Updated: 20 January 1999
PRELUDE
A lone woman, sleeping the head in his arms, sitting on a chair, the arms laid on the table. The room is white, with no features, but the bed where she awakened, the chairs, the table and the lamp. How long did she wait here. And what did she wait?
The door lock made a metallic sound, then the security door opened. The woman didn't aknowledged the coming of the new person. She remained still. After all, she was without any weapon. She didn't know what happened. She remember the firefight, the pain of the bullet in her breast, then the darkness. And now, she was in a strange hospital room, with a locked high security door. She was prisoner.
A man entered. the prisoner was surprised. She was not prepared to see this man, with his little beard, long dark hair tied with a ribbon, and wearing a long dark gray trenchcoast, coming here. Who was he?
The trenchcoat man entered, and sat in front of the other. He looked the prisonner without any emotion. He was very pale, and wearing mirror shades that reflected his interlocutor's eyes and emotion, without revealing nothing from its wearer. The trenchcoat man smiled. A cold smile.
''My name is Ivan.''
No answer. The prisoner knew she had seen things that were not mean to be seen. And when he talked to his superior, no one believed her. And now, he had be arrested because of some stupid mistake.
Ivan took a file from under his trenchcoat, and put it on the table. The prisoner could see the symbol of the D.S.T. on it. Ivan then opened it, revealing its contents. The prisoner recognized her own face, on the photography taken each year by the service. She was pretty, if not beautiful. But now her face, with make-up merged with tears, looked somewhat displaced, with the cold beauty of the man.
''You're called Thérèse Moreau. You worked for the service for six years. You are an average agent in all skills but the technological ones, where you are considered very talented.''
''What do you want?''
Ivan took his eyes from the file, looking at a photography of her immediate family, a photography she didn't even knew it existed.
''You've been killed in a D.S.T. Special Operation you disturbed by your... Er... Little investigation.''
The woman smiled.
''What did you search for? What were you doing?''
''Who are you?''
Ivan looked somewhat surprised.
''I believe I told you: My name is Ivan.''
She nodded, contempt on her face.
''Yes, of course. Don't serve me your crap. Tell me what I'm doing here, and for who you are working for.''
Ivan aknowledged the question by a slight nod.
''You and I worked along. The difference is that you don't know for who you work, and that I am his direct... Er... I search for an adequate word for that... Lieutenant.''
The woman seemed surprised. She knew some strange things happened within the services, but didn't believe she would one day be confronted to them. Anyway, she didn't believe she would see an arab terrorist kill her partner with a medieval saber just before running so fast the camera's high rate image would be blured.
''You work for the Interior Minister?'' She was slightly surprised when he nodded no, with a smile. ''The Prime Minister?'' Again. ''The President?'' Again...
She put her hands together, massaging the digits in a reflex she acquired from the time she worked whole nights in the cold trying to break a security password from a little non-descript vehicule.
''What are you?...''
''I believe the real problem is that we make a mistake about one important concept: France. We work for France, but visibly not the same France... What do you think France is?''
She smiled. Some kind of legal terrorist, a fanatic? Cool... The situation was even poorer she had imagined.
''But we should start from the begining. You said your fellow agents you have seen... Things? Tell me more...''
The woman narrowed her eyes. Was it a kind of test? Anyway, she had nothing to lose anymore: She was put ''in the secret''. That means that the service will probably say it does not know where to find her. She could even be thought...
''Yes... You're dead.'' Ivan took some photos and put them on the table. ''You have a very loving family. Here... It's your urn, in the Père Lachaise cemetary...'' He continued, ignoring her tears starting to roll on her cheeks. ''You're not very far from La Callas' urn. Strange, the number of people who wants to be incinerated after their death.'' He raised his mirror stare up to her face. She was very pale, and trembling.
''What do you want?''
''I saved your life. You were dying from multiple injury with blood loss. You had a two month coma, but the doctors said you would be good. Do you remember what happened before the firefight?''
''Y-you won't believe me...''
He smiled, as if he knew this kind of answer would come out from her lips.
''I'll try...''
Then she started speaking. About the strange arab. About the ancient weapon, of how he was faster and stronger. Of how he was struck by a car, and how he stood up few seconds later. Of the information she had uncovered by her investigation via Internet and some hidden sites. Of how the terrorist actions motivations were to frighten the population, but to hide something darker too. Ivan continued hearing her, interested, unmoving. Not even taking notes, as if he could memorize all information just by hearing it. He didn't seem surprised. He was a very pale, and very dangerous-looking statue. Then, two hours after, she stopped, pale, and cold sweat on her brow. Ivan looked her with mild interest.
''What will happen to me?''
''Thérèse Moreau is dead. We can't get back from that.'' She closed her eyes, her stomach contracting painfully. ''But you still can choose to live. You have seen to much to be let wandering freely in the world.''
She looked back at him, at first trying to summon her courage for the bullet that would probably end her life... Then she understood: You can still choose to live.
''What do you want?...'' Trembling voice. She had to repeat to be understood.
''Join me... Join us... I give you the choice between life and death...''
She didn't want to die.
''You will lose your identity. Your current appearance. You will have to learn a lot. Your existence will change, and while you will be free to walk as you want, never again you will live the pleasure of feeling the light of the sun on your skin... Your family will continue to believe you dead. Even if you will be able to see them, and somewhat help them, you will have to hide your identity from them. Your very existence, that is... Should you prove yourself inapt, you will be destroyed, and your ashes will take their rightfull place in your urn... Do you accept?''
She nodded. It was better than she thought... At least, she hoped so...
''I talked, two hours ago, about how we were serving France, but a somewhat difference France... Let me introduce you to your new family...'' With that, he smiled, and she saw with horror fangs growing from his mouth. ''I will speak, then, of the most important thing in our lives... The Masquerade...''
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