her own victims, while at the same time leading a false trail toward her niece. “Apparently something angered the spirits,” Natalie believes. “Or maybe Tonatiuh is simply demanding the constant bloodshed that is due to him. And this must never stop, for Tonatiuh, the sun god, one day will not emerge from his journey through the underworld – and then the sun will not rise in the morning...”
At the caf;, someone recognizes Natalie as a crime news star, and a rough voice can be heard from a nearby table, “Baila tu danza de la muerte, estrella!” [, Dance your dance of death, star!] Natalie turns pale. Cort;s slowly rises, takes a leather case from his inside pocket, and silently opens a metal badge with a coat of arms and a number. A few seconds later, everyone sees that this is not just a client, but a representative of the authorities. In a calm but firm voice, he says, “Agent of the Public Ministry. This person is protected.” [, State Prosecutor. This man is under my protection.] Then he motions to the waiter, “La cuenta, por favor.” [, The check, please.] Afterwards, he takes Natalie by the elbow – not roughly, but confidently, like an escort. Cortez's gaze scans the room. Cortez and Natalie exit together, leaving silence and tension in their wake.
In the company car, stealing glances at Natalie’s elastic knees, Cortez says that he is now driving her home himself, after which she will be assigned security from the Ministry of Public Prosecution.
 
On a rainy autumn day, at an intersection, stopped at a red light, a teenager – or a woman hiding her face in a hood – approaches Alejandro’s car and offers him a color magazine about mysterious phenomena, The Fifth Dome. Alejandro opens the window, hands over a few pesos, and takes the magazine.
The light turns green. Tossing the magazine on the seat next to him, Alejandro starts driving, involuntarily glancing in the side mirror. It suddenly seems to him that the teenage woman, throwing back her hood, reveals Marta’s asthenic face, her shaved head, and is staring after him.
Arriving home, Alejandro takes the magazine with him. He throws it on the coffee table in the living room, trying to forget the strange vision at the intersection as quickly as possible. His daughter, Elisa, is in her room doing her homework. Victoria is not home.
Dressed in his lounge clothes, Alejandro heats up dinner, eats quickly, then pours himself some whiskey and plops down in front of the TV. Elisa, seeing her father, runs up to him, kisses him, and sits down next to him. After a while, she notices the color cover of the new magazine, immediately snatches it up, and carries it off to her room. Alejandro doesn’t even notice...

Meanwhile, Vicky is in bed with Carlos Espinosa. “Stay, there's a storm outside,” her lover whispers. “I can't, you know that,” Vicky replies, getting out of bed. Carlos responds with an unkind smile...

After a while, Eliza tells her father she’s going to the bathroom to wash up and then go to bed. Lightning flashes outside, and streams of rain beat against the glass. After taking a shower, Eliza blow;dries her hair, standing in front of the foggy mirror. But she is pulling her hair in a strange way, looking at herself with a decidedly unchildlike expression. For a moment it seems as if the mirror’s cloudy surface reflects not a child’s face at all, but Marta’s – head shaved, staring back. Eliza’s finger touches the glass, drawing the familiar outline of a house in the vacant lot.
Someone opens the front door with a key – it’s Vicky Toriya coming home. Elisa, jumping out of the bathroom, runs to her room with the words:
“Hola, mama!”
Vicky Toriya tells her husband that the storm delayed her on the road. Washing her hands in the bathroom, Vicky recognizes the outline of the house in the vacant lot on the foggy mirror. Surprised, she asks her husband:
“Are you drawing that on every corner now?”
At first, Alejandro doesn’t understand what she’s talking about, but Vicky shows him the almost melted outline on the mirror’s surface.
“It’s Elisa...” Alejandro barely says, and after a while he heads to his daughter’s room.
Elisa is asleep. Next to her pillow lies a page from a magazine about mysterious phenomena, The Fifth Dome. Alejandro picks up the magazine and reads the article title:
“Mandala of Bardo Above Bicentenario Sky.”
Alejandro leaves the room, magazine in hand. Elisa opens her eyes and watches him go. Lightning flashes outside the window, thunder rumbles...
In the bedroom, Victoria blow;dries her hair and whispers to someone on the phone. Without telling her about the magazine, Alejandro sits back in his chair and begins flipping through the pages, trying again to find the article with the title that had alerted him. Alejandro frantically flips through the pages, back and forth, until the rustle of the paper turns into a cosmic cacophony... He never finds the right page. With the magazine in his hands, Alejandro falls asleep right there in the chair. Flashes of lightning cast bright reflections on the parquet floorboards...
The next morning, Elisa discovers Alejandro sleeping in his chair. She approaches her father, takes the magazine from his hands, sits down next to him, and calmly flips through the pages. Alejandro wakes up and looks at his daughter. Elisa has already opened the magazine to the very page with the headline about the drone swarm in the form of a Tibetan mandala over the garbage dump. Smiling somehow unchildishly, Elisa throws the magazine onto her father’s lap and runs up the stairs.
Straightening his stiff lower back after sleeping in the chair, Alejandro reads the article:
“Mandala of Bardo Above Bicentenario Sky.”
At night, over the Bicentenario landfill on the outskirts of Mexico City, eyewitnesses observed something inexplicable: a giant glowing Zhi;khro appeared in the stormy sky, an ancient Tibetan mandala describing bardo states. Thousands of drones lined up in perfect concentric circles: at the center, the pulsating disk of Kunzang Gyalwa Dupa, surrounded by the fluid forms of peaceful deities; within, a whirlwind of wrathful figures with multi;armed silhouettes. The mandala slowly rotated clockwise, disintegrating and reassembling, as if breathing. No one confessed to the organization. The drones dissolved as suddenly as they had appeared. Experts called this “the sign of the bardo” – the transition between the death of the world and an unknown birth.
A blurry phone shot is included next to the text: a swarm of lights over black mountains of debris, under lightning. Alejandro looks up from the page and runs up the stairs.
“Vicky, Vicky, read this!” he bursts into the bedroom and throws the magazine on the bed, next to his still;sleeping wife.
A bewildered Vicky looks at her husband with sleepy eyes.
“Did you just sit there in the chair all night?”
“Read this!” says Alejandro.
“What, what are you talking about...” Vicky is perplexed.
On the magazine page where the article about the landfill and drones was headlined, there is an advertisement for a hair dryer.
“This can’t be...” Alejandro mutters deliriously, comes out of the bedroom and sees Elisa, who got dressed incredibly quickly and is waiting in the hallway.
“I’m late for school,” she snaps at her father, her voice steely. “Take me to school, I’m late.”
The father tries to find out from his daughter how she found a page about UFOs and homeless people in a magazine, to which Elisa says that he needs to look harder.
“Why did you draw a house on the mirror?! Answer me!” Alejandro yells at his daughter.
But Elisa leaves her father’s question unanswered and demands even more insistently that she be taken to school. Vicky comes out of the bedroom and doesn’t understand anything at all. Obeying his daughter’s demand, Alejandro puts on his shoes and goes straight to school. In his robe, he goes out into the street with Elisa.
A father and daughter are driving through the city. Elisa glances smugly at her father, who sits behind the wheel with a detached look. Along the way, Elisa suddenly tells Alejandro that she has a new teacher at school, and that she’s very strict. Her name is Maestra Teresa Ram;rez.
“She teaches us to listen better,” adds Elisa.
“What do you hear?” Alejandro asks.
“The vibrations of our hair,” Elisa replies. “She said that hair is like antennae.”
In response, Alejandro asks his daughter:
“Why did she shave her head?”
Elisa just smirks:
“Guess for yourself...”
Alejandro walks with Elisa to the building’s entrance. Marta greets them at the school door. Her hair is neatly pulled back into a bun, as befits a teacher.
“So, it’s you?” Alejandro asks sternly.
“Maestra Teresa Ram;rez. Hello,” Marta says dryly, shaking Alejandro’s hand. “Why are you wearing a robe? We don’t allow people in home clothes into school.”
Alejandro, not believing his eyes, retreats silently. Elisa, meanwhile, goes into school and waves goodbye to her father.
Getting into the car, Alejandro drives to the nearest newsstand. He asks to see all the magazines about UFOs and other mysterious phenomena. A magazine similar to the one he bought yesterday at the intersection from someone in a hood, Alejandro does not find.
Alejandro rushes out of town to the Bicentenario garbage dump. One day, in a vacant lot near the landfill, he meets some homeless people he knows. Alejandro tries to ask them about drones, but the homeless, seeing him in his street clothes, only laugh and ask for money for mezcal. Irritated and distraught, Alejandro drives back to the city.
On the way, he receives a call from Luis’s office secretary. She informs him that a few minutes ago, a client – Marta – called the office and asked him to send her the working drawings of the house by email. Luis is confused by the strange email: zhi@khro.bon. Hearing this, Alejandro turns off his phone, accelerates, and practically makes a police;style U;turn at the next intersection…
Returning to the school, he runs into the building and rushes to his daughter’s classroom. Walking across the classroom in his dressing gown during class, Alejandro grabs the teacher by the hair as she stands by the window with her back to the students.
“You’re wearing a wig, take that wig off right now!” he mutters through his teeth, his voice choked with rage.
The teacher turns out to be an unfamiliar woman, only vaguely resembling Marta. Alejandro immediately pulls his hands away. Seeing the same man in his house clothes before her, the woman – her face disfigured with horror – says, as if she sees the devil himself:
“Who-ooo a-aaare you-uuu...?”
“Daddy, Daddy, what’s wrong, Daddy? Maestra Teresa, forgive him! It’s not his fault, he’s not feeling well...” Elisa screams, shocked by what is happening. She runs up to her father, takes him by the hand and, under the puzzled looks of her classmates, choking on tears, leads him out of the classroom.
“I don’t know, I don’t understand anything,” Alejandro mutters. “It’s all because of that magazine... that magazine about those drones, you know? Tell me, how did you manage to find that one page...?”
To this, the surprised Elisa replies that she didn’t see any magazine at home yesterday except for the ones about new hairstyles and hair dryer models.
“Let’s go home, Daddy, let’s go home...”
A father and daughter are driving home. Alejandro receives a call from Carlos Espinoza. He asks how Alejandro is doing. Alejandro, still dazed, mumbles something unintelligible in response, and then suddenly mutters through his teeth into the receiver:
“Scoundrel, leave my wife alone, I know everything!”
Carlos just grins, then says:
“ Or did you think you pawned her off on me for five million? But you’re not that stupid. You know that you only paid off the debt with this – interest and penalties. But you still have to pay back the loan in full. And if you suddenly die, your debt will be transferred to your heirs... So, maybe, architect, I could help you with the crematorium order? A good client, buddy. Think of your wife and daughter…”
“;Vete a la chingada, cabr;n!”[ Go to hell, you bastard!] Alejandro yells back and almost crashes into the car in front of him, which really scares Elisa, who is sitting next to him...
Carlos, sitting in his office, hangs up the phone and grins predatorily, amplifying the volume of the huge 146;inch television screen in his fashionable office. The city’s crime news reports that the question of who and why Arnoldo killed Belmont and Soledad Arriaga has a new dimension: who killed dancer Diana Estela, and why. The murder took place today during an Aztec dance rehearsal. Once again, a woman called on her cell phone. A voice ordered the victim to go out on the balcony, look at the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street, spotted a sniper there, and then a shot was fired. The phone found on the roof again contained the same three fives in the number. And, most amazingly, it was once again issued to Natalie Weiss. It turns out this phone number had also been acquired by a thin, middle;aged woman whose face the sellers did not remember. The wide brim of her hat prevented detectives from seeing her face on the TV footage. All telephone numbers containing three fives have been taken under control by the investigators, but this does not help the investigation. Serial murderer? A lone maniac? Or is the shooting being carried out by a sect according to a strictly chosen plan?

Mexico City. Morning. We get to know Natalie’s father, Dr. Thomas Weiss, better when he arrives at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM) to meet Professor Severino Pomeloff;Fomula, a leading expert on ancient Aztec culture. The two scientists sit down in the soft chairs in the professor’s office. In conversation over a cup of coffee with milk, Professor Severino Pomeloff;Fomula tells Dr. Weiss about the cult of the god Tonatiuh, also known as Piltzintecuhtli, and the ritual of human sacrifice. The professor explains that the veneration of the eagle as a symbol of Tonatiuh is not an empty phrase. Specially initiated Aztec sorcerers knew rituals and spells that transformed the initiate into these birds of prey. These eagles possessed supernatural powers and could kill victims from a distance with a single glance. These secret rituals were, in their subtleties, known to Carlos Castaneda, but he never described them in any of his many books for fear of punishment. However, Pomeloff;Fomula says almost in a whisper that he was fortunate, like the great Federico Fellini, to personally meet and communicate with the enigmatic writer.
Flashback. Under the cloak of secrecy, the professor says, their meeting took place many years ago on the desert island of Isla Esp;ritu Santo. Amazed by the professor’s knowledge, Castaneda dedicated him into the secrets of the ritual. The whole trick was that the intelligence services of many countries around the world were trying to uncover the secret of Tonatiuh’s incarnation – especially the Americans. But Castaneda, although he was a U.S. citizen, never gave those secrets away. He did, however, share them with the professor. There on the island, on a portable typewriter, Pomeloff;Fomula made a single copy of his notes from the conversation with Castaneda. Professor Pomeloff;Fomula recalls:
“I put the typewritten sheet in my suitcase and left the island. And when I returned to Mexico City and opened it, instead of paper, thousands of Pogonomyrmex barbatus – desert harvester ants – were swarming inside. Large, reddish;brown, with powerful mandibles. They literally tore the manuscript into tiny pieces and carried it into the depths of the suitcase, as if it were their hive.”
He adds that the letters on the paper turned into grain, which the ants carried away one by one. For the professor, this was a sign: the secret of the ritual had dissolved into living matter.
The professor's story is told by Dr. Weyss, and in obvious irritation:
“Are you saying that ants ate your manuscript in your bag?
“Yes, they did it.
Dr. Weiss hesitates, rolls his eyes, then thanks him for the coffee and leaves the professor's office, who looks after him with a crooked, sly smile...”

Mexico City. Day. A detective wearing dark glasses sits in his car in front of the “Espinosa Development office”. His camera records women entering and leaving the office. He comments on what he observes into a voice recorder:
“Women with a prototype face are not observed.”
Meanwhile, on the car’s display, city news is broadcast. A voiceover announcer says:
“And now for the crime news.”
Hearing this, the detective turns up the volume. The announcer continues:
“Today, police conducted a search in the apartment of businessman Valentino Arriaga. What the detectives were looking for is not yet known. However, an unnamed source reported that a gun was found in the house, along with totalitarian literature – in particular the book Scrolls of the Night Eagles, which is revered as a ‘bible’ by the totalitarian sect Partaker and Tonatiuh. The book was published by the publishing house of the recently assassinated Arnoldo Belmont.” Newsreel footage: a young, plump woman sits on a sofa in front of a stack of books on a coffee table. “Investigators are clarifying the connections of Valentino Arriaga’s wife, Soledad, with a totalitarian sect.”
Meanwhile, the detective captures another woman parking her car at the Espinosa Development office and entering. The video is automatically sent to Alejandro. Watching the video in his office, Alejandro recognizes the woman who parked the car... his wife, Victoria!
Alejandro calls the detective and asks him to keep an eye on this particular individual from now on. The detective grins slyly, as if he knew what was coming, and then says:
“Se;or Alejandro, if you can tell me her phone number right now, I will try to eavesdrop and even spy on what this woman will do in this office.”
“I’m sending you her phone number,” Alejandro answers with excitement in his voice.
...Victoria bursts into Carlos’s luxurious office and casually tosses her gilded phone onto the corner of the large mahogany desk. Carlos runs out from behind the table.
“Hello, darling,” Victoria says. Carlos and Victoria kiss passionately.
Now, using his special device, the detective listens through headphones as the lovers talk, while the view of the ceiling and chandelier in Carlos’s office is transmitted from Victoria’s phone camera to the device’s small screen.
Victoria:
“I miss you so much...”
Carlos:
“Me too, my love...”
Victoria:
“Have we decided everything, my king?”
Carlos:
“Yes.”
Victoria:
“So, are we going?”
Carlos:
“Yes.”
Victoria:
“Ah, I’m a little scared for us...”
Carlos:
“You shouldn’t be afraid as long as you’re with me...”
After some time, the ceiling and chandelier begin to vibrate on the device’s screen with the characteristic sound of an incoming phone call.
“Turn it off,” Carlos’s voice can be heard.
A moment later, Victoria’s nearly bare breast appears on the device’s screen, after which the pad of her enormous finger with a long nail mutes the picture and sound. The detective leans back in his driver’s seat and turns up the volume on the car display, which is continuously broadcasting the city news.
A voiceover announces:
“A new mysterious death. Half an hour ago, Soledad Arriaga, the wife of businessman Valentino Arriaga, whom we covered in our previous report, was killed by a shot to the head. The signature is the same: again, a second before the shot, there was a call from the roof of the house.”
The fatal call was made, and again the caller’s phone number contained three fives. This time too, the number was registered to Natalie Weyss. The SIM card was purchased once again by a thin, middle;aged woman whose face the sellers did not remember. The wide brim of her hat prevented detectives from seeing her face on TV footage.
It was also established that Soledad Arriaga had been a patient at the neurological clinic of Natalie’s father, Dr. Thomas Weyss, where she had been treated in recent months. Let us recall that Natalie Weyss is the key witness to the murder of publisher Arnoldo Belmont. It was from a phone registered in her name that Belmont was called at the time of the murder. Investigators also determined that Soledad’s husband, Valentino Arriaga, is a passionate admirer of Natalie Weyss...
Flashback: nightclub. Natalie in the dressing room. Valentino bursts in and hands her a luxurious bouquet of roses. Natalie’s face expresses slight embarrassment.
Voiceover:
“Detectives also established that a month ago, a first;class plane ticket from Mexico City to Paris with a transfer to Monte Carlo was paid for in Natalie’s name from Valentino Arriaga’s bank account.”
Flashback: airport. Valentino, with a smug, lustful smile, hands over a print of an airline ticket to Natalie. Natalie turns away and runs toward the airport exit. The print remains in Valentino’s hand.
Voiceover:
“The investigation is looking for a connection between the sectarian hobbies of Arriaga’s wife, who was killed by a hitman, and the murder of publisher Arnoldo Belmont, who published sectarian literature. These events and facts, intertwined through the sect Partakers of Tonatiuh, present a real puzzle for the investigation, which is being led by Agent Cortez. According to unconfirmed information, it has become known that Valentino Arriaga has been given a written undertaking not to leave the country.”
Natalie sees and hears the same thing on the home TV screen. Curled up in a ball on her huge bed, she stares in horror, clinging to her pillow with her teeth. Then, with trembling hands, Natalie grabs the phone and calls someone, but there is no answer… On the other end of the line, the mobile phone vibrates on a small folding table, while its owner, a few meters away, watches her charges shoot from their small;caliber rifles while lying prone… Desperate, Natalie calls again. Finally, she hears an answer:
“Yes, my daughter! Hello! How are you, dear?”
In a tearful voice, Natalie speaks very incoherently. She shares her troubles with her mother. The deaths happening around her shock her and drive her to despair. Behind everything that’s happening, she sees the wrath of the god Tonatiuh.
Natalie’s mother, a strong;willed and cool;headed woman, tries to dispel her daughter’s mystical fantasies. She speaks calmly but firmly:
“Come to me in Canada. You’ll take up biathlon. I’ll teach you how to aim and hit. You’ll learn to shoot not only at targets, but also at your fears.”
Natalie replies that she can’t leave her group and her favorite activity – ritual dances – but if she gets really sick, she’ll accept her mother’s invitation. If, of course, they let her leave, since she’s the main witness in the Arnoldo Belmont murder case.
At the end of the conversation, her mother shows her daughter a target with perfectly even hits.
“Everything will be fine! Bye;bye,” she says in conclusion, with a smile.

It’s evening. Alejandro and Victoria are sitting at a table by the window in one of Polanco’s upscale restaurants. White tablecloths, crystal glasses, and soft lamplight reflect off the mirrors. At the neighboring tables the crowd is respectable; jazz music plays softly, and waiters glide between tables with silver trays. Taking a sip of red wine, Victoria looks at her husband, then asks:
“Why did you bring me here? Did you decide to tell me something important in a formal setting?”
“You don’t remember? It was here that I proposed to you exactly ten years ago.”
“Hmm... imagine, I remember... You decided to celebrate the anniversary?”
Alejandro doesn’t answer and silently drinks his glass of wine to the bottom. The waiter immediately refills it.
Victoria:
“By the way, while you were wandering around the landfills, there were some changes at our agency: our graphic designer, Diana, unexpectedly quit.”
Having said this, Victoria looks closely into her husband’s eyes.
(Flashback. Evening. The office of the architect bureau is almost empty. Louis’s secretary at the reception desk folds papers. Diana emerges from the office, holding a red helmet. She’s wearing a leather jacket, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. There’s determination in her gait.
The secretary gives her a long look but doesn’t ask any questions. Security guard Mumo watches Diana leave with noticeable bewilderment, but also sadness in his eyes – as if he understands that she is leaving forever.
Diana puts on her helmet and mounts her motorcycle. The camera captures her face in the rearview mirror – half;hidden, but with a glint in her eyes. Diana starts the engine. The roar of the motor drowns out the city noise. The headlights cut through the evening air. The motorcycle suddenly speeds away, disappearing into the stream of cars…)
Alejandro seemed not to hear Victoria’s words as she continued:
“I didn’t say anything to anyone. I just got up and left. I assigned another employee to finish the project.”
Alejandro is silent. After a pause, Victoria says:
“After that Marta’s visit, you’ve changed a lot, Khandro. You’ve become completely different. It’s as if you’re no longer with us.”
Alejandro remains silent. Victoria quietly adds:
“I think... we need to file for divorce.”
Alejandro answers slowly, almost in a whisper:
“We can’t destroy everything so quickly... Or, on the contrary, this is all we can do. And everything has already happened...”
Upon returning home, the couple have a tense conversation. The restaurant evening turns into a night of love. The camera captures their faces too closely: excited breathing, blurred frames, moans – a mixture of passion and despair, as if Alejandro and Victoria are trying to hold on to something that is no longer there...

We meet again with musician and writer Ernesto Torres in a studio. From the endless interview he gives to journalist Gabriela, it suddenly becomes clear that Ernesto is preparing an unprecedented venue for an equally unprecedented concert.
Naturally, everything will be as close as possible to the idea of death... There will be no spectators at the concert. There will be no press except for Gabriela Flores. Only she and Ernesto will allow the film crew to capture the performance and tell TV viewers about it.

Apparently, Alejandro didn’t fully believe his father’s friend Don Arturo. He recalls a TV story (flashback): TV journalist Gabriela Flores – who loves everything spicy and fried – is currently interviewing Ernesto Torres about drainage and water channels, some of which have roots in the Aztec water management system. Alejandro easily finds Gabriela through social media, calls her, and offers her a job:
“Tell a sensational story about the zero line of the metro. But you can’t do it without diggers; you can’t go underground on your own. I’ll pay the diggers generously.”
For the sake of yet another sensation – and a sponsored one at that – the easy;going Gabriela Flores quickly agrees to organize a trip to the underground of Mexico City. Ernesto Torres becomes an unwitting witness to this telephone conversation.

The outskirts of Mexico City. Day. Gabriela, her cameraman, Alejandro, and the diggers meet at an abandoned technical pavilion. On the fa;ade: peeling paint, an old city coat of arms, and beneath it a sign with an upside;down “555.”
Three diggers in black balaclavas – only their slitted eyes visible – call this place the dream point: an entrance that doesn’t appear on any map, and might not even be real. Alejandro hands them some rolled;up Swiss francs tied with a rubber band.
“Here’s the whole amount.”
One of the diggers sniffs the money through his balaclava; they exchange glances, signaling with their eyes that everything is OK. Shining a flashlight on a sheet of paper with a city map, Alejandro shows the diggers the line along which the zero metro line should run.
They open the hatch, illuminating their way with powerful flashlights. The stairs lead downward at an odd angle. Then they find themselves in a dank tunnel, the walls covered in graffiti: some resembling Aztec glyphs, others modern tags spelling out meaningless words.
Alejandro, highlighting the map, asks:
“If a metro line goes to where there is nothing, what is it for?”
The diggers’ answers sound like fragments of someone else’s thoughts:
“Every line leads forward and leads back.”
“But this line must lead to Bicentenario. Right?”
“Bicentenario... this is an internal mirror. It reflects what looks at it from the back side.”
Alejandro:
“There was a magnetic anomaly in Bicentenario, but then it disappeared. Right?”
Diggers:
“Anomaly has not disappeared. She is waiting.”
Alejandro:
“They found skulls there, lots of skulls... they were distributed among laboratories...”
Diggers:
“Skulls? The world’s paths connect through skulls.”
Voices echo loudly off the walls, and sometimes it seems as if the words are not spoken by people, but by the tunnel pipe itself. At one point, Gabriela, following Alejandro, stumbles, falls on both hands, and lets out a small cry. Alejandro looks back, shines a flashlight on her, and extends his hand. Gabriela, without raising her head, reaches out to him – then suddenly throws her head back. Alejandro sees before him... Marta’s asthenic face!
“No! Tell them no!” Alejandro blurts out.
The cameraman, filming everything, notices that time is moving backwards on the recording. Through the camera lens we now see Alejandro, alone in a dark dungeon, randomly waving the beam of a flashlight at a huge eagle attacking him from the darkness...
“Hey, where are you?” one of the diggers calls out to the stragglers – Alejandro, Gabriela, and the cameraman.
“We’re following you,” Gabriela answers cheerfully.
But then suddenly, disco music starts playing from somewhere. It quickly becomes deafening.
The diggers turn upside down and begin swinging their legs in the air to the beat, rhythmically shining their flashlights in different directions. Gabriela also falls into a frenzy of dancing, her movements becoming more and more mechanical, as if she herself has become part of the rhythm.
The cameraman runs around, filming the diggers dancing on their heads and Gabriela darting between them. The camera fixes the angles; the flashlights leave streaks of light, sparkling even in the slits of their balaclavas, reflected in the diggers’ upside;down eyes.
Now Alejandro shines a flashlight on his own face, grinning with a devilish smile. The music, reaching its peak, suddenly stops...
Silence.
In the darkness, something hits the concrete floor. A lone flashlight, slipping from someone’s hand, slowly rolls, strikes something invisible. Its beam darts along the walls, picking out bizarre graffiti, then strange shadows...
The last blow is sharp, metallic. The flashlight shatters, goes out.
Complete darkness.

The book carrier Aglo decides to take a more impudent step and sends Natalie a message with an offer to go to the zoo with him. Natalie replies with consent.
Mexico City. Day. Chapultepec Zoo. Natalie is a little surprised that Aglo doesn’t lead her to the usual elephants and giraffes, but straight to the birds of prey enclosure. Hawks, condors, and golden eagles are there.
Natalie:
“My aunt also took me here. We fed the eagles meat...”
Aglo:
“The eagle does not eat meat. It feeds on memory. Every feather of the eagle is a cherished word.”
Natalie is embarrassed by Aglo’s words, but she doesn’t show it.
“You know so much.”
Aglo smiles, but his smile is cold. At the end of the walk, he gives Natalie a red leg band, the kind ornithologists use to mark rare birds.
Aglo:
“This is for you, Natalie. Don’t lose it.”
The ring is engraved: MONTANA L;055 6. Natalie casually tosses the ring into her tiny orange purse.
Alejandro gets out of the car and walks along the wet sidewalk toward the old parish church. Peeling plaster, the smell of wax and damp stone. Inside it is dim. A few parishioners sit in the back rows – some praying, others simply warming themselves after the rain. Alejandro approaches the confessional: a wooden grille, the dim light of a lamp, the smell of incense. He sits down. From the other side, the priest’s quiet voice is heard:
“En el nombre del Padre...”
Alejandro begins to speak. Hesitantly at first, then faster and faster, as if the words are escaping his lips:
“Padre, I don’t know what’s going on. I thought this was my job. A private commission. Another project. But now... now I think they want to tear me apart. My wife... her lover... they’ve drawn me into some kind of devilish game. They sent a woman to me who gave a false name. They invented a tender that doesn’t exist. They want to take over my agency. But what do they need it for without me?”
The priest is silent. Alejandro continues:
“I owe him money. A lot. Five million. But then why is this house on the dump? Why is this woman?”
Alejandro can hear his own breathing. The confessional becomes stuffy.
Finally, the priest says:
“My son, the devil works through our fears. You talk about debts, about lies, about treason. But you’re not saying the most important thing.”
Alejandro (barely audible):
“The main thing... But why does everything lead to one place?”
Padre:
“Evil loves geometry, loves order, loves repetition. Evil loves signs you can’t ignore.”
After a pause, he adds quietly:
“Umbra regnat ubi lumen cadit.” [ Shadow reigns where light falls].

On his way to the office, caught in yet another traffic jam in downtown Mexico City, Alejandro notices a girl with a bright orange scarf around her neck. She bears an uncanny resemblance to Diana. The girl is talking on the street with a young man who looks strikingly like the print shop delivery man – who in turn resembles the club’s bookseller, Aglo. As they say goodbye, the girl and the young man kiss like lovers...
At that very moment, Alejandro realizes he is being watched: a Chevrolet Suburban with tinted windows and no license plates follows him all the way to the office. When Alejandro stops his car at the agency, the pursuers’ vehicle suddenly picks up speed and disappears into the traffic.

And again Ernesto Torres. While in the studio, in the pauses between recording his songs, the musician and writer reviews recorded video chats with different people, including a certain young lady with an asthenic appearance. On the screen of his phone we see the girl’s too;pale face, with eyes of little mobility.
Ernesto:
“Inmuerta... is that your name? It sounds like a spell.”
Girl:
“That’s right. It cannot be spoken without trembling.”
Ernesto:
“Do you want to tell a story for my book?”
Inmuerta:
“Yes. Listen. One day,” says Inmuerta, “the Wife of Silence came to my father’s office. No one understood it except me. Then I ran to my father’s law office to ask for money and accidentally saw her among the visitors. What she wanted from my father, no one knows. Three days later my father died. But to this day he does not realize he is dead, and he continues to give me gifts...”
Ernesto listens silently, the studio filling with a hum.
Inmuerta (continuing):
“Recently, on my birthday, he gave me a white wedding dress. Here it is.”
The girl shows the white dress to the camera, taking it out of the closet on a hanger.
“And then I understood: now I, Inmuerta, am the Bride of Silence.”

After leaving the dungeon with the television crew, Alejandro again notices that the same car with tinted windows is following him. To finally figure out what the surveillance is about, he decides to drive straight toward the Bicentenario landfill. The car with tinted windows follows close behind.
Arriving at the place, Alejandro gets out of his car and demonstratively heads across the wasteland toward the garbage heaps. The pursuers’ vehicle stops some distance away. Pacing aimlessly back and forth with a compass in his hands, Alejandro notices that he is surrounded by stray dogs. One of the dogs shows aggression first, then all of them begin to growl, menacingly baring their fangs.
Not knowing how to escape, Alejandro involuntarily glances toward the pursuers’ car. They don’t let him wait long: without getting out, but only half;opening the tinted windows, they shoot down a dozen dogs with precise single shots from automatic rifles fitted with silencers.
When the shooting ends, Alejandro instinctively rushes toward his rescuers – but they, tearing away and raising a cloud of dust, drive off at breakneck speed. Alejandro jumps behind the wheel and races after them...
After driving some distance down the highway, he brakes abruptly, confronted by a horrific sight around the bend: the pursuers’ car, completely wrecked and smoking on the side of the road. Nearby, a truck with a scraper is parked, its cabin noticeably dented. The shocked truck driver paces aimlessly, muttering something under his breath...
Shaken by what he saw, Alejandro approaches the wrecked car. Inside, the bodies of two victims are visible: one is a man of Asian appearance, resembling the bartender from the bar on Avenida ;lvaro Obreg;n; the other is a blonde in a red coat – the same woman from the metro and the bar, strikingly similar to Natalie we know well...
Not believing his eyes, Alejandro comes very close to the broken car. But, coming to his senses, he runs some distance away, as the smoking vehicle suddenly catches fire and, after a few seconds, explodes.
A stunned Alejandro rushes to the truck driver, who, still in shock, stutters:
“I immediately had a bad feeling when I saw her...”
Alejandro:
“Who?”
Driver:
“Se;ora Marta... Marta, Marta...” the driver repeats. “It’s her scraper... She ordered it...     I was taking it to the construction site, there...”
Alejandro:
“What construction site?”
Driver:
“Yes, there, at the training ground... There’s a construction site there...”
Alejandro gets into his car and drives away from the scene.

In the office, Alejandro absently walks past Luisa without greeting her, enters his office, and closes the door behind him. Just then, Marta calls. She asks Luisa to connect her with Se;or Alejandro.
In a dry, businesslike tone, Marta thanks Alejandro for the completed order and says she will send the remaining amount by courier. But before handing over the money, she strictly warns him never to inquire about how the land for the house’s construction was obtained or how the project was approved. After all, that was a condition of their contract.
A very short time after Marta’s call, a young man appears at the office door. He could be a delivery man from the printing house, a bookseller, or the same young man Alejandro once saw kissing a girl who looked like Diana. He is holding a package tied with red string.
Guy (evenly):
“This is for you.”
Alejandro:
“From whom?”
Guy (smiling confidently):
“From those who are already in the house in which you are now.”
Alejandro:
“Do you know Se;ora Marta?”
The guy looks straight into Alejandro's eyes:
“I know her steps. They are very quiet, almost cat-like.”
He puts the envelope on the table.
Alejandro:
“What's in the envelope?”
The guy looks away:
“Something that is rightfully yours, but which you no longer need. Alas, this happens.”
The guy turns and disappears down the bureau corridor. Louisa’s eyes track him –impenetrable, but marked by the unmistakable presence of doom.After looking at the contents of the envelope, Alejandro carefully hides it in a mini-safe, then jumps up from his chair, leaves the office, and without saying anything to anyone, runs to the car.

Alejandro’s car speeds along the highway... Approaching the Bicentenario polygon, he brakes sharply, raising a cloud of dust, then jumps out and rushes straight toward the camera. His face expresses amazement – he cannot believe his eyes. Before him lies a brutalist concrete structure, solitary and towering over a vast, flat, deserted field. The building has a central, multi;tiered octagonal body, crowned with a small dome and finial. Massive, stepped, cantilevered wings extend horizontally from the core in four directions, forming a cruciform silhouette. Narrow vertical slit windows mark the lower level, while small square windows punctuate the upper part beneath the dome. The concrete surface shows signs of weathering, as if the building had stood there for decades... Alejandro encounters no workers, no construction equipment, no stray dogs, no homeless from the neighboring dumps. He follows a path trodden by an unknown person toward a single rectangular doorway at the center of the base. He enters.
After some time, in the semi;darkness, Alejandro sees his late father standing in the middle of the room, holding a dying woman in his arms. At that very moment, the woman turns her face toward Alejandro – and in her asthenic appearance, he recognizes his mysterious client... Marta!
“Umbra sum... Memoria lacerata sum... Silentium loquitur... Umbra regnat ubi lux cadit...” she whispers, barely breathing. Then she smiles tenderly and gratefully, looking at Alejandro. Father lowers his hands; Marta falls to the concrete floor and gives up the ghost. Father looks guiltily at Alejandro and only spreads his arms, as if to say: I couldn’t do anything... it just happened.
Running out of the building, angered and dismayed by the terrifying vision, Alejandro races down the highway away from the testing ground. He drives at high speed into a courtyard on the outskirts of Mexico City, once again raising clouds of dust.
Getting out of the car, Alejandro rushes across the gravel yard toward the old workshops and garages. As he walks, he loudly calls out to someone...
Alejandro (agitated):
“Rafael, are you here?! Where are you, Rafa?!”
After some time, a slightly unshaven man, apparently the same age as Alejandro, peers out from behind the rusty iron door of one of the workshops. Seeing him, Alejandro speaks in an agitated tone:
“Rafa! Hermano, necesito tu ayuda.[ Brother, I need your help] I saw something... I can’t leave it like this. I have to destroy that house.”
Rafael (calm, disbelieving):
“;Qu; est;s diciendo, idiota?[ What are you saying, idiot?] Are you planning to blow up the house? Are you serious? Who’s paying you for this?”
Alejandro wipes his sweaty, nervous hands on his pant legs:
“I’m not asking questions. Just give me what I need.”
Rafael studies him carefully, lights a cigarette, exhales smoke, then says:
“You’re sure?”
Alejandro (harshly):
“M;s que nunca[  Like never before]. I saw my father there... dead, as if alive, you understand? And the woman I know. This place must disappear.”
Rafael is silent, then walks deeper into the workshop. He returns with a small sports bag.
Rafael:
“Aqu; tienes.[  Here you go] Inside are several blocks of C;4, a detonator, and a cable. Look: attach the charge to the load;bearing wall of the building, run the cable, and connect it to the detonator. You set the timer yourself. The main thing is – don’t fuss.”
He puts the bag on the table and shows Alejandro a diagram on a piece of paper.
Rafael (gravely):
“Recuerda, hermano,[  Remember, brother] it’s not just concrete. It’s something else. Don’t do it today – you’re too agitated. Today it won’t work. Go home, rest, watch the sunset, and tomorrow get up early and do everything as I showed you... Do you remember how we used to meditate on the roof before every competition? Do you remember?”
(Short flashback: the camera circles around two curly;haired teenagers sitting on a tiled roof somewhere on the outskirts of Mexico City, silently watching the sunset...)
Alejandro:
“I remember, I remember it well, as if it were yesterday...” Suddenly his lips begin to tremble and his eyes fill with tears.
Rafael says nothing, only embraces Alejandro in a brotherly way, patting him on the shoulder:
“Everything will be fine, Jandrito, everything will be fine...”
Alejandro (murmuring, trembling voice):
“Gracias, Rafa...”
Slowly walking across the gravel, Alejandro heads toward his car. Rafael follows him with his gaze. His chin trembles; in his eyes – deep sorrow.

It's early morning. The sun is rising over Mexico City. Alejandro's car is speeding along the familiar highway toward the Bicentenario site. Arriving at the construction site early in the morning, Alejandro resolutely grabs the duffel bag Rafael gave him the day before from the front seat, but turning to face the empty lot, he sees nothing in front of him. structures. Wind As usual, he throws plastic bags, scraps of paper and all sorts of things along the ground; familiar mounds of garbage are visible in the distance, and above all this, crows and seagulls circle as usual...” In a state of complete devastation and deep depression, Alejandro gets into the car and quietly drives away from the landfill territory.
Alejandro’s car pulls up to the familiar courtyard with workshops and garages on the outskirts of Mexico City. Carrying the sports bag in his hands, he gets out of the car and crosses the yard. Silently, he approaches the workshop we already know. Rafael comes out to meet him. It seems as if Rafael already knows what his childhood friend is about to say.
Alejandro (quietly):
“Rafa... I’m returning this. There’s nothing there anymore.”
Rafael takes the bag from Alejandro, looks carefully into his friend’s eyes. A cigarette smolders in his hand:
“I knew. But absence is not emptiness,” he says very slowly. “Sometimes absence finds us, and we become part of it.”
He takes a deep drag on the cigarette, releasing a cloud of smoke...
Alejandro remains silent. Then he quietly turns around and, without a word, walks back across the gravel toward his car. Before reaching it, Alejandro pauses, turns slowly and somewhat hesitantly, with a faint smile, and manages to say:
“Rafa, do you remember how back then...”

Mexico City. Day. A Cadillac Escalade drives down the highway. Eight;year;old Elisa sits sullenly in the backseat, hugging her backpack. Next to her, her mother, Victoria.
Victoria (softly):
“Elisa, you’ll be staying with Aunt Luisa for a week. Just seven days.”
Elisa is silent, staring out the window.
Victoria:
“Luisa is kind. And I’ll soon return from my business trip and take you home.”
A notification flashes on the Escalade’s center display: “Helicopter transfer Nice ; Monte;Carlo confirmed. Hotel de Paris reservation active.”
Victoria glances briefly at the screen but says nothing. Now we see Carlos Espinosa’s face behind the wheel – calm and confident.
Carlos:
“Everything is confirmed. Monte Carlo is waiting for us.”
He glances at the rearview mirror. There he sees a small, angry;looking Elisa and, beside her, a smiling blonde in a red coat whose features strongly remind us of the frail Marta. Yet the presence of the stranger does not disturb Carlos; on the contrary, a predatory, triumphant smile spreads across his face...

Mexico City. Day. Natalie, escorted by two bodyguards, arrives at a small building in Polanco and enters the office of the neurological clinic Cl;nica Horizonte Perdido, Dr. Weyss. The receptionist, an elderly woman who closely resembles Luisa, Alejandro’s secretary, says curtly as Natalie enters:
“Doctor Weyss is currently on the road.”
Natalie:
“I received a notification from my father. He asked me to come see him urgently.”
Secretary:
“Are you sure you received the notification?”
Natalie:
“Yes. He congratulated me on my birthday and asked me to come to his office as soon as possible.”
Secretary (grinning wryly, glancing sideways):
“Oh, yes. He said today was a very important day... Hmm, congratulations. Wait for him in his office; he should be here soon. And know that Dr. Weyss always checks all received messages to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. I’ll bring you some coffee.”
Natalie enters the office and sits down in the chair at her father’s desk. The red light on the speakerphone flashes. The answering machine beeps briefly – a signal for an unheard message. The signal repeats itself, irritating Natalie, who is already on edge.
Involuntarily, she presses the button and hears a recording of a familiar female voice:
“Today I’ll leave rehearsal early, and soon we’ll be tumbling together again, mi querido gatito.[ My dear kitten]”
Natalie (crying out):
“Diane?”
This sudden discovery plunges her into deep shock. She stands up abruptly and runs out of the office. In the doorway, she almost collides with the secretary carrying coffee for her.
Having shown her face, Natalie, trembling all over, calls Agent Cortez. She speaks incoherently, her voice breaking into cries:
“Diana... she was my father’s lover! Now he keeps listening to her last message. She never made it to him that day... She was killed at rehearsal! Who killed her? Who’s killing everyone, Alex? Who??? Why are you silent???”
Cortez (on the phone, sharply):
“Natalie, go home right now, and don’t let the guards leave. The guards will stay at the house. Search through your father’s archives – there might be a key there. I’ll be in touch.”
Once home, Natalie comes in to my father's home office and begins rummaging through the parent's documents. Unexpectedly, among papers strictly scientific contents she finds a note yellowed with time, “This can't go on any longer. I can't carry it in my egg in the womb Tonatiuh, God is angry. I must kill myself and come into the world again. So command the spirits. Your sister, Natalie. Natalie Cortes immediately calls:;
“I found a dying note at aunts. In her father's archive. finished by yourself, When found out What pregnant from himself Tonatiuh! An eagle's egg was maturing within her! But now she has returned and is among us...”
Agent Cortez abruptly cuts off Natalie's story. He asks her nowhere Not go out And no With by whom Not talk to his arrival, because half an hour ago Dr. Weyss was killed at the entrance to his clinic. Just like that, sniper shot in the head. After these words, Natalie faints...”

Meanwhile. A motorcycle with a girl in a red helmet pulls up to a large factory building. From inside, a faint cacophony of different kinds of music can be heard. The girl, carrying a small backpack, jumps off the motorcycle, removes her helmet, and heads toward the entrance. From a distance, we recognize a resemblance to Diana Estela. We see her only from behind as she walks through dim corridors of the factory. The cacophony grows louder. She reaches a door with an illuminated sign above it: “Grab a ride on” [Recording in progress]. She knocks twice, then opens the door – and sees Ernesto Torres and Gabriela Flores, familiar to us, making love at a large control panel, sitting in a huge office chair in the semi;automated audio studio...
Chuckling, the girl slams the door shut. But then she hears a booming male voice:
“Designer, if it’s you, come in!”
After a moment’s thought, the girl enters the audio studio.
Ernesto (from behind the chair):
“Sorry, Gabriela and I are just chilling out here. Don’t you know each other?”
Girl (designer, unseen face):
“No.”
Ernesto:
“Meet Gabriela. And this is our designer.”
Young woman:
“But maybe I shouldn’t disturb you now? I can wait outside the door...”
Ernesto:
“You’re not in the way. In fact, you can join us.”
Young woman:
“Um, thanks, another time... I brought you a design project for the Fog Screen.”
Ernesto:
“Smart girl. Show me.”
Designer:
“Here, look.”
She holds out a powered graphics tablet over the back of the chair. Ernesto looks at the glowing image on the screen, then shows it to the half;naked Gabriela.
Ernesto:
“Do you like it?”
Gabriela (breathless, still fresh from pleasure):
“Wow, this is so cool! It looks like an inverted pyramid... and also like a crematorium.”
On the tablet screen we see the familiar house design on a vacant lot, shifting in different directions, dancing, disappearing and reappearing.
Ernesto:
“And it’ll all be dynamic? We’ll be flying around and getting inside too, right? Will there be dogs?”
Designer:
“Yes, everything will be dynamic. And there will be dogs.”
Ernesto (decisively):
“Then this is what we need.”
Designer:
“I’m glad I completed your order... Well, shall I go?”
Gabriela (languidly):
“Maybe you’ll stay, designer?”
She lazily reaches out toward the girl from behind the chair, where her figure is hidden.
Designer (dryly):
“No, I have a ton of things to do. I’ll go.”
She heads for the door.
Ernesto (calling after her):
“See you on the court!”
Stepping out into the factory corridor, the girl performs a few strange dance steps, then quickly walks toward the exit. Putting on her red helmet and mounting the motorcycle, she speeds away from the factory.
Left alone in the studio, Ernesto and Gabriela continue making love...

Arriving at the house, Agent Cortez finds Natalie lying fainted on the floor. Gently slapping her cheeks, he brings her back to consciousness. Overwhelmed by emotion, Natalie suddenly throws herself into his arms, kissing and embracing him. Cortez, who has long awaited this moment, responds – passion flares between them. Only a phone call interrupts the sudden surge of feeling. Cortez answers, reporting to his colleagues:
“Total wiretapping of all phones with triple fives has yielded results. This time we managed to record the sniper’s voice – the voice of a woman in her fifties.”
Cortez is allowed to listen directly to the killer’s terrifying instructions over the line, demanding the victim stop and look up at the roof to find her gaze. He asks to replay the recording, and Natalie listens on speakerphone.
A woman’s voice:
“Stop. Look up. Good. Now meet my gaze...”
Cortez:
“Are you sure? Natalie, think about it! It could be a coincidence, just a similar timbre...”
Natalie (almost shouting):
“No! I know that voice better than any other. She says that when she demands attention. That’s her. My mother. The biathlon champion... She shoots without a miss. But... she’s in Toronto, Canada!”
Cortez (restrained):
“Or do you only think she’s in Canada? WhatsApp doesn’t show location. All this time she could have been here in Mexico City.”
Natalie (in despair):
“But why? She killed my father... took revenge for Diana... But why so many more people? Why Belmont? Why Soledad? Why set me up, her own daughter?”
Cortez (looking into her eyes):
“That’s what we need to find out. But one thing is clear: your mother is the key to this chain of deaths.”
Natalie (almost crying):
“It’s my fault... I brought Diana to my father for treatment... that’s how it all started...”
Cortez (gently, taking her shoulders):
“No, Natalie. It’s not your fault. You’re a witness. And now you have to be strong.”
Natalie (whispers, nearly fainting):
“Mom... Mom kills everyone...”
Cortez (decisively):
“We will stop her.”
He looks at his wristwatch.
Cortez (stern but gentle):
“Natalie, pull yourself together. Call your mom. Under any pretext, ask her to tell you what the weather is like in Toronto. It’s important.”
Natalie (trembling, typing WhatsApp):
“Hello... Mommy...”
Mom (calmly):
“Darling! How are you?”
Natalie (voice breaking):
“Mom... Toronto... Mom, I have terrible news... Dad was killed!”
Mom (laughing unexpectedly):
“Ahahaha, Natalie, don’t make me laugh... your dad is more alive than anyone else!”
Natalie (horrified, screaming to Cortez):
“She’s laughing! Do you hear that?! She’s laughing!”
Cortez looks tense at first, then a mischievous smile appears on his face.
Cortez (ironically):
“Hm... yes... I hear...”
Now both are laughing – Cortez and the mother on the phone.
Natalie (in despair):
“What’s going on?! What does this mean?!”
At that moment, the door swings open. Dr. Thomas Weyss enters – alive, healthy, smiling. Beside him is a distinguished gentleman with a briefcase, a dead ringer for Arnoldo Belmont.
Natalie (in tears, rushing to her father):
“Dad!”
Dr. Weyss hugs his sobbing daughter, lets her calm down, then says:
“Meet Mr. Paul Ashforth, a great friend of our family. A particularly great friend of your mother... He’s from Canada. A major promoter in the entertainment industry.”
Ashforth (raising a finger, significantly):
“Yes, yes, entertainment for the very rich!”
Dr. Weyss (solemnly):
“The game is called ‘Theater Until the Last Breath’.”
Ashforth (grinning theatrically):
“Yes, yes, and tickets to this theater cost more than life itself.”
Cortez (whispering ironically):
“A theater where they applaud headshots.”
Natalie (shocked, whispering to herself):
“Until your last breath... theater?”
Dr. Weyss (businesslike):
“Paul asked us for advice on promoting this service in Mexico. My mother and I agreed to help, but I set a condition: it had to bring fame to my daughter and her team, Las Alas de Tonatiuh.”
Ashforth (nodding):
“So we played on your fascination with mythology. I agreed to be the first victim – Arnoldo Belmont. I paid for everything: the investigation, the television, the newspapers...”
Dr. Weyss (to Cortez):
“And Alex didn’t let us down. And he’s from a runofthemill provincial theater...”
Natalie (barely breathing):
“You...?”
Cortez (grins shyly):
“Yes...”
Dr. Weyss (stern but smiling):
“By the way, I see there’s something serious between you two? Well, okay, more on that later. Anyway, I don’t mind... So, the experiment was a success. The game is on. And you, my daughter, have become a celebrity. Pick up the phone and talk to your mother. She’s still on the line...”
Mom (affectionately, on the phone):
“Get all your girls ready. Paul is organizing a tour of Canada for you. Come quickly. Your mommy is waiting... And happy birthday, daughter!”
Valentino and his wife Soledad enter, carrying a large cake with candles – the number 26. Loud shouts, laughter, clapping, champagne bottles popping, glasses filling. Natalie, laughing and crying, blows out the candles.Dr. Weyss calls the mariachis. They begin to play Las Ma;anitas. Guests join in, the atmosphere carnivallike. Everyone hugs, shouting: “Bravo! Bravo! Encore!” Dr. Weyss claps his hands. Soledad ties a black blindfold over Natalie’s eyes. A brightly colored pyramid pi;ata is suspended by a rope.
Dr. Weyss (nudging Natalie):
“Come on, baby, hit it! It’s your holiday!”

Blindfolded, Natalie strikes the pi;ata with a stick. The pyramid bursts open, spilling tiny multicolored skulls, sand, and small five;pointed chocolate stars wrapped in gold foil. Guests laugh and rush to collect tinsel and candy from the floor. Natalie removes her blindfold and watches as an eagle feather drifts slowly down, settling among the sand, skulls, and candy stars. The laughter fades, muffled and distant. The camera lingers on the floor: the feather rests quietly on the strange mixture.
Dr. Weyss, smiling, kisses the hand of Valentino’s wife Soledad, then takes Cortez aside and speaks in a low voice:
“Now you are almost a member of my family, so know this: I went into this madness for only one reason – to save my only daughter. My aunt, my younger sister, threw herself from the roof of the house on her 26th birthday. And it seemed as if the spirits themselves commanded it.
Natalie followed in her footsteps – fascinated by the same things: Aztecs, magical dances, belief in spirits. She and my sister are alike, like two drops of water. I dreaded the day when Natalie would turn 26, and I didn’t know how to prevent a terrible outcome. Then Paul’s offer appeared, and my wife and I seized it. We decided to stage this entire charade. Fortunately, Paul paid for everything. And you, Alex – you’re a great guy, what an actor you are! The main thing is that she stops seriously believing in all this nonsense about gods and spirits. Shock, and then laughter, self;irony – that’s what can help in such cases. This is my new methodology for treating obsessive;compulsive disorder. I’ve already tested it on many patients...”
Someone turns on the TV. A voice is heard:
“Let’s see what new horrors they will tell about us?”
Ashforth (grinning):
“They won’t say anything about you anymore. The actors of Theatre Until the Last Breath only perform once.”
Cut to Alejandro, watching the same TV show in his office. The voiceover announces:
“And now, the bombshell news with Gabriela Flores...”
Gabriela Flores appears on camera:
“The most extraordinary concert in history took place at one of the city’s garbage dumps – a concert by the scandalous rock band The Trash Sacks, led by Ernesto Torres and featuring legendary US singer Zola Jesus. According to Torres’ plan, the concert was to take place in complete media silence. Besides the technical staff and our film crew, the audience included only a few people: the main character of Ernesto Torres’ new book The Wife of Silence, a young woman with an unusual name, Inmuerta, local homeless people, and a pack of stray dogs. To the surprise of the few spectators, the performance was adorned with a stunning Fog Screen, onto which a strange architectural object was projected throughout the concert.”
Alejandro recognizes the projection on the Fog Screen – a house on a vacant lot. Shaken, Alejandro rushes into Diana’s room, only to find the light of a computer monitor glowing. On the screen: a bird flying into the sky, and words written on his late father’s drawing: “In memory of you.” The office is empty. No Victoria. No Louise. No Mumo. Only the wind blowing through deserted rooms...
Gabriela Flores (on TV):
“This event was marred by a horrific discovery: not far from the concert venue, local homeless people discovered the body of a middle;aged man. However, you will learn more about this unfortunate fact from the crime news.”
At the words “male body,” the guests fall silent, staring intently at the television screen.
Voiceover:
“Right during yesterday’s extremely unusual concert at the Bicentenario landfill, organized by the outrageous rock band The Trash Sacks, the body of an unknown man was discovered. A preliminary examination revealed a bullet hole in the frontal bone.”
On screen: a forensic laboratory – a metal table, lamps, equipment, folders with autopsy reports.
Forensic expert (hesitantly):
“Brain matter is missing from the cranium of a middle;aged man. Judging by the condition of the bone sutures and soft tissue, the decomposition process began at least three weeks ago. The nature of the damage to the frontal bone suggests a shot from a small;caliber rifle...”
He pauses, his voice trembling:
“However... instead of the remains of a brain, an eagle’s egg was found in the cranial cavity. And it’s alive.”
The lamp above the table flickers with a greenish light. The expert stares fearfully straight into the camera lens.
Narrator’s voiceover (on TV):
“So, to the great surprise of the specialists, instead of a brain, an eagle’s egg was found in the deceased’s head. A chick is about to hatch from it. To solve this mysterious story, investigators turned to scientists. Among them is Professor Severino Pomeloff;Fomula, a well;known expert on ancient mysteries. After all, holes in skulls are found not only in forensic science, but also in archaeological finds associated with human sacrifice among the ancient Aztecs. Perhaps the solution lies on the border between modern crime and ancient ritual.”
The camera pans slowly across the faces of the Weyss family’s guests – a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief. Voiceover continues:
“A red leg band for bird banding, serial number MONTANA L;0555, was also found on the deceased. No documents or mobile phone were recovered. The identity of the man is being established.”
The silence in the living room becomes almost palpable. Everyone present, surprised, looks at Paul Ashforth, then at Cortez. Ashforth and Cortez exchange questioning glances, then turn toward the others. Natalie, overwhelmed by horror, looks at her father – but unnoticed by the guests, she slips out of the living room. She runs quickly upstairs to her room, nervously rummages through the closet, and finds the orange handbag she once carried to the zoo with the book peddler Aglo. She thrusts her hand inside, feverishly running her fingers along the bottom until she feels a round metal object. Without removing her hand, she examines the number on the red ring: MONTANA L;0556. Natalie immediately dials the number. The response is cold, mechanical:
“El n;mero marcado no existe.” [ The number dialed does not exist
]
 Alejandro sits at his desk, staring at a small Aztec pyramid in his hand. From the TV screen comes the sound of a new hit by the rock band The Trash Sacks, performing with US singer Zola Jesus against a Fog Screen backdrop – a vibrating blueprint of a house on a vacant lot.
Quietly, Alejandro whispers to the pyramid:
“I urgently need to call Elisita, my girl... maybe she will explain everything to me...”
Suddenly, from beneath the pyramid, onto Alejandro’s deathly pale palm crawls a tiny homunculus wearing a bandana. In him, we recognize the musician Ernesto Torres. He pulls a miniature Colt revolver from his pocket, shoots himself in the temple, and collapses onto Alejandro’s palm, where a pool of blood spreads. The lamp on the desk flickers, and for a moment the room is plunged into a greenish twilight. On the TV screen in the background, The Trash Sacks continue their performance with Zola Jesus, the Fog Screen showing the house blueprint rotating and shifting from different angles. The camera zooms in on the TV screen – and now, in the singer, we recognize Marta, the client with white makeup who once visited Alejandro’s office and commissioned the design of the house on the vacant lot...

Song:

CITY N

Verse 1
City N, the lights don't die,
City N, fake days in the sky,
Neon burnin', ozone haze,
We're at the edge in a toxic blaze,
But we don't exist tonight.

Chorus
Tonight, tonight,
Nothin' feels right…
Hey you, Breezy!
Ride it, go crazy!
Luv me stupid!
Luv me ruded!
Luv me quirky!
Luv me dirty!
Luv me stupid!!
Luv me ruded!!
Love me quirky!!
Luv me dirty!!

Verse 2
City N, the last chord screams,
Final flight through broken dreams,
Empty sky, no soul to save,
We're at the edge of a neon grave,
But we don't exist no more.

Chorus (repeat)
Tonight, tonight,
Nothin' feels right…
Hey you, Breezy!
Ride it, go crazy!
Luv me stupid!
Luv me ruded!
Luv me quirky!
Luv me dirty!
Luv me stupid!!
Luv me ruded!!
Love me quirky!!
Luv me dirty!!

Bridge (noise break)
City N, burn it down!
City N, turn it round!
City N, last breath, last kiss!
City N, we don't exist!

Final Chorus (screamed)
Luv me stupid!
Luv me ruded!
Luv me quirky!
Luv me dirty!
Luv me stupid!!
Luv me ruded!!
Love me quirky!!
Luv me dirty!!