Las Vegas - 2022, Stewart Avenue About one year before reuniting with the Boy of Time.
Léo woke slowly.
The day was already well advanced. The sun filtered through the window, too high for the usual hour.
- Weird...
He sat up abruptly.
Normally, Maria woke them early. Always.
He gently shook the mute girl, now twelve years old.
She opened her eyes with difficulty, looking around in confusion.
- You're wondering why we weren't woken up? - Me too... this isn't normal.
She sniffed the air.
One moment.
Her azure-blue eyes widened.
She leaped out of bed and crossed the room at a speed Léo barely had time to register.
- Hey, wait! What's wrong?!
She violently flung open the door to Maria's bedroom.
Léo arrived right behind her.
The woman lay on her bed.
Peaceful. Motionless.
- Hey... Maria? - Why didn't you wake us?
Silence.
- Maria...?
He approached.
- Mom...?
Nothing.
- Wake up... this isn't funny...
His voice cracked.
- Mom... MOM!
The mute girl no longer needed to understand. She knew that smell. All too well. The smell of death.
Her eyes filled with tears. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if her heart might give way under the pain.
This woman had taken her in. Protected her. Loved her. Given her a home. A brother.
Maria lay there, her face surprisingly serene. As if relieved.
She had died happy, surrounded by the only family she had ever had: these children she had taken in without ever expecting anything in return.
Perhaps she had known. Perhaps she had felt that this night would be her last.
The two children burst into sobs.
- I'm sorry...
The voice of the girl, usually mute, broke the silence.
Léo turned, stunned.
- You... you spoke?
She was trembling.
- I'm sorry... - I'm sorry... - I'm sorry...
Her voice cracked as she repeated the words, over and over.
Léo reached out to comfort her.
She pushed his hand away.
Her blue eyes fixed on him. An immense sadness. A sadness he could not comprehend.
She fell to her knees.
- I'm sorry!
A heart-wrenching cry.
Léo pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her, wondering what this girl could have lived through for her pain to surpass even grief itself.
But every time she said the word sorry, she wasn't only thinking of Maria.
She was seeing every face. Every man she had killed during the evaluations of the Zéro Program. Every life taken coldly, without understanding, at eight years old, under the pretext of tests.
That morning, facing Maria's lifeless body, she finally understood.
The weight of a life. The one you lose. The ones you take.
The one they had called a born killer. The one capable of killing fifteen men in 0.08 seconds.
The little girl who had known only adults treating her like a weapon had only one thought in her mind.
Maria's last words. The ones she had whispered to her the day before, in the church, while stroking her silver hair, reading her a passage from the Bible:
"Thou shalt not kill."
The neighborhood soon learned of Maria's death. Her body was removed that morning, prepared for future funeral arrangements.
Everything happened quickly.
The funeral took place a few days later. It was simple. The church was almost empty. A few close neighbors, there more out of habit than conviction.
Two orphans sat in the front row. One silent. The other with clenched fists.
The young girl, after crying so much, had fallen back into mutism. Her gaze was empty, fixed straight ahead.
Léo, meanwhile, looked around. And he understood.
No distant family. No cousins. No sister. No brother. No one.
The pastor, accustomed to seeing Maria pray every Sunday, spoke a few words in her honor. He spoke of her kindness. Her devotion. Her open heart.
Sincere words, but insufficient.
It was too quiet a burial for a woman who had given so much.
At the end of the ceremony, the few people present came to greet the two children. Awkward words. Quick gestures. Then they left.
- What's going to happen to them? - You know... social services have already been notified. - It's not our problem. - Let's not get involved.
These exchanges repeated themselves. First in the church. Then in the neighborhood. Like a collective murmur to wash their hands of it.
In the days that followed, men came to empty the house.
- To settle the debts, they said.
They took the furniture. The belongings. The memories.
Léo got angry. Shouted sometimes. But he was powerless.
The girl remained there, head bowed, without uttering a word.
Perhaps she had spoken that morning because her pain had, for an instant, surpassed the trauma at the root of her mutism.
Léo watched her. He helplessly observed that her immense grief did not ease.
A car stopped in front of the house. Clean. Too expensive for Stewart Avenue.
Curtains closed instantly. Doors locked.
The neighborhood knew how to recognize this kind of visitors.
A man stepped out of the vehicle. Impeccable suit. Expensive watch. Empty gaze.
- So... - This whore is dead.
He observed the emptied house.
- This won't do at all. - She was far from having repaid me.
Léo, exhausted, stood in front of the door. A stick in his hand.
- Don't come any closer, he said.
A second man got out, more massive.
- These are her kids? asked the first.
- No. - Just orphans she took in.
- True... - We sterilize them all anyway, so no accidents with the clientele.
He then fixed his eyes on Léo.
- You know the woman who lived here owed me a lot of money, kid.
- Don't come any closer, Léo repeated, his voice on the verge of tears.
The mafioso looked around.
Then he saw her.
The little girl with silver hair, curled up against the wall. Arms around her knees. Head buried. Silent.
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- Tch... too young, he sighed.
He turned his attention back to Léo and took a step closer.
- I like your look, kid. - How would you like to deliver a few packages for me?
At that moment-
The little girl slightly lifted her head. Just barely.
Her azure-blue eyes appeared, for a brief instant, between her arms.
A shiver ran through the men. Not conscious fear. No reason. Just something older. The gut tightening. The neck hairs standing on end. A silent, visceral signal screaming one thing:
predator.
The henchman stepped back half a pace without realizing it.
The mafioso frowned slightly.
Then-
The little girl immediately buried her head back in her arms. As if nothing had happened.
The unease evaporated almost instantly.
The mafioso cleared his throat.
- Think about it carefully, he said to Léo, regaining composure. - Kids like you always end up choosing.
He turned away. The door slammed. The car slowly pulled away.
And the neighborhood breathed again.
Léo remained alone, the stick still gripped in his hand.
Social services were slow to arrive. It wasn't malice. Just the reality of a big city like Las Vegas.
Tragedies happened every day. Every morning, a new file. Every evening, a new broken story.
A sketchy neighborhood. A worthless house. Two more orphans.
Even with all the good will in the world, it was just one more file on a table among many.
The mafiosi, however, were far more responsive.
Months passed.
Every day, Léo brought back food. He watched over the one he considered his little sister.
She almost never went out anymore. Remained curled up, silent, absent.
Léo had that sad, helpless look, without understanding what kept her locked in this mutism.
He didn't know.
He didn't know that she had never possessed anything. That the only true gift of her life-a home, a family-had just vanished.
The first pains are always the hardest to overcome.
One evening, Léo came back with food. But this time, he was injured.
The little girl approached, gently tugged on his sleeve. Then pointed at his face, worried.
- Oh... don't worry. - It's nothing. Eat.
He smiled. Acted as if nothing had happened.
But she knew him better than he thought.
She twisted her mouth, skeptical, then ate the beef bricks he had brought back.
That evening, her azure-blue eyes remained fixed on him, attentive to every word.
At night, Léo often went out.
But that evening, he was followed. He never knew it.
He entered through the back of a large Las Vegas casino. A place where a fifteen-year-old kid had no business being.
The door closed behind him.
A few minutes later, it opened again.
Léo came out with a group of adults.
On the road, they stopped in a neighboring district. A territory controlled by another gang.
Scarves were pulled up. Voices hardened.
- So, we're not paying our bills anymore? - What game are you playing? - We're allies, damn it! - I'm only allied with those who pay their debts.
A man adjusted his blazer, stepped forward, and tossed:
- Yeah, yeah... here.
A wad of bills.
Léo took it, counted quickly.
- You fucking kidding me? - Barely enough for last month's rent. - Tch... - You can wait, right?
Léo turned as if to leave.
- Ok...
Then he spun back abruptly.
The butt of the gun struck without warning. The man's nose exploded with a dry crack.
Léo immediately aimed at him.
- And now, do I look like I have time, asshole?
- Fuck... he broke my nose!
Léo raised his eyes toward another man.
- Go on. Give it to them.
The accomplice grumbled, grabbed a bag, and handed it to the group.
Léo opened it. Checked the contents.
Then looked at the man on the ground, holding his bloodied face.
- Pleasure doing business with you, guys. - You have Don Javier regards.
He turned to his two companions.
- Let's get out of here.
They nodded.
And left the scene.
In the distance, perched on a rooftop. Silver hair waved in the night wind. Azure-blue eyes gleamed under the moon.
Silent. Motionless.
She had seen everything.
Léo was fifteen. Already five foot seven. Slim, athletic. Mixed race, curly hair, dark gaze.
Despite the misery, he was handsome. Handsome for this neighborhood.
A few poorly healed cuts gave him that bad-boy look that drew eyes. The girls noticed him. He paid no attention.
He was serious. Almost cold on the surface. In reality, gentle as a lamb.
But only one mute orphan, whom he treated like a sister, knew that.
As a child, he wanted to be a superhero. The street clearly had other plans for him.
Back at the casino, he climbed the steps with his group. Polished marble. Expensive chandeliers. A world that smelled neither of sweat nor fear-only money.
Scantily clad women openly stared at him. Some smiled. Others whispered.
Léo passed without a glance.
He opened the door to the smoking room.
A cloud of smoke. Gross laughter. Clinking glasses.
- Hahaha! - What are you bringing me now, kid?
The overweight man was sprawled in an armchair, surrounded by women like decorative objects.
- I completed the mission, Léo replied curtly.
He averted his eyes.
- So? - How did it go?
A man removed his balaclava.
- The kid knows how to handle himself.
The fat mafioso smiled.
- Look at that...
He leaned forward.
- So, Léo... - Did you kill them?
- I don't kill.
Silence.
A brief instant.
Then a cackle.
- Bahahahaha...
Another burst out laughing.
- Damn... that's a good one.
- They all say that, kid, said an accomplice.
He stepped closer.
- Here, it's real life.
He approached one step.
- If you don't kill them... - they'll kill you.
Léo remained motionless. Gaze straight.
- I don't kill, he repeated.
A heavier silence settled.
The mafioso raised his hand.
- Whatever. - You brought back the money, that's all that matters.
He smiled.
- The boss will be proud of you. - And in the end... didn't even need to sell your sister.
That sentence.
Léo tensed. His fingers tightened on the gun they had given him.
Instantly, every weapon came out.
Metallic clicks. Barrels aimed.
A perfect circle.
No one shouted. No one moved.
The mafioso watched the scene with amusement.
- Gotta admit... - you've got balls, kid.
He turned to another man, looking bored.
- The thigh.
The shot rang out. Sharp. Precise.
- FUCK!
Léo collapsed to his knees, holding back a scream, jaw clenched.
Blood was already flowing.
Laughter resumed.
- Gotta learn your place, said the mafioso calmly. - Courage is good. - Obedience is better.
He stood up.
- Clean him up and throw him out.
Two men roughly lifted him.
- Come on, hero... - go home.
That night, Léo returned limping.
Léo dragged his leg with difficulty. Each step drew a grimace, but he kept moving. Straight. Determined.
Then he saw her.
Hanging from a lamppost, feet slowly swinging in the void.
He raised his head.
She was there. Silent.
A disinterested gaze... but laden with obvious disappointment.
- What are you doing here? - It's dangerous, come down.
She jumped.
A fluid, almost graceful acrobatics, before landing in front of him.
She pointed at his leg.
- I fell... Léo replied.
Slap.
The slap rang out.
- Ow! Fuck!
- I'm telling you I fell!
Her eyes filled with tears. Her face twisted.
Slap.
A second slap.
Then she took him in her arms. Hard.
As if, at that precise moment, she had just understood she could lose him too.
She pulled away abruptly... and started walking toward the casino.
- Hey! Hey! - Where are you going?!
He tried to hold her back.
- Wait... - Seriously, these guys don't mess around! - STOP!
He stumbled.
She continued.
The casino door flew open backward.
Silence fell.
- Fuck, what's the guard doing? - What's a minor doing here?
Léo entered limping, leg bleeding.
He vaguely noticed an unconscious guard near the entrance.
No time to think.
- Calm down, he said quickly. - She's my sister. - We're leaving quietly, okay? No trouble.
He leaned toward her, whispered:
- Calm down... - You're really going to get us in trouble.
In the smoking room, the mafioso narrowed his eyes.
He recognized Léo.
The girl grabbed her brother's injured leg.
- Ow! Fuck!
She pointed at Léo, then at the mafiosi, with a questioning look. Almost childlike.
What is this?
- Get this out of here... sighed the mafioso.
A huge man stepped forward. A walking wardrobe.
He interposed himself.
Then...
He didn't move anymore.
- We don't have all night, hurry up.
Silence.
- Hey!
The man collapsed, KO.
Léo froze.
Then she disappeared.
Not teleportation. A movement too fast to be perceived.
A billiard ball shot out and smashed against a mafioso's temple.
No one had seen the blow coming.
- Shit!
- Draw your weapons!
Women screamed.
Panic erupted.
A girl with azure-blue eyes stared at the luxurious balcony.
Léo, in shock, understood nothing anymore.
And then...
Something swept through the room.
An ancient shiver. Wild.
An instinctive warning.
As if the natural predator of humanity had just entered the room.
Gunfire erupted.
A table flew and positioned itself in front of Léo, shielding him.
Bullets lost their trajectory.
The mafiosi fell, one by one.
Knocked out. Neutralized.
No lethal shots.
Wrists. Thighs. Shoulders.
A man grabbed a decorative sword in desperate reflex.
He lost his hand before he even understood.
The sword was already in the little girl's hand.
The decorations shattered. Glass broke.
And Léo saw her.
Mute. Silver hair. Dancing in the chaos.
The moon reflected in her strands as she seemed to walk on shards of glass still falling.
Magnificent. Terrifying.
Bullets whistled. She dodged them as if she already knew where they would pass.
To the human eye, bodies seemed to dislocate, as if limbs exploded on their own.
It was two in the morning.
Scotland - same instant, 10 a.m.
- Tell me, Professor... - What is the true power of knowledge?
- Good morning, Zoé. - It's a vast question... can you be more specific?
- I heard about a movie, Lucy. - Where the heroine unlocks 100% of her cognitive abilities.
The professor smiled gently.
- That movie is scientific heresy, Zoé. - But it asks a good question.
Las Vegas
Blood drew spirals on the walls.
The mafia boss, terrified, screamed:
- Shoot! Shoot, damn it!
He had lost a hand.
Scotland
- The human brain is not limited to 10%, explained the professor. - It functions constantly, but in a specialized way.
Zoé listened attentively.
- However, an extreme increase in neural connectivity... - would allow abnormal adaptive capacities.
Las Vegas
Everyone was on the ground. Moaning. Alive.
No deaths.
Scotland
- That would allow millions of unconscious calculations per second. - Anticipate. - Adapt. - Optimize every movement.
- Like... seeing the future? asked Zoé.
- No. - But predicting it with near-perfect probability.
Las Vegas
Silence fell again. Bodies lay everywhere.
Léo trembled.
Scotland
- Such a mind would stand at the top of the food chain, concluded the professor. - Not through strength... - But through understanding.
Zoé nodded.
- I see. - Fascinating.
Zoé remained silent for a few seconds.
Then, in a calm, almost innocent voice:
- Professor... - And if such a being faced someone capable of mastering space itself?
The professor frowned slightly.
- Mastery of space... he repeated slowly. - Spatial distortions, compression, dilation, rupture of distances... - At that level, we're talking cataclysmic events.
He paused.
- Against that, even a hyper-adaptive intelligence would have a clear disadvantage. - If space bends, if physical laws change locally, there is no longer any stable ground to analyze.
Zoé nodded gently.
- But...
The professor continued, thoughtful:
- A being capable of anticipating every variable... - recalculating constantly... - adapting strategies instantly...
He sighed.
- Might perhaps avoid the distortion before it exists. - Or force the other to make a mistake. - Even a tiny one.
He remained silent for a long moment.
Then admitted, honestly:
- I don't know, Zoé. - At that level... - it's no longer science.
Zoé sketched a slight smile.
- I understand.
In the hallway, the bell rang.
And somewhere, thousands of miles away, the blood had stopped flowing.
But the consequences, they were only beginning.
- "Good evening everyone. We interrupt our programming for a breaking news story from Las Vegas."
The presenter paused, visibly shaken.
- "A violent gang-related shootout reportedly broke out tonight in a casino on Stewart Avenue. Law enforcement describes the scene as... unprecedented."
Blurry images flashed on screen: flashing lights, stretchers, bloodied silhouettes.
- "The toll is, to say the least... baffling. More than sixty seriously injured reported, some in critical condition..."
He swallowed.
- "But... no deaths. I repeat: no fatalities have been confirmed."
A murmur ran through the studio.
- "Authorities describe extreme violence, yet non-lethal. A situation doctors are calling 'incomprehensible'."
The screen briefly showed a police statement, then returned to the presenter.
- "As of now, no arrests have been made."
The television suddenly turned off.
In a dark room, a massive man, impeccably suited, cigar in hand, remained silent for a few seconds.
- The cameras, said Don Javier in a low voice. - What did they capture?
The subordinate hesitated.
- Nothing, boss. - All neutralized during the assault. - Internal system, servers, backups... everything went down.
A heavy silence settled.
- Nothing? repeated Don Javier.
- Well... almost nothing.
The subordinate swallowed nervously.
- A secondary camera. - Just one. - It captured... one image.
He placed a tablet on the table.
The screen showed a young girl, face raised toward the lens. Silver hair. Azure-blue eyes. A calm smile. Almost mocking.
She slowly raised her hand... and gave the camera the middle finger.
Don Javier froze.
- She also... blew on the lens, boss. - Like saying... I'm waiting for you.
The boss crushed his cigar.
- Find her.