Vivian L.A.P. :
At last, we were taking off again after hours of driving — and countless complaints from Jérémy about getting back on the plane.
This time, we had to leave from the Toulouse-Blagnac airport to throw off any attempt at tracking us, aboard a cargo aircraft carrying assorted equipment.
It reminded me of past missions — unlike our outbound trip, which had taken place aboard the presidential aircraft.
The condition of the cargo plane left much to be desired: only six seats for a small group of passengers, and a single table bolted to the side.
But at least, we were finally certain of returning directly to Atlantis.
President Atlas was not with us — his meeting with the aristopoliticians was scheduled for that morning as a diversion.
I watched the suitcase constantly — literally — since I kept it handcuffed to my wrist, with only a short length of chain allowing minimal movement.
Whether sleeping or washing up after the mission, I never let it out of my sight.
I observed Jérémy from the corner of my eye and noticed he sometimes spoke to himself… or rather, to the object he had brought back.
I wondered whether he was losing his mind.
I had skimmed through the reports about this energy source, but I had to admit I was stunned when the chest had opened: at its center, a pure white ring had illuminated everything around it.
"Come eat, the meal is ready," Natali said as she placed our meal trays on the table.
I left the seat where I had been resting, and Jérémy followed — though he never took his eyes off the box.
Natali had prepared military rations, as always: canned macédoine salad, lentils, and a reheated sausage whose smell alone killed my appetite.
For dessert, dry biscuits that could have served as projectiles.
I knew she wasn't much of a cook, but this… this was pushing it.
"Come on, you're exaggerating. I already eat enough military rations on missions. You could've spared me this," I complained.
"For your information, it's all we have to eat on this aircraft. You can skip it if you like," she replied, completely unfazed.
"I think it's good," Jérémy said, already digging into his salad. Natali began eating as well.
With a resigned sigh, I sat down.
The meal unfolded in mildly awkward silence.
Only the clinking of the handcuffs attached to the suitcase echoed every time I moved my wrist — and it was starting to seriously irritate me.
"Listen… you entrusted me with this box, and I'm honored. But could you finally tell me what it actually is, now that we're out of danger?" I asked, lifting my wrist to show him the cuff.
"Indeed, you've been rather stingy with answers so far," Natali added, narrowing her eyes.
He calmly finished his last bite, then replied, somewhat mysteriously:
"If you wish, I'll show you after the meal.
Then you'll be free to believe me… or not."
"You'd better," Natali grumbled.
"By the way, I think you handled yourself pretty well for a first mission as a civilian."
"Please, I only followed you and listened to your instructions," he answered humbly, without a hint of arrogance.
"You know, that's already a good thing. Far too many civilians have died on my missions because they didn't follow orders."
Natali shot me a cold look — realizing I had perhaps said too much.
But it was true.
And it was exactly why I avoided escort missions now: things could go wrong so quickly.
Jérémy hesitated before asking:
"I never dared ask since meeting you, but… what exactly do you do in Atlantis?
At first glance, I'd say Natali is the President's right hand and he entrusted her with my 'babysitting.'
But you, Vivian… you're not just a soldier, are you?"
"Agent Vivian carries out… particular missions, let's say," Natali answered in a cold tone.
"What kind of missions?" Jérémy asked, looking directly at me.
I stood up from my chair, guided by the metallic rattle of the handcuff chain, a knife in my right hand.
I leaned toward his ear and whispered, in a predator's voice:
"Are you sure you want to know?"
I spun the knife lightly between my fingers, adding a dramatic touch.
His face went pale.
Natali barely concealed a smirk.
"How about we debrief the mission instead?" she suggested.
"Yes… yes, that would be good," Jérémy replied, still visibly uneasy.
We discussed the mission's progress at length.
Once the meal was over, we cleaned the table.
Jérémy was just about to explain why it was absolutely necessary to return to France.
He asked me for the suitcase.
I finally removed the handcuffs and handed it to him.
He took out another wooden box, no larger than a cigar case, and offered it to us.
"Here. Open it — but please, be careful."
Natali opened the box, and inside we saw eight vials sealed tightly with corks dipped in wax, each containing an ocean-blue liquid, along with an injector gun holding eight small capsules filled with a golden liquid, like wildflower honey.
Seeing our puzzled expressions, Jérémy rubbed his left arm nervously before explaining:
"This is humanity's future — a cure for all the ailments that destroy the human body.
I present to you… the Blood and Tears of Gaia."
I held one of the blue vials between my fingers.
I noticed him staring at me, almost pleading that I handle it carefully.
A bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
Natali broke the silence.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"It's a remedy that can heal absolutely anything: regrow limbs, rebuild tissue, and much more.
But for now, the counter-effect cannot be administered to just anyone," he said, serious, without a trace of humor.
The tension rose.
"Heal everything? Really? And what counter-effect are you talking about?" I asked, intrigued.
"I can assure you of one thing: you wouldn't wish it even on your worst enemy," he replied.
His expression carried the weight of personal experience — as if he had lived this suffering himself.
Natali pressed on, sharply:
"How can you possibly know that? And why create something like this?"
He stood up, turning slightly away, as if he needed distance to speak.
"Let's just say some projects require personal involvement.
I created this remedy to give hope back to those who need it most.
In our society, disabled people are often reduced to their condition.
We patch them up with temporary solutions — prosthetics, wheelchairs, treatments that only mask the pain without ever healing."
He walked slowly down the aisle, and we listened in silence.
"I believe it's time to go beyond that approach.
Every day, people are deprived of their dignity, their freedom of movement, their right to a full and meaningful life.
My goal is to repair, not compensate.
I want them to walk again, live freely, and reclaim their place in society as full human beings."
He returned to us and held up the injector gun and one of the vials.
"We can do more than manage symptoms.
We can heal, restore, rehabilitate.
This remedy can transform lives, bring hope where none is left.
But it has a price — a heavy one.
A counter-effect that must be taken into account.
Too often, we avoid facing the truth.
I don't want to create a solution that only prolongs suffering.
I want everyone to live fully, without hiding behind artificial substitutes."
I understood what he wanted to accomplish.
But something was missing from his reasoning — and Natali, true to herself, addressed it directly.
"Do you realize the consequences this could have on the world?" she asked sharply, her piercing gaze fixed on him.
I immediately saw where she was going with this.
Jérémy looked surprised.
"What do you mean?" he replied, taken aback — clearly too focused on his project to consider the wider risks.
I knew Nana well enough to understand she wouldn't let such a subject pass without digging into its deeper implications.
"Is it really up to us to decide that a person's dignity depends on their ability to walk or live without medical assistance?" she continued, her tone sharpening.
"Some people accept their condition and find their own way of living fully, without feeling the need to be 'fixed.'
Isn't it somewhat presumptuous to claim that their dignity depends on this remedy?"
I looked at Jérémy, trying to read his reaction.
His confidence wavered slightly.
He had clearly not expected such a challenge but forced himself to remain receptive, even if it unsettled him.
I added my own perspective to support Nana's concerns:
"Offering an option is one thing," I said, crossing my arms,
"but what will happen to those who choose not to take it?
They may be seen as people refusing a chance to improve their lives.
And those who cannot access the remedy may become even more marginalized."
I saw Jérémy hesitate before answering.
He was trying to grasp the full scope of what we had just raised.
Perhaps he had not taken the time to consider these social implications.
Even if his project came from compassion, it would not be perceived that way by everyone.
"I hadn't looked at it from that angle," he finally admitted, troubled.
"But I would never force anyone to take this remedy.
I would understand if some chose to keep living as they are.
My goal is simply to give an option — to offer a solution."
He regained a bit of confidence.
"Sometimes someone has to take the first step.
If no one tries to bring change, how can the world ever improve?"
Nana frowned.
She excelled in this kind of sensitive reflection.
After a moment, she answered calmly but firmly:
"Offering a solution is good, Jérémy.
But you must understand that it will change how people perceive those who don't want it or who can't receive it.
It's an immense responsibility."
I nodded.
She was right.
This wasn't just about science or technology — it was about choice, respect, and how society treats its most vulnerable members.
A heavy silence fell as everyone absorbed their thoughts.
Jérémy looked at us, deeply reflective.
"I understand your concerns," he finally said sincerely.
"I need to think about this."
Nana was used to exercises like this — pushing people to rethink their assumptions while offering them another perspective.
The discussion was far from over.
But for now, everyone had voiced their position.
I couldn't help but think Jérémy's technology would inevitably change the world.
But at what cost?
That remained to be seen.
I watched him, lost in thought, his hands nervously clenched.
He seemed to be weighing the implications of everything we had discussed.
His intentions were noble — but society might not share his ideals.
If some rejected this vision, it could create division… or in the worst case, war.
Eventually, he fell asleep in his seat, and we were halfway through the journey.
I glanced at Natali, still focused on writing her report.
Her rigorous nature never left room for distraction.
I approached silently and rested my chest gently against her back, causing her to startle slightly.
"What do you want, Vivian?" she whispered, careful not to wake Jérémy.
"Nothing… I just wanted to lean on you a bit," I replied, discreetly breathing in the scent of her hair.
She continued writing, unfazed, as if my presence didn't bother her at all.
After a moment of quiet, I finally broke the silence.
"What do you think about all this?" I asked softly, curious about her view.
Nana stayed silent for a moment, then replied without hesitation:
"Big changes are coming if we let him go through with this — that much is certain."
She paused briefly, sighed, and resumed writing.
"The only question is whether those changes will be for the better… or for the worse."
I brushed her ear with a whisper:
"And if it's for the worse… it'll be my job to act."
My words made her stop writing for a brief moment.
"Yes, exactly. That is your mission," she said, meeting my gaze with a calm yet firm expression.
I pulled away from her and went to the sink to drink a glass of water, glancing at Jérémy, peacefully asleep.
This is why I must never get attached, I thought.
I always had to wear a fake smile — whether escorting someone or infiltrating hostile environments.
Burying my emotions had always been easier for completing my objectives.
As I refilled my glass, I murmured to myself:
"I hope for your sake, Jérémy… that you never cross the line."