005. A Memory Recording

Guillaume's composure remained unshaken as he approached the imposing mirror embedded in the wall. His palm met the cool surface, triggering an immediate response—a thin, blue light that flickered to life, scanning his figure with precise, mechanical efficiency from head to toe. When he spoke his name, the system hummed, but it was only after he mentioned Pierre and Nora that the array of robotic weapons slowly folded back, retracting into hidden compartments within the walls, which sealed seamlessly, leaving no trace of their existence.

A sharp hiss broke the silence as the wall to Nora’s right suddenly slid open, causing her to flinch. Behind it was an empty, square chamber, its stark interior amplifying the tension. Guillaume stepped forward without hesitation, and with a courteous nod, Pierre gestured for her to follow. Nora hesitated, her gaze darting around, but neither man had pressed a button or issued a command. Yet, the wall closed behind them with a heavy thud, and she felt the floor shift beneath her feet, descending silently. Realization dawned—it was an elevator, unlike any she’d ever seen, even in the cutting-edge confines of the DGSI headquarters.

When the doors finally parted, they revealed a cavernous room brimming with machinery and equipment that seemed to belong to another world. Nora’s breath caught as she took in the sight. Her wide blue eyes traced the rows of sleek, unfamiliar firearms, each meticulously arranged on shelves that lined the walls. Her mouth hung slightly open, a reflexive reaction to the overwhelming scene before her.

It felt as if she had stepped into the heart of an alien spacecraft, a place far removed from the reality she knew. Above her, a tangled network of pipes and cables crisscrossed the ceiling, forming an intricate web that buzzed with latent energy. Along a polished steel table, devices resembling microscopes stood ready, encased in protective glass, their glove ports hinting at the delicate, isolated work they were designed for. Questions swirled in her mind—what dark purpose could all this serve?

In the far corner of the room, partially concealed by a thin cloth partition, a middle-aged woman was hunched over an operating table. A young girl lay face down before her, motionless. The woman’s hand moved with painstaking care, guiding a device that looked eerily like a tattoo machine, the needle tracing deliberate patterns across the girl's exposed back. As Nora drew closer, a sickening realization set in—splashes of crimson stained the floor beneath the table, stark against the cold, sterile tiles. A shiver ran down her spine, and she instinctively turned to Guillaume, her eyes pleading for answers to the unspoken horrors unfolding before her.

But the man seemed oblivious to her discomfort and continued toward the woman and the girl lying face down on the table. As Nora drew nearer, her face paled. The girl's back was marred by a long, deep incision that looked as if it had been carved with cruel precision. The middle-aged woman was meticulously closing the gaping wound, using a device that emitted sharp flashes of light with each squeeze of the trigger. The acrid smell of burning flesh hung in the air, making Nora's stomach churn.

“Is she alright, Sabine?” Guillaume asked, his voice steady but laced with a hint of concern.

Without looking up, the woman—Sabine—responded with a biting retort, “Are you truly concerned for this girl, or just trying to sneak a peek at her lovely breasts?”

Pierre burst into laughter, the sudden sound echoing off the sterile walls. Nora, baffled by his lack of empathy, shot him a disapproving glare, but her silent reprimand only seemed to amuse him further. Sabine, however, paused her work, lifting her head to glance at Pierre, and even the girl on the table raised her head slightly, her expression drowsy but curious.

“Your arrival suggests this case is more serious than I thought,” Sabine remarked, her sharp eyes peering over the top of her slightly crooked glasses. “Have you heard about the intruder who nearly sliced Elodie’s beautiful body in half?”

“That intruder is standing right next to Guillaume,” Pierre replied, his tone suddenly sober. Both women turned their gaze toward Nora, their eyes narrowing in unison. “But there’s something more pressing than exchanging pleasantries right now.”

The towering man strode purposefully across the room, his heavy boots crushing droplets of blood beneath them as he approached a large screen. With a swift motion, he pressed a button, then turned a lever, inserting a small device resembling a pinky-sized transmitter into a perfectly fitted slot. The screen flickered to life, revealing a scene that made Nora’s eyes widen in shock. The tension gripped her, and a flood of questions surged through her mind.

"Andrei Volkov from the OCK sent a memory recording of the sole survivor of the Chelyabinsk incident," Pierre explained as the footage of Dmitry’s team played out on the screen. When it ended, he turned to the injured girl on the table. "Elodie, is that the creature that attacked you?"

Elodie, despite the pain etched across her face, nodded resolutely. "No doubt about it," she said, her voice strained but firm. "I can still see her cold, emotionless face when she threw Remy’s body—"

A sudden scream tore from Elodie's throat, cutting her words short. Her eyes squeezed shut as Sabine resumed tending to her wounds, the device in her hand emitting a harsh, burning light. Elodie's face contorted with agony, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle any further cries. Sabine's movements grew quicker, more urgent, as she worked to close the gash.

"Where is Remy now?" Pierre asked, ignoring Elodie's groans as if they were mere background noise.

"He’s… chasing… Miss X," Elodie managed to reply, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"We saw Miss X heading toward Aytré before she vanished," Guillaume added, his voice grim.

A deep furrow formed between Pierre’s thick eyebrows as his eyes flicked left and right, his mind racing. After a moment, he barked out orders. "Disseminate Miss X’s image to all FN members in Charente-Maritime and increase surveillance around the university area. There are many foreigners there. With her Slavic features, Miss X might be trying to blend in with Russian students. I do not want any incidents that force me to deal with foreign embassies!"

"D'accord," Guillaume responded sharply, his fingers flying over the wireless keyboard connected to the control panel.

"I’ll report our progress to the OCK," Pierre continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Sabine, I need you and Elodie ready to rejoin the pursuit!"

"Give us two minutes," the athletic middle-aged woman replied, her voice steady and focused despite the urgency of the situation.

Pierre then turned to Nora, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. "You’ll stay close to me at all times," he commanded. "What I say is an order! And try not to die foolishly like some candidates before you."