1st Arrondissement of Lyon, Saint-Nizier – April 16th, 2030 – 2:30 PM
Lyris worked during his spare hours. He was covered in oil and grime as Thomas showed him how to maintain and inspect any type of vehicle. With a brief metallic clang, Thomas pointed to the inside of a car hood, indicating the location of the coolant and brake fluid.
— "So this, that's the brake fluid… Now imagine you're driving full speed and this goes out—believe me, without it, your next stop is the cemetery!"
Old Charles turned to his son with an amused look, despite the harsh times.
— "Or maybe you'll just end up meeting one of those things out there! Damn… Thomas, if you ever saw one of them up close, you'd piss yourself instantly."
He said it in a joking tone, but there was a grim truth behind his words. Charles didn't let the cruelty of the times drag him down, unlike Thomas, who sighed in exasperation at his father's remarks.
— "Dad, don't say that here. You know people have lost loved ones because of those 'infected'…"
Thomas replied with a darker tone. Lyris, meanwhile, remained withdrawn during the conversation. His gaze distant, he was thinking about his older sister who had stayed behind. The thought caused a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest.
— Has she become infected? he wondered, troubled by the prophetic dream he had that morning. Was it real? Would he see his sister again—in a coffin, or as one of the angel's undead? No… That angel… He had thought it was just a virus, unleashing mankind's savagery.
Saint-Nizier – 5:45 PM
A new military vehicle rolled into the garage, guarded by soldiers armed with HK416 rifles. The driver stepped out in a rush and gave a crisp salute.
— "Chief Corporal Lucas! VEHICLE FROM THE SECOND HUSSAR REGIMENT!"
He shouted, standing straight with a firm salute. His dark, somber eyes mirrored those of his comrades in front of him.
— "VERY WELL, DISMISSED!"
replied the sergeant. Chief Corporal Lucas departed immediately without another word. The vehicle he left behind was in a pitiful state, stained with blood and reeking of decay. Ravaged by battle against the undead, it was held together by sheer will.
— "ALRIGHT, BACK TO WORK, BOYS!"
Charles exclaimed, rubbing his hands with excitement, eager to bring the war machine back to life. The old mechanic worked with careful precision and skill, which immediately impressed young Lyris.
— "Shit… Why's he looking at us like that?" Thomas whispered to Lyris, glancing warily at the soldier.
— "…"
Lyris remained silent. That contemptuous, disdainful stare from the soldier wasn't unfamiliar to him. He'd seen it his whole life, so he simply ignored it.
— "You're not going to react?" asked Antoine, puzzled by Lyris's silence.
— "Ignore it, sir… Soldiers who think they're better than civilians shouldn't get to us…"
Lyris said in an innocently calm tone. The soldier, enraged, immediately grabbed his rifle and stormed toward Lyris.
— "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, KID?!"
The soldier raised the butt of his rifle and struck Lyris hard in the stomach. Antoine, outraged, stepped in and landed a punch to the soldier's face. But the soldier, better trained, stepped back quickly and with brutal speed smashed the rifle butt into Thomas's jaw. Thomas collapsed, crying out, blood spilling from his mouth.
— "HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Charles pushed the soldier back. The man instantly pointed his rifle at the old mechanic, ready to shoot to defend his authority.
— "I could kill you right now… No one would say a thing… I'd just report that you helped infected people escape quarantine. Be smart, Charles. Who has the power here? You, the old man with a wrench—or me with my rifle?"
Charles let out a faint chuckle at the soldier's words. As the old man slowly stepped toward the gun, the young soldier chambered a round and placed a finger on the trigger.
— "Nothing's stopping you… But what would the people say? You want another civil war, maybe? The army—or what's left of the government—still needs us…"
The young soldier flashed a wide, nearly gleeful smile. It was a grin devoid of humanity.
— "HEY LÉO! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
yelled the major as he ran up to the scene. He lowered the young sergeant's rifle.
— "You know we still need them, Léo…"
said the major in a low voice to Sergeant Léo, who had just graduated from the non-commissioned officers' school of the army. The major gave his subordinate a knowing look, and despite his youth, Lyris understood—through that silent exchange—that to them, civilians were insects, extra mouths to feed in an age of scarcity.
Léo stared at Lyris again, now with a look of cold revenge for the insult. The other soldiers watched silently, their eyes vacant—hollowed out by this apocalyptic time.
— "GET TO WORK, MECHANICS!"
shouted a young female soldier. Charles helped Lyris to his feet—he was in better shape than Thomas, even though Thomas was his son. The old father felt powerless in the face of such authority.
— "Damn it…"
Lyris muttered, biting his lower lip in frustration, tears of rage streaking his face.
— "Dad…"
whimpered young Thomas, his mouth bloodied, his face wrecked by Léo's blow.