Absolute darkness wrapped around him like a cloak. Everything was ready—the car was loaded with explosives. He got in, started the engine, then accelerated rapidly. As his speed increased, the buildings blurred more and more. A massive structure loomed ahead of him. He wedged a cinder block against the accelerator pedal, opened the door, and jumped just before the car smashed through the barrier.
​
His body rolled like a sack of sand hurled at high speed against the asphalt. His gear spared him serious injury, though the impact was painful. The car continued on its path until it slammed into a large oxidized copper gate, shattering it. He took cover behind a low concrete wall as an explosion inside the building sent debris raining down around him.
Springing back to his feet, he startled a group of gendarmes guarding the entrance, stunned by the blast. He ignored them and sprinted toward the smashed doorway. Inside, the upper floor had collapsed. He made a powerful leap to reach a corridor above, vaulting over the rubble. A staircase spiraled around a vast inner courtyard. Several men were running to investigate the source of the explosion.
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Despite the element of surprise, he headed straight for his target without deviation. An antechamber stood at the end of a corridor; beyond it was a staff officer. His official role was to administer the sector, but his true value lay in his connection to someone far more important. The antechamber was guarded by gendarmes, likely on high alert. He placed a small block of explosives against the door and detonated it from cover.
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Inside, three gendarmes were thrown to the ground by the blast. He ignored them. The private quarters lay just beyond. Taking no chances, he tossed a flash grenade into the room, then charged in. The man was alone, curled up and shaking violently. He knocked him out with a blow from the flat of his axe and hoisted him onto his shoulder.
​
He jumped from the window, landing below the building. A motorcycle stood against the wall; he laid the unconscious body across it, mounted the bike, started it, and sped off.
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As she descended the floors and crossed the vast library from end to end, curious gazes were discreet yet heavy. She felt herself blushing deeply. Two gendarmes in exo-armor flanked her. They escorted her to the parking area where a car was waiting. She got into the back seat; there were no other passengers. The two men sat in front. The drive passed in silence.
Leda watched the buildings slide past with growing apprehension. She looked at the pedestrians with envy—they had a freedom she no longer possessed. A gray sky, heralding fresh snowfall, contrasted with the darkness inside the armored vehicle. It plunged into a tunnel, and she already missed those melancholy skies.
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The vehicle parked in a vast underground garage. The two officers exited in unison, handcuffed her, and guided her through the immense, dimly lit emptiness. An elevator took them to a higher floor. She saw the sky again as they ascended the crystal tower at speed. The city stretched beyond the horizon as far as the eye could see. Toward the interior of the skyscraper were courtyards and indoor gardens, an impressive number of offices, but very few people to occupy them.
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They reached their destination. The gendarmes tied her to a piece of furniture and went to speak with the receptionist. After several minutes, they untied her; her aching wrists welcomed the relief. A middle-aged man greeted her politely and gestured for her to follow him.
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Suddenly, the sound of an explosion startled her. She covered her ears as a cacophony of multiple detonations erupted. Despite this, she began to tremble with fear and shock. The floor shook violently, each jolt stronger than the last. The man tried to pull her toward him, but she resisted. He let go, and she collapsed to the ground.
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When she looked around, the man who had been accompanying her lay motionless on the floor, eyes vacant, a blood-soaked hole in his chest. She took his badge, opened the door, and fled the way she had come. Upon reaching the reception area, she froze.
The two gendarmes lay on the floor, a gaping void where their heads should have been. The cream-colored carpet had turned a vivid scarlet. A figure stood between her and the elevator. He had not yet noticed her—he was crouched, focused on manipulating a device she did not recognize. Then he turned to face her.
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It was a man wearing a strange mask. He raised his weapon toward her. She closed her eyes. She could feel his finger sliding along the trigger. But nothing happened. When she opened her eyes again, the man threw the bag he had been handling into the shaft where the elevator should have been.
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He began counting aloud:
“Ten meters… twenty meters… thirty meters…”
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He flipped a switch, and a deafening blast shattered every window. The tower began to tilt sharply to one side, then sway toward the other. The man quickened his pace toward her, hoisted her over his shoulder, and ran in the opposite direction.
A section of the skyscraper tore open, revealing rubble and the void below. He made an enormous leap to clear it just before the roof collapsed behind them. They were now suspended in midair. Avoiding steel pillars twisting under their own weight, the masked man leapt from one section of building to another as the entire structure gave way beneath them.
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He finally hurled himself into the yawning abyss. Wind screamed in his ears as their fall accelerated. The building collapsed beneath them in a thunderous roar. The man deployed his parachute, and a violent force yanked her upward, as if gravity were a giant elastic band snapping back after being stretched to its limit.
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Leda spoke: “I’m not sure whether to thank you or curse you. What is your name?” “I don’t have one,” the man replied curtly.
He navigated between the buildings until they reached the ground. He dropped her, detached himself from his gear, and fled. She ran after him, calling out:
“Can I come with you? After what just happened, I have nowhere to go.”
He quickened his pace to lose her. She continued, breathless:
“I can help you. I’m not alone—we’re a group fighting the current government. I won’t be a burden.”
The man did not answer and continued toward a sewer entrance. He climbed down, and she followed close behind. Both were swallowed by darkness.
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Only a beam of light testified to the existence of an underground world. He examined the street names at a tunnel intersection. He was close.
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“Wait for me!” she called, out of breath.
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When he finally arrived, he pulled the generator lever, and light flooded the room like a club delivering a sudden, crushing blow. After several minutes squinting, he removed a document from his backpack. These were the belongings recovered from the body. There was an envelope, which he opened carefully. Inside was a letter. He unfolded it and read:
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“To you who read this letter, know that in these final moments my thoughts are with you. You have been my companion through the misfortune of these troubled times. Despite the circumstances, you always knew how to watch over me, offering the tenderness of intimacy without the need for words. When you read this, you will already know my fate. You must curse me for the decision I have made. Nevertheless, I want you to understand what drives me to put an end to all this.
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During our last meeting, I told you about my resistance to the new antidepressants. Although my mental state plays a major role, the true cause of my actions lies elsewhere. I would never have betrayed you in this way otherwise. Your presence alone is reason enough to continue the fight.
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Operation Shooting Star—this is what compels me to act. I discovered the truth. All those young people we escort to the Montparnasse Tower are not sent into orbit to colonize new planets. Their minds are extracted from their bodies to provide the artificial intelligence of our interstellar vessels with capabilities still undeveloped by synthetic intelligences. Under the yoke of the AI, they are imprisoned within steel hulls, drifting through the void for centuries to come.
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I am unable to continue following orders. My conscience is too heavy to remain idle. You know as well as I do that there is no way to stop this. Our relationship will not remain secret forever either. If we are discovered, it will be the firing squad. The thought of harming you through my selfishness repulses me. You have carried my emotional and affective burden for too long. By taking my own life, I can finally do what I cannot while living: watch over your well-being in return.
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Know that your love accompanies me and guides me where I am going.”
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The man removed his mask, drew the pistol from his left side, disengaged the safety, and placed it inside his mouth. A gunshot echoed off the walls of the room. Blood ran down his cheek, torn open by the bullet’s impact.
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“What are you doing?!” Leda cried, the pistol now in her hands.
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The pain of the impact brought him back to clarity. The young woman had stopped him in time.
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“Don’t move,” she said. She threw the gun away, then applied a coagulating gel to stop the bleeding. Tears flowed silently down the man’s face.