Here is the full English translation:
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The abandoned port district stretches out before them. The old docks of Paris-Nova sprawl like concrete and steel specters eaten away by rust, drowned in near-total darkness. Not a single working streetlamp remains in this industrial no man's land. Only the moon, veiled by clouds, occasionally casts a pale glow over the deserted warehouses.
Their car stops at a safe distance, hidden behind the torn carcass of an old shipping container. Gabriel switches off the headlights and kills the engine. A grim silence envelops them, broken only by the distant lapping of river water against the quay.
"That's number 17, over there," Gabriel whispers, pointing toward a warehouse silhouette with a collapsed roof etched against the sky.
Mathieu nods and checks his service weapon, visibly tense.
"You sure we shouldn't wait for backup? I don't like this. We can barely see anything…"
Gabriel gives him a faint reassuring smile.
"We're just scouting. First sign of trouble, we pull back and call the whole battalion if needed."
He knows Mathieu's concern is justified. He feels the same knot tightening in his own stomach. But they're too close to the truth to turn back now.
Silently, weapons drawn, the two officers move under cover between rows of containers and frozen cranes. As they approach Warehouse 17, Gabriel notices more details in the night: the large metal door is slightly ajar, as if someone slipped inside recently. Footprints in the dust lead to the entrance.
Gabriel signals Mathieu to stay to his right. Pressed against the cold metal wall, he peers cautiously through the opening.
A vast space cluttered with crates and obsolete machinery stretches before him, drowned in darkness. The smell of rancid oil and oxidized metal fills his nostrils. Nothing stirs but their measured breathing.
Gabriel gestures for Mathieu to switch on his tactical flashlight while he covers. A sharp white beam slices through the blackness, sweeping the corners. Iron pillars cast dancing shadows across the dusty floor.
They step slowly inside, alert. A broken freight elevator stands to the right. Farther ahead, shattered glass office partitions. Perfect ambush spots everywhere.
Gabriel's heart pounds. He recalls every tactic learned—blind angles, mutual cover, crouched advancement. They move in coordination, just like in drills where they once mocked each other's zeal. Except tonight, death could strike for real.
Near a pile of overturned crates, Gabriel crouches and examines the ground. In the flashlight's glow, something glints faintly. He picks it up carefully: a spent shell casing.
He frowns and shows it to Mathieu, who pales slightly.
"Someone fired here… recently," Gabriel whispers.
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoes from the far end of the warehouse. Both men spin, weapons raised.
"Police! Show yourself!" Gabriel shouts, his voice echoing against the metal walls.
In response, a flash splits the darkness—followed instantly by the whistle of a bullet. The round slams into a beam inches from Gabriel's head.
"Take cover!" he yells, diving behind a derelict forklift.
Mathieu rolls behind a concrete block. Another shot rings out, ricocheting nearby. He fires back blindly, two rounds toward the flash he glimpsed.
The warehouse erupts into deafening gunfire. Muzzle flashes strobe through the darkness like lightning in a storm.
Gabriel tries to assess the attackers—at least two, judging by the angles of fire. Maybe more. It's a trap.
Crawling behind the forklift, he reaches a ladder leading to an elevated platform. From there, he could gain the upper hand.
He signals Mathieu to cover him. Mathieu nods and fires three quick shots toward a shifting shadow on the left, sparks flying from metal.
Using the distraction, Gabriel climbs as silently as possible. On the creaking platform, he presses against the railing and scans below.
In the gloom, he finally spots two figures moving between pillars, attempting to flank Mathieu. Professionals, without a doubt—fast, coordinated.
Gabriel takes a long breath to steady his trembling hands. He aims carefully and fires.
A muted cry of pain follows. One silhouette staggers and collapses behind a container.
A furious shout erupts from the other shooter.
"You bastard cop!"
A burst of bullets tears toward the platform, forcing Gabriel flat to the ground as concrete chips spray his face.
At the same moment, Mathieu leaves cover to neutralize the second attacker. He glimpses a stocky man wielding an assault rifle emerging from behind a pillar, about twenty meters away.
"Police! Drop your weapon!" Mathieu commands, laser sight locked on target.
But the man pivots coldly toward him. His weapon roars.
Mathieu has no time to react. Hit square in the chest, he is thrown backward like a rag doll and crashes against a crate.
"Math!" Gabriel screams, blood running cold.
A blind fury overtakes him. Without thinking, he rises from the platform and empties his magazine into the gunman.
Several rounds hit. The attacker reels and collapses among the debris.
Silence falls, broken only by the fading echo of gunfire.
Breathing hard, Gabriel scrambles down the ladder and runs to his partner.
Mathieu lies on his side, eyes half-open. A dark stain spreads across his vest.
Gabriel drops to his knees, pressing his hands against the wound.
"Stay with me… stay with me…"
Mathieu coughs, a bubble of blood forming at his lips.
"That was… some scouting mission…" he whispers weakly.
"Don't talk. I'm calling an ambulance."
Gabriel grabs his phone—no signal. Too far from any relay.
He curses and tears a strip from his shirt to apply pressure.
"We're getting out of here. I'll carry you."
Mathieu shakes his head faintly.
"I can't feel… my legs…"
"Don't say that!"
As Gabriel slips an arm under Mathieu's shoulders, a crack sounds behind them.
He looks up just in time to see a third silhouette on the platform—exactly where he stood minutes ago. A gun glints in the figure's hand.
Gabriel has no cover.
He braces for the final shot.
But the shadow hesitates… then flees into the darkness without firing.
Stunned for a second, Gabriel's instinct takes over: escape.
He drags Mathieu across the concrete floor toward the exit. Each step feels endless under the dead weight and surging adrenaline.
They emerge into the night air. No pursuit.
Gabriel lays Mathieu against the open car door, grabs a compress from the glove box, presses it against the wound.
"Stay with me… please…"
Mathieu's eyes stare past him.
"Gabi… tell my sister… I'm sorry…"
"You'll tell her yourself."
Mathieu grips his wrist weakly.
"Thanks… for having my back… all these years…"
His words fade into a rattle.
"No… no, no…"
But his hand slips away.
Gabriel freezes, staring at the terrible truth. A broken sound escapes him as he clutches his friend's lifeless body.
The docks remain silent. No sirens. No help.
After an unknown stretch of time, the metallic taste of blood on his fingers brings him back.
He gently lays Mathieu in the back seat, as if not to disturb him.
Then, jaw clenched with cold fury, he pulls a flare from the trunk and fires it into the sky. A red star bursts above the port.
The agreed distress signal.
But in this moment, Gabriel doesn't care who sees it.
Leaning against the car, face lit by crimson light, he whispers through clenched teeth:
"I'll find them, Math. All of them. I swear… They'll pay."