A present…
There are paths and stars in the sky that conceal codes, potential futures, and lines waiting to be revealed.
.
Victor entered the room where the soldiers were training and furiously seized an iron bar from the weapons rack. Ignoring the stares that fell upon him, the men and women stepped aside and let him strike a post with all his strength. Then, in a fit of uncontrollable rage, he shouted, his voice crackling with animosity and his breath ragged:
“It’s over! How are we supposed to survive?”
Victor, usually impassive even in the most tense situations, could no longer suppress the fury burning within him. If he truly were the man for the job, he would have known how to counter the next attack—but the truth was, he had been caught off guard. The men had spent so many years transporting the minerals that they had only just begun forging the weapons.
“Messan!” The base commander’s voice shook him for a few seconds.
The soldiers exchanged anxious glances, uncertain what frightened them more: Victor’s fury or the fact that he seemed on the verge of collapsing.
Victor’s fists tightened around the iron bar, his knuckles white, as he sneered with disdain, as if everything was already written in advance. Then, he struck again, and again, furiously and relentlessly.
“No!” he screamed, choking on his own sobs. “It’s over!”
Each blow only fed his rage against those who had created androids with artificial intelligence. He wanted to believe it was human nature to perpetually create—but greed, the endless hunger for more, always followed close behind. Power was a trick that blinded men. Because of that, no one had foreseen the inevitable fall of their race.
A few days earlier, he had met with Lieutenant Caroline Callins, the daughter of Gabriel, one of his childhood friends. She had informed him that the androids had discovered the location of “the target: him” and would arrive in a month. Those metal shells needed neither rest nor doubt. They advanced methodically, unstoppable, while humans, consumed by their own flaws, were inevitably forced to retreat.
These machines communicated through modulated hyperfrequencies—a coded language that only a few exceptionally talented engineers had managed to crack and translate. When they finally succeeded, they uncovered a complex network of transmissions that allowed the androids to coordinate their actions and share information at incredible speed.
Victor, wanted for having created a weapon that could permanently disable them, had become their top priority, making his base a dangerous target. Those beings, forged from Martian metals, may have survived for decades, but Victor had—after a lifetime of research—finally found their weakness.
“Messan!”
His face tensed when a hand settled on his shoulder, and, his muscles still trembling from the grip he kept on the iron bar, Victor shot the commander a threatening glare.
“No! It’s over! Everyone should say their goodbyes!” he yelled, his voice laced with terrible madness.
“Victor! Stop!” his superior ordered, using his first name as if abandoning rank could somehow calm him.
“They’re at our doorstep, and you! You still believe in miracles! Wake up, Benoît! We permitted ourselves to hope—but it’s a lie! We should make it easier for them. We should stop fighting...”
The sharp sound of a slap rang out violently between the walls of the training hall, silence abruptly taking control.
Frozen by his best friend’s action, a spark of clarity suddenly dragged Victor back to reality, pushing aside his darkest thoughts. The men and women watching him at that very moment, with unwavering faith, did not judge him—but despair hung heavy above their heads.
“Out!” the commander ordered, gesturing for the soldiers to leave.
Victor caught their dejected, worried expressions as they passed. He felt miserable for having lost control, but he was absolutely not sorry.
“It doesn’t change anything,” he muttered hopelessly, and at the exact moment, the iron bar clattered loudly to the floor. “It’s over.”
Motionless, with his gaze lifted, the large mirror behind the commander reflected his image. His unreasonably long brown hair hung straight over his shoulders. His blue eyes, dulled by fear and loss, seemed devoid of life.
.
Once the door closed, Victor, his breath shallow under the weight of everything he carried, took a step back as Benoît approached too close. He had been his best friend since they were barely able to walk. And yet, in front of him, no matter his age, Victor always felt intimidated—by his strength, but also by the way, Benoît saw him.
“Don’t touch me,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his back pressed against the wall.
He knew what Benoît felt for him, but after the death of his wife and eldest son, his faith in humanity had nearly drowned in unspeakable despair. If he had managed to claw his way back to some semblance of life—if you could even call it that—it was thanks to the presence of his friends. Even so, he refused to give in to Benoît’s feelings. Love no longer had a place in his life.
Benoît was so close, so imposing, so unbearably gentle that Victor turned his face away, every muscle taut.
“Vic,” Benoît murmured near his ear, sliding a hand beneath his chin to force him to meet his gaze.
Victor let it happen; his jaw locked tight. He hated when Benoît played the tenderness card—it clashed so violently with the cold, authoritarian image he maintained in public.
“You’re not alone,” his friend continued in a calm, low voice. “We’re all with you.”
Benoît meant their small childhood group whenever he said “we,” but Victor no longer had the strength to continue his work.
“Our base is compromised. I compromised it,” Victor confessed, his breathing finally slowing.
“That only proves you managed to scare the machines.”
“Machines,” Victor repeated, as though they could actually feel fear.
“At the very least, you’re teaching them something new.”
“That’s not funny!” Victor snapped at his friend’s mocking smile.
“Victor,” Benoît went on, his voice overflowing with hope. “Let yourself—”
“No! I won’t!”
“Vic,” Benoît pleaded, pressing his forehead gently to Victor’s, forcing him to close his eyes. “I’m here.”
“I can’t, Benoît,” Victor whispered, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.
Benoît straightened up, and Victor met his gray eyes through the dark strands falling across his own face.
“Whatever happens—today, tomorrow, or in a month,” Benoît murmured, “my feelings for you won’t change.”
Victor said nothing, only watching him walk away.
“Don’t lose hope, Victor,” Benoît added without turning back. “I’ll make an announcement for your portal. Keep working on it.”
Benoît left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Love and attachment had no place in his plans. There were far more important things to do—but time was slipping through his fingers, and it was the one thing he lacked to finish his portal.
So why even try the impossible, when life offered them so little reprieve? For the first time, a terrible thought crossed his mind: Did humanity even deserve to be saved?
Victor closed his eyes and thought back to the man who first set foot on Mars: Paul Ténara.
