Act VII – Chapter 19 "Lune"
The next day.
Gwen took a deep breath before pushing open the door to the police station, her arm still in plaster.
"So, Harper, you're coming to work today?" Enzo called out, coffee in hand.
She rolled her eyes.
"You might have almost missed me," she replied, sarcastic.
"I almost thought you'd extend your sick leave."
"I'm passionate about justice. It's not a plaster cast and a few broken ribs that are going to stop me."
Enzo smiled.
"If you say so. You're making yourself at home, huh. But today, it's not with me you'll have to explain yourself."
He nodded with his chin behind her, holding his pastry like a scepter.
"What do you mean?" Gwen asked.
"HARPER! IN MY OFFICE!" a voice boomed.
Gwen went to the office and widened her eyes, biting her lip. The commissioner plopped down furiously in his chair, red with anger.
"What the hell are you doing, Harper? They tell me you're traumatized by an event that… I admit, can be shocking, but that's part of the job, damn it! Get your ass in gear, shit! And what's this? What cop ends up like that when they're not even on duty?"
"Excuse me, sir. It won't happen again," she replied, throat tight.
"I should fire you for this behavior, Gwen. You're well aware of that, I hope?"
"Yes."
He shrugged, annoyed.
"But whatever… I don't know what superior you sucked to get this job, but to have the hierarchy putting pressure on me to keep you… You must have gone really high up!"
"Um…"
"What!?"
"That's inappropriate, sir…"
He threw his arms up to the sky.
"It's the blue hair, right? Damn, I knew it! I should have seen it coming! You're a feminist, aren't you!?"
"Uh, I…"
"I don't give a damn! What you're going to do is continue your training with Enzo until they stop busting my balls and you can finish your studies at the academy to be fully operational. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're dismissed."
He muttered into his beard:
"Fucking feminist…"
Gwen left the office, on edge. Who does he think he is, talking to me like that? Even Don Javier never talked to me like that. And what's his hang‑up with my hair color?
"So?" Enzo called out.
He had a teasing look.
"I'm stepping out for five minutes."
She walked away, plaster still visible, and hid outside, away from prying eyes. Tears of frustration welled up.
"So, you're going to cry, huh…?"
"I'm not crying!" she cried, rubbing her eyes.
Behind her, a young woman about her age, 1m60, wavy chestnut hair down to her butt, vaporous white summer dress.
"Who are you? Do we know each other…? I feel like I know you. Have we met somewhere?" Gwen asked, troubled.
The young woman smiled softly.
"Haha… I don't know, maybe… Tell me, is this the first time you've been scolded like that? Is that why you're crying?"
"I'm not crying."
"It's okay if you cry, you know. It happens to me too. More often than you think, hehe. You've probably been through tough things lately. It's normal to crack sometimes."
Gwen felt soothed, without knowing why.
"And you, what's your name?"
Her green‑brown eyes lit up. She made a theatrical salute, lifting her long white dress like a princess.
"Me, I'm called Lune."
Gwen thought: A French name… Why does that make me nostalgic?
"Harper! Briefing!" Enzo shouted from the entrance, coffee in hand, amused smile.
He beckoned her.
"Who were you talking to?"
"To Lune," she replied naturally.
"Who? There's no one here… Whatever. We have new info on our case, you'll like it."
As they walked away down the hallways, the street wind gently blew into the station, echoing in the empty space.
Somewhere not far away, in the Nevada desert.
The sound of a wheelchair creaked, pushed by a man in a black suit who flashed a security badge. In front of him, a man full of bandages, sparse white hair crossing the stained fabric.
They were going down. Deep. Very deep.
"Sir?" the man in the suit asked.
"I'm continuing here. Don't follow me, it could be dangerous," the other replied.
The man stepped aside.
"Yes, Mr. President."
William Campbell pushed his own wheelchair. His face seemed devoid of skin through the bandages. His jaw, his teeth visible, gleamed under the fluorescents.
He rolled into a glassed‑in room. Opposite, a complex 500 meters in diameter. And at its center, a box the size of a small house, painted in the absolute blackest black that exists.
William picked up the dedicated landline phone.
"I have reason to believe you're responsible for the September 3 attacks," he said.
On the other end, a young woman strapped into her own sleeves, eyes blindfolded, long wavy chestnut hair, about 1m60. She replied with a smile in her voice:
"What makes you say that, Mr. Campbell? You think I can do anything in my condition?"
"I'm asking you… During the attacks, apart from certain deaths by the hand of other Program comrades, the entire U.S. chain of command was decimated."
"Except you, apparently," she retorted.
"Except me," he confirmed.
"That's surprising," she affirmed. "But unfortunately, I haven't moved from here. And you know that."
"High officials killed themselves," he cut in dryly. "Don't take me for a fool."
Silence.
"Duplicate abilities only exist in their equivalent in God Stone fragments. I absorbed your father's fragment, the control fragment. It's impossible for there to be another mind power user, and you know very well I'm far from being able to do as much as you."
A new silence, heavier.
"You're suddenly much quieter, Lune."
"Of all the people who died that day, you're the one whose death I wish for most. How did you survive?"
William let out a small joyless laugh, almost a sigh.
"Well… who knows? A miracle, I suppose."
He tilted his head slightly, as if sizing her up through the bandages.
"But tell me… how did you do it, in your situation? You've never been this powerful. How come? Did you find it? The original God Stone, how when you're here."
Lune didn't answer.
William continued, in a calm tone:
"No matter. Your impotence is confirmed. No matter how you did it, it seems the method you used is no longer at your disposal. Otherwise, I'd be dead again."
"Again?" she repeated, troubled.
"Good continuation. Whatever you do in your cage."
"Wait!" Lune cried.
William barely stopped.
"Hm?"
"Please… give me a newspaper."
He stayed silent for an instant, then simply replied:
"Well… I see no objection."
And he left.
In Las Vegas, Gwen was in a meeting.
"Human trafficking," Enzo announced. "The discovery we made two weeks ago turns out to be part of a larger network, and we're going to dismantle it. The reports and victim interrogations all lead to one precise point…"
He paused, placed a hand on the open file in front of him.
"The New York mafia."
The attending officers took notes. Gwen had circled "New York" on her notepad, with a question mark next to it.
Enzo continued:
"We're in contact with national police, who are waiting for an effective investigation from us to launch a large‑scale operation. For now, our priority is simple: climb the chain to the ones responsible for these horrors."
The briefing over, Enzo signaled Gwen to follow him.
"Let's go."
"Where do we start?" she asked, joining him.
"We're going to interrogate a potential suspect. He's mentioned several times in the documents under the nickname 'Supplier'."
They got in the car. Doors slammed, then Enzo started the engine.
The radio turned on.
BREAKING NEWS
A member of the British royal family has been missing since the September 3 attacks. It is Princess Esmée.
Enzo reached for the button to turn off the sound, but stopped dead when he saw Gwen. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
"You… you're crying?" he asked, surprised.
"Huh? No…" she murmured, wiping her eyes.
I don't know why. I feel like I've lost someone very dear.
"Did you know this Esmée?" Enzo asked, even more perplexed.
Gwen shook her head.
"No, not at all. That name means absolutely nothing to me."
"Whatever," Enzo said after a short silence. "Let's go."
He put his hands back on the wheel and drove off.
In the Nevada desert, at the heart of an overprotected prison more than 500 meters in diameter, Lune held a recording of the news.
She was crying with immense grief.
"Esmée…" she murmured, sobbing.
At the same moment, scattered around the world, the twelve survivors of the Zero Program began sharing Lune's grief without knowing why.