June 3rd, 2031 – 03:27 – Depths of the Massif Central – Underground Base Gamma-17
The elevator thudded and groaned like a sick heart, each metallic vibration digging into the tension coiling around the squad's shoulders. Men, fully harnessed and silent, masks lowered, clutched their assault rifles as if holding onto anchors in a storm-tossed sea. The air reeked of scorched metal, sweat, and fear.
In the corner of the cramped cabin, Lieutenant Henry Moreau stood rigid, impassive, his steel-gray eyes locked on the descending numbers of the control panel. Every meter deeper into the base felt like a countdown toward the inevitable. He had known it the moment the alarms screamed.
"Energy instability detected – Chamber 03 – Active anomaly detected."
The synthetic voice had repeated the warning relentlessly during deployment. Only those who had glimpsed the heart of Experiment N-Ω understood the gravity of it. Henry was among the few. That was why he had returned.
The elevator screeched to a halt. Silence.
Then a click. The doors creaked open, inching apart like the jaws of a tomb.
Red emergency lights revealed collapsed corridors, walls blackened and scorched by some unknown fire. The air itself vibrated unnaturally, as if reality were quivering.
"Formation. Sweep every room. Recover the disks and data. You have twelve minutes."
The sergeant's voice was cold, precise. Everyone knew their role.
The squad dispersed into the base's bowels. Time was not their ally. The instability grew stronger, and Henry could feel it gnawing at his bones. Alone, he moved toward the central chamber of Experiment N-Ω.
03:33
The room was a cathedral of technology. A nuclear core pulsed at its center, surrounded by levitating rings. Quantum arcs of light twisted like serpents, slicing the air with high-pitched hisses.
A normal man would have fled.
Henry Moreau had never been normal.
He began tapping the console. Numbers scrambled chaotically. The collapse sequence was active. In less than ten minutes, the stored energy would erupt, tearing a hole in the fabric of space-time. A miniature black hole capable of consuming everything within a hundred meters. Including his men.
"Damn lab geniuses…" he muttered through gritted teeth.
And then he made the only decision left. One that could not be undone.
03:35
"Corporal Delmas, this is Lieutenant Moreau. Fall back immediately with the data. I repeat: mission accomplished. Extract now."
"Lieutenant? What about you?"
"This is not up for discussion. Protect my sister. Do you hear me? Protect Marie, the children. I trust you. That is an order."
A long pause. Then:
"…Understood. Safe travels, boss."
Louis Joseph cut the comm.
He removed his helmet. Heat stung his skin, sweat dampened his temples. He faced the core, eyes fixed on the pulsing heart of the experiment,remembered the rumor about the American demon core on the internet and yanked the red lever marked DIRECT ACCESS TO NUCLEUS.
Alarms screamed.
The temperature soared. The floor vibrated. Metal warped under the unnatural frequencies.
There was no turning back.
03:38
He knelt.
From beneath his suit, he drew a small silver cross, blackened with age, worn by time, hanging from an old leather cord.
Experts claimed it had been stolen during the French Revolution. A priceless relic. He had bought it at a flea market at seven, with his birthday savings, and had never let it go.
He pressed it to his lips, eyes closed, a sorrowful smile tracing his features.
"Lord… if you are there…please… make sure they live."
The world erupted in light.
June 6th, 2031 – National Cemetery of Fréjus
Silence lay heavy, like carved marble.
Beneath a sky of ash, faces stood motionless, gathered around a coffin draped in the tricolor. A smooth black stone bore the inscription:
Lieutenant Henry Moreau
October 21, 1983 – June 3, 2031
Brother, uncle, beloved friend, soldier, and patriot.
His sister, Marie, stood rigid, eyes dry but heart shattered. Her husband rested a hand on her shoulder. At their feet,Sophie, ten, and Charles, eight, stared at the grave, unaware of the full weight of their loss.
He had made toys for them. Mechanical puppets, hand-painted drones, wooden puzzles.
"Uncle Henry… Did he go to space?" Matthieu asked.
Marie said nothing.
Around them, his brothers-in-arms stood silently. Some in uniform, others in civilian clothes. Legionnaires, technicians, cooks. All who had shared the beers he brewed, the old board games he built, the machines he repaired without instructions.
One of them produced a small flask.
"The last batch he distilled, from the corner of the kitchen. He said: 'Save this for my funeral. I don't want silence when I'm gone.'"
They drank quietly.
In a corner, a woman wept. Brunette, elegant, in her forties, wearing delicate glasses. Camille, his ex-girlfriend from Sciences Po. They had loved each other for two years. He had disappeared one day, joining the army. She had never blamed him.
In the cold evening wind, a chapter had ended.
But another was beginning.
What none of them knew was that Experiment N-Ω had not failed. An information had been transmitted
Henry Moreau had not died in the usual sense.
He had been hurled elsewhere.
Into another world.
Into another time.
And there, his name would echo once more through the halls of a royal palace, at a moment when the throne trembled, when history itself wavered.