Chapter 4

  "The Devil"

  It has now been a year since the largest information leak in the history of the United States of America took place. The world is slowly recovering from the recent events. But one thing is certain: trust has never returned.

  Tchhhp.

  — Protests remain massive across the globe. — Governments call for calm, but the proliferation of rumors and conspiracy theories only worsens the situation.

  Images of crowds. Banners. Exhausted faces.

  Tchhhp.

  — No, let me tell you, Ms. Leclerc... — Such an outcome has never happened in modern history. — Look at the state of the world! — The rich have never been richer, — and global precarity has never been higher!

  — Mr. Bront?, — you can't blame institutions for every evil. — The rise of technology has created a generation of dependents! — Everyone wants to consume, but no one wants to work anymore!

  — You're changing the subject! — The powerful know exactly what's going on. — They just think the people will never revolt!

  He leans toward the camera. — I'm telling you. — This group... NoName. — I support them 100%.

  Tense silence on the set. — It's time to kick the anthill.

  Tchhhp.

  — Look at the state of the world today. — Ecological disasters are piling up.

  Satellite images. Forests on fire. Coasts swallowed.

  — Mysterious wildfires. — Off-season hurricanes. — Unexplained earthquakes.

  — And yet, governments keep calling them mere "natural disasters."

  A journalist lowers his voice. — They're running experiments, it's obvious. — Remember the Project Zero scandal. — They're still hiding things from us.

  — For sure.

  Tchhhp.

  — Markets remain extremely unstable. — Several currencies have been partially devalued following massive leaks of financial documents. — Banks have closed. — Others have been nationalized.

  Tchhhp.

  — A new phenomenon is worrying authorities: — the proliferation of anonymous groups claiming affiliation with NoName.

  Images of graffiti. Masks. Slogans.

  "NO NAME WAS RIGHT" "TRUTH > ORDER"

  — The movement is now labeled ideological. — Some even speak of global radicalization.

  Tchhhp.

  — Intelligence services admit they're overwhelmed. — Trust between nations has never been so fragile. — A new Cold War? — Or something worse?

  —

  — Léo? — Stop playing with the TV, sweetie.

  Léo turned off the screen. Silence fell back over the room. He looked at the azure-eyed girl sitting beside him. Still silent. Still attentive. He waved at her. She nodded. And went to join the woman.

  Outside, the world kept trembling. But here... for now... they were still safe.

  — Maria! Maria! — Is dinner ready? Léo shouted from the hallway.

  — Ugh... — It's almost ready, kids, be patient!

  Maria crouched down in front of him. — You know what we said, Léo.

  He rolled his eyes with theatrical exaggeration. — Yeah... — Patience is the greatest virtue...

  — Exactly, she replied with a tired but sincere smile. — Now go.

  The silent little girl, sitting nearby, watched the scene. Her gaze was neutral, but attentive. As if she were recording every detail.

  Léo took her hand without thinking. — Come on. — Let's play.

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. They ran outside.

  The neighborhood was rundown, yes. Peeling facades. Windows patched with cardboard. But alive.

  They ran between the buildings as if they knew every nook by heart. Léo jumped over rusty barriers. The girl imitated him, clumsy at first... then more and more agile.

  — Watch out! Léo shouted, laughing.

  She tripped, then burst out laughing. A silent laugh. Shoulders shaking. Eyes shining.

  They hid behind an abandoned car. — Shh... — We're spies, Léo whispered.

  She put a finger to her lips, exaggerating the gesture. He almost burst out laughing.

  Farther away, neighbors watched them. — Running around again, you two? a man called from his balcony.

  Léo gave a thumbs-up. — It's for training!

  — Training for what?

  He thought for a second. — To save the world!

  The neighbors laughed. No one mocked them. They were used to it. Here, kids played. And everyone watched over them.

  They sat on the steps of a staircase. Léo pulled a stack of crumpled comics from under his shirt. — Look, he said proudly. — I swiped them from the corner shop.

  He whispered: — Well... swiped... — Let's say borrowed without asking.

  He flipped the pages excitedly. — See this one? — One day, I'll be like him.

  He pointed to a masked hero. — A real superhero.

  He looked at her. — And you... — You'll be my sidekick.

  He smiled, then added more softly: — But seriously... — Sometimes you do impressive stuff.

  She didn't respond. But her smile widened. Her eyes filled with stars. Dreams she had never truly had. Promises she couldn't yet name.

  A little farther away, Maria watched them. From afar. Without interfering. She saw them run, laugh, invent stories. She thought, despite herself, that they looked like a family.

  In this poor neighborhood, amid everything that was missing, something still existed. A home. A fragile balance. And for now... it was enough.

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  Léo looked at her. He had stopped smiling. Just for a moment. — Hey... — Why don't you have a name?

  The little girl stared at him for a long time. Then shook her head. I don't know.

  — Then why don't you want Maria to give you one?

  She hesitated. Then pointed at Léo. She picked up a small stick lying there, on the tin roof still warm from the day. In the dust, slowly, she wrote: Léo Then pointed to herself. And shook her head. No. A sad smile formed on her face. When she looked up, Léo saw them shine. That special azure blue caught the moonlight. With her silver hair, bathed in the nocturnal glow, she seemed not to belong to the same world. It was beautiful. But terribly lonely.

  She hadn't said anything. He didn't know what she was thinking. He didn't even know what she truly felt. But something tightened in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes.

  —

  — Dinner! Maria called from inside.

  Léo jumped. He quickly wiped his eyes. — Coming!

  He stood, held out his hand. She took it.

  —

  Inside, the table was simple. A hot dish in the center. Mismatched plates. But it smelled good.

  Maria set the bowls in front of them. — So? — Been up to mischief again?

  — No! Léo answered too quickly. — Well... not much.

  Maria raised an eyebrow. Then smiled.

  The girl observed everything. The gestures. The voices. The steam rising from the meal. She tasted it. Her eyes widened slightly. It was warm. It was simple. It was good.

  Léo looked at her. — See? — This is what a home is.

  She didn't respond. But she smiled. And for that night, the world could wait.

  In another part of the world... Scotland

  The regular creak of a wheelchair echoed softly down the gravel path. — William... let's stop here.

  The wheelchair halted. The man everyone called William Campbell stopped immediately. He placed his hands on the handles, straight, silent.

  In the wheelchair, a girl about ten years old. Wavy black hair, tied carelessly. Eyes closed, hiding a gaze turned toward a world she could no longer see. Blind. And unable to walk without assistance.

  — How are you feeling today, Mr. Duncan? she asked with almost excessive politeness.

  The old man smiled. A sincere smile. Tired, but warm. — And you, my dear? — What did you do today?

  — I studied, she replied softly. — Thank you again for letting me go to school despite my blindness.

  — It's nothing, Zoé, he answered naturally. — It's the least I can do.

  She turned her head slightly toward him. — I insist.

  The old man chuckled softly. What a good girl, he thought.

  The Duncan estate stretched over several hectares. A large gray stone manor, ancient, carefully maintained. A place out of time.

  Thanks to his fortune, Mr. Duncan had conducted a discreet investigation. Not official. Not dangerous. Enough to find a name. Zoé Kovàcs. A Hungarian name. A hazy past. But a name, at last.

  He knew no more. No trace of a program. No mention of Zero. Nothing. And perhaps that was for the best.

  Later in the day, Zoé sat by the window, a Braille book on her lap. — William? she asked. — Yes, Miss Zoé? — Could you read the next passage for me?

  He complied. His voice was steady. Calm. Reassuring. — "The stars do not light the path... — but they remind us that it exists."

  Zoé smiled. — You read well. — Thank you.

  He paused. — You worked hard today. — Your breathing is more stable.

  — Thanks to your care, she replied simply.

  That evening, Mr. Duncan watched the scene from the doorway. Zoé listened. William read. They almost looked... like a family.

  — William, he finally said. — Are you sure her pain won't worsen?

  The nameless man looked up. — I'll make sure it doesn't, he replied calmly.

  And for once... it wasn't a lie.

  That night, Zoé fell asleep peacefully. No nightmares. No visions. No black holes. Just a child. In a grand Scottish manor. Protected by a kind old man and a doctor... who wasn't really one. But who, strangely, had saved the girl's life with skills worthy of the greatest surgeons of our time.

  The next morning, Zoé tried to reach her wheelchair alone. Her movements were slow. Precise. Calculated.

  William, a few steps away, rushed instinctively. — Let me help—

  — Let me.

  Her voice was firm. Without anger. Without fear.

  He stopped dead. Zoé felt the space in front of her... then slightly corrected her path. She reached the wheelchair. Without hesitation. Without error.

  No blind person unable to walk could have done that. Not without help. Not without sound cues.

  But she... She wasn't completely blind. She knew it. She remembered everything. She knew she was the survivor of two tragedies. And above all, she perceived the world differently. Not through sound. Not through light. But through space itself.

  Once seated, breathless, she raised her head slightly. — William... — Let's go outside.

  He obeyed. Impressed.

  The garden was vast. Meticulously maintained. A haven of greenery she could not see. But she felt every contour.

  She asked to go up to the hill. William pushed the wheelchair without question.

  At the top. Far from prying eyes. Far from the house. Far from any eavesdroppers.

  Zoé spoke. — Thank you, William. — For all your services.

  Her voice was steady. — You know... — In my short life, I haven't had much luck.

  He remained silent. — Many adults have taken advantage of my na?veté. — Of my apparent weakness.

  She turned her head slightly toward him. — That's why I sincerely thank you. — For the care you show me.

  — It's nothing, miss, he replied softly. — It pleases me.

  A silence. Then Zoé added, without changing tone: — It's also why... — I know how to spot liars.

  William froze. The wheelchair spun abruptly. Zoé held a gun. Pointed straight at him. She barely trembled.

  William hadn't seen it coming. Held at gunpoint... by a blind girl unable to walk. A perfect paradox.

  —

  To get the gun, she had crawled to the armory. Discreetly. Without help. Without being seen. It wasn't just difficult. It was a feat.

  —

  Zoé breathed deeply. — So now, William... — you're going to tell me who you really are.

  The wind blew softly over the hill. And for the first time in a long while, the nameless man was no longer the one in control.

  Intrigued, he replied calmly: — Come now, miss... calm down.

  — Don't take me for an idiot, William, she answered icily.

  The nameless man fell silent. For a moment. Then he simply asked: — How did you know?

  Zoé inhaled slowly. — If I'd kept my sight, you would have fooled me. — But losing it allowed me to see differently.

  She clenched her teeth. — I feel my surroundings. — Every existing element. — I know exactly where everything is in this manor.

  A trembling breath. — I know every movement. — And what I can tell you is that you disappear too often for a simple doctor.

  He didn't respond. — I've suspected you for a long time, she continued. — But only your movements were strange... until two days ago.

  She raised her head slightly. — You didn't move elsewhere. — No. — You vanished.

  A heavy silence. — For five minutes. — You weren't undetectable. — You had ceased to exist.

  Her voice grew harder. — I've seen enough abnormal phenomena to understand one thing: — you're not a normal human.

  He smiled faintly. — I see.

  Then, sharply: — Very well. Shoot.

  — No. — Tell me who you are.

  He took a step toward her. — Don't come closer!

  She pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing.

  She frowned. The magazine was full. She knew it. — What... ? — No...

  He kept advancing. She pulled again. Click. Click. Click.

  Zoé panicked. Her finger trembled on the trigger. He snatched the gun with one hand. Then, with unhealthy calm, he pressed the barrel to his own temple. — Watch.

  Click. He aimed at the sky. BANG.

  Zoé jumped, terrified by the blast. He pressed it back to his temple. — Click.

  Again at the sky. BANG.

  She screamed. — Do you understand now?

  Zoé trembled. Blind. Helpless.

  At the same moment, in a church in the United States...

  Maria was praying. Léo was beside her. The silent girl watched the scene. She pointed to an image of the devil. Then looked at Maria, questioning.

  Maria murmured: — That man... he's the Devil.

  The nameless man grabbed Zoé with one hand. He lifted her by the head, to eye level. Slowly. Her body left the wheelchair.

  —

  — He was banished from paradise, Maria continued, — but what people often forget... — is that he was originally the most beautiful of angels.

  —

  He released her. Zoé collapsed to the ground. Then...

  She opened her eyes. She could see. It was a miracle.

  Before her, the man in the impeccable suit smiled. She spotted the gun's butt on the ground. She grabbed it. Struck. With all her strength.

  Then she stood. And ran. That too was a miracle.

  —

  — But even as the most beautiful of angels, Maria continued, coughing, — his heart, if he had one... — was of unfathomable darkness.

  —

  Zoé stumbled in a field of flowers. They were magnificent. Then blurry. Increasingly blurry. Her sight faded. Her legs gave out. She cried, terrified.

  —

  — He knows the desires of men, Maria murmured. Her voice trembled slightly. — And every gift he gives... She put a hand to her mouth. — ...is a poisoned gift—

  Cough. Cough. Her breathing cut off. A dry, brutal cough.

  Léo turned to her, worried. — Maria...?

  The nameless man approached. Brought the wheelchair. Knelt before her. Took her trembling hand. — I'm sure you still need me.

  His voice was gentle. — So... — do you accept a truce?

  Zoé sobbed. Broken. — Yes...

  Maria caught her breath. The cough faded slowly, like a retreating wave. She placed her hand on the silent girl's head, gently running her fingers through her silver hair. — But you know... she murmured, — the devil always underestimates humans.

  The girl looked up. — Some hearts are pure, Maria continued in a weak but steady voice. — They cannot be corrupted. — No matter what.

  She smiled, despite the fatigue. — Because what doesn't kill us... — makes us stronger.

  The girl's eyes shone. Not with innocence. Not with na?veté. With understanding.

  The night before Mr. Duncan was alone in his office. A letter lay on his massive oak desk. Arrived without a stamp. Signed Zoé. He opened it. And read. Then his hands began to tremble. His breath caught. Tears welled in his eyes.

  —

  "Mr. Duncan, I want to tell you my story."

  —

  He understood immediately.

  The present The nameless man suddenly felt something deeply abnormal. Space... contracted. A spike shot from the ground. Clean. Violent. It pierced him through.

  — You little—

  He stopped, stunned. Zoé. She hadn't screamed. She hadn't trembled. She had manipulated space. Generated a structure where there was nothing.

  Then the sound of rotor blades tore the air. A helicopter. Then another. Ropes. Silhouettes. An army encircled the estate.

  — One more move, Mr. Duncan's voice declared over a loudspeaker, — and you'll end up like Swiss cheese.

  The nameless man tried to act. His hands rose. But they were seized. A dark, dense, heavy matter wrapped around his arms. It gained volume. Weight. A ton. Then two.

  He understood. It wasn't an external weapon. It was her power.

  — Damn it! he cried, trapped.

  Rage surged. Devastating rage. He could have razed everything. Massacred the soldiers. Imploded the hill. But one thought stopped him. A miscalculation... and a black hole would form in Scotland. He knew it. And he knew something else. This ten-year-old girl, survivor of two tragedies, was ready to endure a third. Without hesitation. Without fear.

  He looked up at Zoé. Blind. Motionless. Determined. He smiled. A sincere smile. Fascinated. — Checkmate...

  What he had before him was not a broken child. But a born survivor.

  Back to the letter Mr. Duncan reread the first lines, throat tight. "I am the girl you took in a year ago. The one your personal doctor 'healed.' If I fail, I will die. But I had to tell you the truth. About a certain program... Project Zero."

  Tears flowed freely. When he looked up, soldiers were taking the nameless man away, paralyzed by space, weight, strategy. He was alive. But neutralized. Removed. For a time.

  Count Duncan, with his political and industrial connections, acted without delay. When he fully grasped the real danger of the subjects from Project Zero, he sought neither debate nor public justification. Measures were immediate. The nameless man was transferred to a secret prison whose very existence appeared on no map. An ultra-secure facility, buried beyond reach of nations, under constant surveillance. No trial. No official statement. Just removal. Simple. Radical. Unknown technologies neutralized any attempt to use abilities. Space there was stable. Time immutable. That's what the count's financial and political weight allowed.

  He hugged Zoé. — Are you okay, my child?

  She was silent for a moment. Then smiled. — Yes. — Don't worry.

  She was reinstalled in her wheelchair. After a few meters, she stopped. — I'm tired. — I'll take a bath.

  She moved away alone. Warm water flowed slowly over her body. Her reflection, she couldn't see... but she knew it. Scars everywhere. Bullet impacts. Traces left by a night that should never have existed. She gently passed the sponge over her damaged skin. Each gesture awakened a memory. She asked the maids to leave her alone. Just for a moment. She had regained her sight. She had walked. A few seconds of normalcy. Thinking back, her lips trembled. Then she broke. Her sobs echoed in the bathroom. She thought she was discreet. But the whole manor heard. No one said anything. Because despite her will to appear strong, despite powers capable of destroying entire cities, Zoé was just a ten-year-old child who had endured far too many trials for her age.

  A few hours later... She moved alone through the manor's corridors, pushing her wheelchair. She wore a long black dress. Simple. Elegant. When she entered the room, silence fell immediately. She stopped before Count Duncan. — Have you gathered the political forces I requested?

  He nodded. — Yes. — But... I'm worried about you.

  She gave a faint smile. — Don't be.

  Her voice was calm. — I've brushed against death more than once. — And I have the power to raze a country more effectively than an atomic bomb.

  A shiver ran through the assembly. — It's not a few politicians... — who will scare me.

  She advanced slightly. Despite her blindness, all eyes were on her. She inhaled. Then declared: — I'd like to launch investigations. — Tell me about these recent "natural disasters."

  The world had just shifted its center of gravity. And no one in that room dared doubt that this child was now one of the most dangerous and clearest-minded figures of her era.

  The meeting was long, dense, filled with debates and heavy silences. When it ended, everyone returned to their duties, leaving behind an empty room... and a world full of questions.

  The old Count Duncan escorted Zoé back to her room. The wheelchair rolled slowly through the manor's carpeted corridors. — Why seek information on these disasters? he finally asked, in a gentle voice.

  Zoé took a few seconds to respond. Fatigue weighed on her. — I'm not the only survivor, she said at last. — I'm convinced of it.

  She sighed, then turned her head slightly toward a window she couldn't see. — I didn't appear on your doorstep by magic, Mr. Duncan... — Someone saved me.

  Her voice grew lower. — In my section of Project Zero... — I remember a boy.

  A silence. — He repaired a broken stuffed animal.

  Her fingers tightened slightly on the armrest. — Like me... today.

  A tear slid down her cheek. — If he survived... — then he'll be able to give back what those soldiers took from me.

  Walking. Seeing. Living.

  Mr. Duncan's throat tightened. He stopped behind her, placed a reassuring hand on the wheelchair's back. — You can count on my full support, miss.

  There was no doubt in his voice. No calculation. Only a promise.