CHAPTER 1 : Rym
Rule n°1 : be invisible.
Kneeling behind the dusty counter studded with dark stains, I'm hardly breathing, fearing my own breath could throw off my balance and make me fall on the pieces of glass laying on the tiles. I methodically scan the spilt chairs, the one-hundred-year-old tables covered with mud and mold, the crushed window of which slender fragments are spreading all along the sidewalk. The brasserie is located on a deserted square where four gigantic roads pass one another in straight lines.
From my precarious refuge, I can see the Invalides' golden dome overlooking the rooftops, at the end of road V14. I'm very close to my goal. I just can't give up right now. My eyes slip from the sidewalk's line to the wiped out lawns, around the beheaded statues on the median strip. I scrutinize every wild hedge, examine the dark space under the rusty slide. His massive silhouette can emerge from anywhere. He could appear anytime. I hear a metallic sound outside, somewhere along the sidewalk. It's like someone slamming a lid on a trash can. I can feel my heart racing. Is that him? Has he spotted me?
Rule n°2 : remain silent.
With infinite precaution, I slowly raise my assault rifle and put the grip against my left shoulder. Right hand on the handle, left on the trigger. The cold piece of metal shakes my paralyzed body. I move forward the barrel between a cake display stand and a pile of chipped plates. My sights are pointed directly at the entrance. I close one eye and bite my lips to forget about the pain in my muscles. The seconds give rhythm to my regular inspirations, in leaden silence which is soon broken by another sound, different from the first : that one is fast and dry, like a snap of the fingers. I'm overwhelmed with adrenaline. The rifle starts shivering in my hands. I take a long breath. For some reason, that's also the moment when I realize I should probably have studied experimental botany or worked as a shelf organizer in a local shop.
Rule n°3 : Know your enemy.
He's there. Right here, Under my eyes. He appears from behind a ruined building and walks from side-on toward the square's center with his rifle in his hands. He's armed to the teeth and accompanied by the distant echo of the Criterium month's opening melodies. His eyes are the only light spots among the shadows which surround him. They're made of an icy chestnut color with a sharp sparkle of cruelty in it. This is when I recognize him.
Martins Looms? Seriously? Do I really have to liquidate that lousy megalomaniac? I aim at his head. One split second would be enough to atomize him and reach my goal.
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Unbreathable
Science FictionShe's a human. He's a robot. She lives in Paris, under the protective dome. He operates in the toxic and unbreathable Suburb. She's struggling to give meaning to her life. He's fighting to stay alive. How will they react when their destinies cras...
