Chương 17: Welcome... Again

.. Again The violent snowfall was smearing the room's windows, blocking any attempt by the reddish light to penetrate. The snow was beating against the glass, resonating as if someone were knocking, hoping to enter. The dark, cold atmosphere was faintly warmed by the scarlet glow of a small stove lit on the bedside table. The bands inside swayed from the heat, intensely illuminating the figure on the bed. It was wrapped in a thick layer of blankets, arranged in a completely disorganised manner.

The little of the body left uncovered was wrapped in a bandage damp with warm water. The entire room had been turned upside down and made to resemble in every way a hospital ward. Beside the wardrobes opened in haste, there were numerous black blocks, each with various screens and pouches with various wires that slowly spread through the room until they immersed themselves in the cocoon of sheets. All the displays bore long series of data, diagrams, curves, and every other possible variable.

An electronic sound resonated through the winter darkness.

"Has he woken up?" A voice asked from beyond the thick door.

"Not yet." Another voice, a few moments later.

"He sustained an overload in pitiful conditions… It's a miracle if he can wake up at all." A man added, irritated and probably bored. A sound of breaking glass covered that echo.

"MALIARD!" His hearing was disturbed by a shout, saturated with frustration.

"It's... Noisy." Slowly, his consciousness was rising back to the surface, floating in the sea of sensations surrounding his body.

"I only stated the truth, Monica! Wounds like these would put even me or Lautre in difficulty! Please behave as Commander and not as a bloody older sister!" After the shout, a loud bang crossed the room, rousing him definitively. He uncovered his body from the blankets, slowly running the arm, full of little black tubes, across his chest. His wounds had vanished, but the sensation of torpor and heaviness remained. A throb accompanied his torso as he pulled himself up." How long have I been sleeping?"

His head seemed made of lead, and his sight was still clouded. The nauseating smell of sludge and the intense perfume of the waterfall mixed continuously in his memories, leaving his nose at the mercy of the strange mixture.

"Ugh… These little tubes again?" He murmured, shuddering the moment he noticed the dozens of needles scattered across his body.

"So this is what it feels like to be in a hospital?" He wondered, pulling the syringes from his skin, cleaning the mixture of blood and black liquid with his fingers. Lance had never been to a doctor in his entire life, though in truth, he hardly ever needed one." Am I paying the price for all the times I didn't want to go?"" Now I understand why kids hate it!" He thought, shaking a few black drops from the eye of the needle locked between his fingers. He dropped it to the floor.

Lance studied his reflection in the glass of the snow-covered window. His body seemed in excellent shape. Even his scars had slowly become less and less visible. His arm had returned as new, and he could move and bend his legs as if nothing had happened.

"Fortunately, I have trousers on…" He whispered, pulling the fabric of the large, thick suit that covered his hips down to his ankles.

"Are we not at the end of June? Why is there this weather?" He realised that even for Dielmon, a climate like this was fairly unusual. Such a harsh climate could only mean that winter was at the door.

"I think I have made a rather big mess this time…" He stretched his face, sighing as he sat on the edge of the bed." Who was that Malcolm guy, and how did he know me?" This was the first question he had posed to himself. The existence of the Hel was already a disconcerting fact, but the fact that a person of that kind was an acquaintance from when his sister disappeared was more than sufficient to freeze his blood.

"That means he knows me from before I lost my memory." A grin appeared on his face: finally, something was beginning to unblock." Malcolm Van Jir… I will make you vomit everything about Jude!" He clenched his fists, rising with eyes pervaded by a glow of will and strength. A single gear had begun to rotate, and he was more than willing to set the others in motion, too." Now I should ask myself… Who are those three women who haunt me?"

Lance realised this was a rather particular question to pose to himself, but in practice, everything he had done since becoming an employee of NOIR had been rather particular." Making a list, we have… The woman in the bath who keeps whispering to me and who nearly strangled me, then the one in the alley." He touched his own neck as he spoke, on both occasions clearly remembering the absence of air in his throat." Finally… That Thing."

The image of the woman wrapped in a golden cape and a long white dress had stayed in his head. The sensation he had experienced in that encounter had not been fear, but not calm either; it was something more spectral and cold.

"Then who are Damian and Jack?" His thinking was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. A movement crossed the room outside his.

"You should stop, Jeanne… You will end up making yourself ill."

"It… Is all fine… It's nothing."

"I know that he means much to you, but doing this every day does not seem fine to me, you know?" The silence invaded his hearing as he approached the handle. He was ready to grip it and go outside with an enormously long series of questions, but something stopped him suddenly. Rumble… He doubled over, gripping his navel with force, trembling slightly. He hopped in silence on the carpet, holding back the grimaces from degenerating irreparably"I must… Eat… Something… Now!"

He slowly recomposed himself, heading back toward the door, gripping the robe around him.

"A couple of eggs will do." He murmured, opening the door. A warm light invaded his eye, adjusting to the dark, making it impossible to catch any detail in the room. He turned his head, staggering to the fridge. He opened it with a snap, rummaging inside. He ignored the carton of milk, the bread, and the blocks of NOIR nutrients, completely directing his attention toward the eggs. He smiled with satisfaction, tearing at the cardboard and opening the paper box.

Five gleaming white shells were diligently arranged in the hollows. He clutched the first between his fingers. For an instant, the thought of cooking it appeared, but now it was hunger dictating his actions, not his head." I have done it before…" He thought, opening the egg directly above his mouth, letting it run down. The viscous sensation of the white crossed his lips while he sipped the yolk. He exulted, wiping his drool with his sleeve. He managed to eat three raw eggs in a row.

He was about to take the fourth, but a movement behind him made him stop. His eyes had readjusted to the light, allowing him to see the figures directing very peculiar gazes toward him. On the red sofa were Monica and Jeanne, both with their eyes turned toward him, motionless. Monica was holding Jeanne's hands between hers, trying to console her. Her clothing was incredibly sober by her standards: a respectable black uniform decorated her figure.

Jeanne, on the other hand, was leaning against her, squeezing her hands. The blue in Jeanne's eyes was more washed out than usual. Her gaze was wet and tired. On the whole, her entire figure appeared exhausted and depleted.

"Are you… All right?" Lance asked, turning and smiling. Visions of Jeanne replaced his doubts. Without answer, her eyes reacquired colour, growing wetter and wetter. She was sniffling, almost trembling. Even Monica was flushing, holding back the tears.

"Are we sure that everything is all right?' He asked again, advancing worried toward the two, only to find himself pushed against the kitchen island. Jeanne had launched herself at him, weeping, almost crushing him between her arms. Lance stiffened, both from pain and embarrassment, identical to the marble he was pressed against.

"I am sorry, Lance!" She kept weeping, remaining glued to him. Her fingers were covered in cuts, bandages, and dressings. Her thick grey jumper was rubbing against his bandages, becoming stained.

"Monica, Jeanne, I... Don't understand what's wrong."

"You are alive! You are alive!" She repeated, squeezing her arms around him even more. She was sobbing desperately, keeping herself upright with difficulty. It did not take long for her legs to give way. He moved on reflex, grabbing her by the cold, wounded hands.

"Yes… I am alive and well!" Wrapped in embarrassment, he smiled, tilting his head to the side. Jeanne managed only to let out a disconnected series of moans, unable to dry the tears running down her reddened skin. Monica, behind them, had failed to hold back her emotions, trying to hide by turning her head, but the sound of her sighs and the clear reflection quickly unmasked her plan.

"Have I done something?!" He asked, unconsciously taking Jeanne and helping her to sit, still weeping, on the table.

"Perhaps the fact that you have been in a coma for almost four months and suddenly wake up trying to eat an entire carton of eggs tells you nothing?!" Monica answered huffily, rising from the sofa and heading directly in front of him. She struck his cheeks with both hands, squashing him like a sandwich.

"OWW!! What was that for?!" He lamented, immediately withdrawing his irritated look the moment he noticed she was crying freely.

"Because…You made us all worry... Fuck..." She sobbed, striking Lance on the shoulders repeatedly, though those blows lacked a single ounce of force. He smiled, patting Monica's head gently, patiently waiting for her emotions to stop pouring into her movements.

"Four months… You should give me a second welcome!" He joked, sitting on the sofa, relaxing for an instant, breathing calmly. His gaze migrated toward Jeanne, trembling and still intent on weeping, clinging to Monica like a child. Monica, for her part, smiling without drying her own face, was stroking her gently.

"I don't really remember how much time passed." He murmured, gesturing awkwardly, rubbing his hands against each other and against the sofa. Jeanne looked at him for an instant, launching herself on the sofa and rummaging inside a box laid earlier between the cushions. She pulled out her hands, clutching a stethoscope and a series of gauze dressings. Lance looked at her in confusion for an instant before feeling the cold metal of the instrument pressed against his chest.

Without even realising it, Jeanne was giving him a complete medical examination. She carefully measured his heart rate and blood pressure. She tried to remove the dirty bandages, but he moved away from her, sliding to the edge of the sofa.

"Do not tell me you are afraid of the doctor, Lance?" Monica joked, covering her lips with her hand.

"What if I am?" He murmured, moving further and further from Jeanne, who was now wielding a thermometer and a syringe.

"H-have you never been to a doctor?" Intrigued, Jeanne began approaching him, now curled into a corner.

"I have never needed it really…" Lance corrected, cradling a cushion as if it were a hand shield.

"With what you did out there, it is a miracle you are still alive…" Monica answered, smiling maliciously toward him, cradling a medical instrument resembling a lollipop. Lance was retreating desperately backwards.

"Can't we just write that I am more than conscious?!"

"And with this, we are done!" Monica exulted, tapping the red-coloured syringe. She turned it with satisfaction, looking at it with a collector's pride. Jeanne was seated a few paces from Lance, wrapped in a wave of guilt and embarrassment. Lance, for his part, had been examined from head to toe, leaving him fairly shaken. He was lying down, his head resting on the armrest, pale and his eyes drained of colour.

He was murmuring something, but it was indistinguishable from the moans and laments that escaped from his throat now and then.

"Come on, do not be embarrassed, we have all been through it." Monica smiled, putting all the instruments away with particular care for the syringe, full of blood.

"Besides, Jeanne has taken care of you for all this time!" A note of malice crossed her vibrant voice. Jeanne, for her part, had pricked her ears, trembling as if someone had just thrown iced water on her.

"M-Monica…" She whispered, pinching her own legs, trying to stop the trembling.

"You are an ungrateful man, you know… Sleeping while a beautiful girl takes care of you!" Monica was enjoying herself without realising she now had moist eyes and was looking at her, bewildered.

"Monica…" Jeanne murmured, unconsciously pressing cushions against her face in an attempt to hide.

"It was not easy… And for the record, you are also alive because you and Jeanne have compatible blood. It's easy to say that a successful transfusion between Metas is nothing short of a miracle." Monica concluded, finally noticing that both he and Jeanne were about to cry.

"I am a terrible person… I should eliminate myself as soon as possible."

"I am a worthless, rude, presumptuous good-for-nothing… I want to bury myself." Monica shook her head, moving her gaze to the two wrecks sitting before her, wrapped in sadness and guilt. Lance appeared as a cadaver, hitting himself in the face with a disconcerting slowness. Jeanne, on the other hand, had thrown the cushions to the floor, resting her head on her chest, murmuring insults with absolute certainty to herself.

"Ehm… I will leave you two alone. There is an emergency meeting, and it would be convenient to have your report later." She fled the moment the door began to close. In the room, an embarrassing silence spread, interrupted in bursts only by the snow beating against the windows and the incessant stream of insults whispered from Jeanne's mouth.

"I… am sorry!" They both began in unison, looking at each other, still wrapped in a depressive aura. Their synchrony was more than sufficient to embarrass both of them, but Lance was decidedly in the worse position of the two.

"Why are you apologising? I am the root of all these problems." His words were more stabs toward himself than actual apologies, but they were surely wreaking havoc on her, too. Something cold pinched his cheek, stopping the insults in his throat.

"It's not w-what you think." Jeanne managed to look at him, drawing his attention with a light touch on his face.

"You pushed me away… To protect me." She was in front of him now, looking down at him through the hair running across her face.

"You were kind enough to help me." She smiled, almost grinning.

"I have seen many people push away the warmth of others from their own, and yet you seek it out more than the warmth of your own body." Lance had not realised that he was now looking at her directly in the face. The warmth of those cold eyes, wrapped in a film of tears, seemed almost to hearten him.

"Lance… You are a truly unique person." She smiled, half-closing her eyes. Her consciousness quickly realised the boldness of her impulse, plunging back into embarrassment as she moved away from him, trembling and waving her arms, as if to chase away clouds of thought floating before her.

"This is the second time… You have consoled me…" He smiled, drying his tears with the back of his hand.

"That would… Also be the second time that you helped me." She smiled awkwardly, trying to mask the red on her cheeks"Good!" He rose with a snap, making the sofa jump. He still had his face wrapped in the warmth of the moment, but now radiated a comfortable atmosphere.

"I am in your debt for these last months." He extended his hand toward her, though his gaze was composed and serious. His arm was trembling like a leaf, yet he was incredibly good at concealing it. Jeanne, instead of gripping his hand, stroked his head, smiling amicably. Lance felt himself cross-traversed by a tremor, from the hair to the soles of his feet. He moved back slowly, retracting his arm, leaning against the wall, out of breath. Jeanne lowered her hand, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.

"I am glad… that you are back, but if you really want to repay me…"

"You will have to tell me more about yourself!" She exclaimed, pointing her finger at him, who nearly slid down the wall.

"Ah, I am sorry! Do not… See it as an obligation… I would only like… To know you better… Because we are… Friends." Her posture changed radically. She swayed in every direction, perspiring copiously from her forehead. The finger she had just pointed at him was slowly retreating along with her arm, now limp." I'm way too paranoid… She has not changed that much.

"He smiled at the thought, detaching himself from the wall.

"Whenever you like, we can have a chat. I would also like to know more." This time, the movements of his lips were genuine, while his half-closed eyes were still pointing at her. They remained like this for a couple of seconds before the same thoughts raced through their minds.

"They said there would be a meeting… Perhaps they would like to see us?"

"I think you are right." The sliding room door opened, casting the glow of the stove out into the corridor, illuminated by a faint series of white lights.

"Have I caused you any problems while I was unconscious?" He asked, preceding her. Jeanne ruminated for a second, pulling from her mind one episode in particular. While she was changing his bandages, Lance had murmured her name a couple of times, becoming agitated. The memory instantly brought her cheeks to redden.

"No… Disturbance."

"I am glad then." He answered cheerfully, walking shoulder to shoulder with her along the corridor. In the middle of the wide room with white walls, there rested a large rectangular table, with its corners slightly rounded. The white colour seemed almost to absorb the light that fell from the futuristic chandelier, anchored to the ceiling by a dense row of chains. The majority of the chairs were occupied by their respective owners, but some seats remained vacant.

"We are doing way more meetings these days, uh?" Lautre opened, playing with a pen in eager anticipation of Arte's return.

"Come now, Lautre… Have at least a minimum of professionalism!" Edvard replied, seated beside him, sipping a greenish liquid from a thin oblong cup.

"We have a significant crisis on our hands." He continued, indicating the photocopies with his fountain pen.

"The only significant crisis here is that it is evening and I have not yet received a good drink." He murmured.

"Lautre… Could you abstain during the meetings?" Edvard inquired, setting the cup on the table.

"You, out of all people, are giving me a lecture? Every time I drink, you are always ready to ask for a round." He smiled impudently, poking him with the pen.

"Come now, do not argue. We have things to discuss!" Monica announced, inserting a thin grey card into the slot before her. The entire surface lit up azure and violet, as if made of circuits. The coloured lines condensed toward the centre, projecting a series of holograms.

"That is the old man who gave me a thrashing." Noel opened, tugging Hoku by the arm, still damp with sweat from his evening training.

"You abandoned me during a fight to go and get thrashed by an old man under a disreputable establishment..." He replied dismissively, peeling Noel away from himself.

"I ASKED YOUR FORGIVENESS MONTHS AGO!" He exclaimed, pointing his finger at him.

"IT'S THE MINIMUM AFTER YOU MADE ME FIGHT FOR HOURS!!" Hoku retorted, slamming his fist on the papers. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"DO NOT YOU DARE RUIN MY TABLE!!!" Maverick threatened, plunging his fingers into his hair.

"The lack of professionalism will only result in more trouble…" Lucas sighed, looking at the reports in his hands.

"Will Albert come?" Monica asked, leaning against the back of her chair.

"No. He is on a mission abroad to improve our relations after the incident." Maliard replied, removing his coat and settling with composure in his chair. Monica cast a glance at the two vacant seats near the end of the table.

"The points to address in this meeting are…"

"Mr Amnesia and Miss Nurse and the criminal Meta, who have appeared, am I wrong?" Maliard interrupted her, counting his fingers as he spoke.

"Correct, but not as you imagine." She replied with a contemptuous smile.

"So you have got something out of that corpse's mouth, I imagine?" Maliard asked, smiling at her. The door opened suddenly, revealing three figures on the threshold. Everyone's gaze was filled with shock, especially Lautre, wrapped in satisfaction and a veiled joy.

"I hope I am not late!" Lance apologised immediately, still dressed in bloody bandages, partially covered by the robe. Jeanne was beside him, glancing rapidly between him and the NOIR members seated.

"I WAS CERTAIN I WOULD SEE YOU AGAIN!" Lautre exulted, rising to go immediately to meet Lance, distracted the moment he noticed the tray in Arte's hand. The ridged glass, full of ice and liquid, the colour of amber.

"MY COINTREAU!!" His attention bypassed the boy, heading at once toward his sweet liqueur. All of NOIR looked at him with pity and disappointment for the way he had ignored the two.

"Priorities… AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO STILL HAD HOPE!!" He defended himself, sitting down irritably. His expression relaxed the moment his lips met the glass.

"Should I call you Zombie, too?" Maliard asked sarcastically, smiling with malice, not deigning to conceal it in the slightest.

"What's a Zombie?" Lance inquired, looking at Jeanne in the hope of finding an answer, but she was as clueless as him. A sudden smile broke out on everyone's face.

"Have you never been to a movie?" Edvard asked, licking his lips in the hopes of recomposing his grimace. They both shook their heads.

"Really? Well, they are top-notch art! You should indulge in them sometimes!" Both Jeanne and Lance nodded, still unsure about what a zombie was.

"Come now, sit down, we were waiting for you two precisely!" Monica urged, indicating the two nearby chairs.

"Is this the correct placement?" He asked, resting his trembling hand on the padded armrest. The chairs with their names carved on them had been placed next to each other.

"You are squad companions… I see nothing wrong with it." Monica murmured, shrugging, fully aware of why the chairs had been arranged that way. Lance and Jeanne approached their seats, trying to move them, noticing that both their armchairs had been anchored to the floor. Monica enjoyed their reaction for a few moments with a smile before speaking.

"We are now here to discuss what went wrong at Arden Ring and who those Metas are." Monica tapped the sheet of paper on the table, straightening them.

"Both Jeanne and Noel reported a battle with a Meta named Roman… However, a second criminal was also reported to us." Lucas explained, pointing at the hologram showing the images of Roman and Laure.

"I faced the second Meta myself, Laure de la Croi… I came across her after investigating a Frequency spike in the establishment." Lance replied without any difficulty, gripping the armrests with unspoken force.

"NOW THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING!!" Maverick struck his palm with his fist.

"On your skin, we found traces of various substances, including… Women's perfumes and oils." Lucas replied, swaying his head.

"We kept it secret to respect your privacy, considering you are young…" Monica, Arte, and Jeanne looked at him intensely. Monica and Arte were blazing with rage and disappointment, while Jeanne gave him a sad look before pinching him on the thigh"No, no… There is a misunderstanding here. I came across Laure while she was washing herself and then..." He realised too late that the words that had left his mouth were tremendously dangerous.

"Sadly, sometimes it happens to be manipulated by our enemies." Lautre and Edvard gave him a nod of approval. Lucas and Maverick looked at each other, disconcerted, while all the girls present looked at Lance with even more hostility.

"NO, NO, THERE IS A HUGE MISTAKE HERE!!" He exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table, under the horrified gaze of Maverick, pale in the face.

"This conduct is intolerable…" Monica murmured, repeatedly striking the armrest with her nails.

"... Or this is what I would say if I really didn't believe you. Sorry!" Lance sat back, with eyes still twitching now and then.

"It was just to test your instinctive cerebral responses. You were in a coma for months, so some non-standard procedures are needed." They all nodded, except Jeanne, who was still eyeing him with the same sharp look.

"Can we spare ourselves this pathetic theatre and move on to serious matters?!" Maliard demanded, irritated, interrupting the debate about condemning Lance to the pyre.

"You have a terrible sense of humour as always!" Monica switched tone and face instantaneously, returning attention to the hologram.

"In these four months, we have established investigations to trace the members of this association." Maverick explained, moving the various photos suspended in the air.

"Changeant..." Lance murmured, still embarrassed.

"That is what they called it."

"Who? Your learning-to-wash-yourself-before-beating-someone-half-to-death lady?" Lautre joked, slapping his leg while sipping another amount of his Cointreau. He did not reply, lowering his head, avoiding all other gazes, yet unable to unstick Jeanne's fingers from his skin, squeezed this time with even more force.

"We managed to find various possible members." Lucas continued, moving the holograms with his fingers, distributing them through the air to form a series of documents.

"These are still speculations based on some events and news dating from the early war and recent times.""

Roman Dostoj — Age: approximately 40s — Ability: seems to be able to manipulate organic matter, Maica Bomberg — Age: approximately 20s —Ability: Distortion, Laure de la Croi — Age: approximately 20s — Ability: Waiting for Lance's report, Guin — Age: approximately 30s — Remaining information insufficient, Angel Meris — Age: approximately 20s — Remaining information insufficient""Age works way differently for Metas, since the majority of us developed our abilities during the War, it's not unlikely that we are against training individuals from that time."

Lucas explained, tapping the table at every two or three syllables.

"Lance Klint, do you have anything to add to Laure's report?" Maliard spoke, lowering the papers.

"Her ability was opposed to mine. She basically absorbs frequency from being hit. I don't know how it works in much detail, but she manages to survive a direct hit from Maverick's Supplicium." Maverick's pupils expanded, as someone had just thrown the worst of insults at his own mother.

"That would only mean that she is a highly competent Stärken." Hoku added, trying to push Noel away. Lance looked at the rest of the names, but not a single one of them reminded him of anything. Only one thing was absent from those papers.

"Someone is missing…" Lance said, scrolling through the documents before him.

"Who would that be?" Monica asked, leaning slightly on the table.

"Malcolm Van Jir… Vice-commander of Changeant, and a probable Verwirrend." He replied, making a silence fall across the entire room. This time, Maverick hit his own table with so much force that it made the holograms tremble briefly. He pointed his eyes at Lance, with such ferocity that his skin started to crawl.

"Was that the man's name?" Lance nodded a bunch of times, at short intervals.

"He was tall and shrouded in black. Even his eyes had no light. I remember clearly that he talked about the Great War, my sister, and about evolution..." Maverick fell back, casting his head down.

"Are you certain of your claims?" Maliard asked, this time addressing him seriously." Verwirrend are cases well beyond the exceptional, and having one as an adversary can be an extremely complex crisis to manage." Lucas added, pressing on the certainty of Lance's statement.

"I can see the Frequency. I don't know if it's thanks to my abilities or the relic, but I am sure that he was unlike anything I have seen." He replied, evoking in his head the image of destruction that Malcolm had imprinted in his eyes.

"The Frequency was convulsing and shredding, and then everything started to collapse."

"I am sure it's his ability." Maverick added, without removing his eyes from his legs.

"There are no precedents for a Kontrolle capable of doing something similar. Removing fragments of Hel from the world is something unfeasible." He continued to add, with a sigh.

"If he is the vice-commander, then it means someone is still missing… Deploying them for operations of this kind seems to demonstrate that they are only affiliates." Maliard noted, setting his pen among the sheets.

"Is there anything else you would like to add?" Monica asked, addressing herself to Lance.

"It is more of a request… I want to see my file." He murmured, addressing himself to Lucas and Monica.

"Are you certain? Overloads… Can also erupt from an emotional point of view. I have no reason to deny you the request, but doing it now could be decisively risky." She replied.

"I won't insist, but that man seemed to know my sister and me. So I want to understand what really happened to me." Monica nodded, pinching her nose.

"Lance..." Maverick spoke without a single tremble in his voice.

"Malcom is nothing short of a monster. If he set is eyes on you, that means you are some pivotal piece in his schemes." With that, Maverick stood up and fled the room. Lance wanted to inquire more, but remembering how that gaze felt, he nodded.

"The heinous deeds that took place on the Archipel during the War are almost uncountable. That man is a sensitive topic for Maverick and me, I hope you can understand." Lucas spoke with the same distortion caused by the mask. The boy had no motive to bow his head again, since he felt that the scientist did not need validation.

"You completed the entire operation, bringing both Jeanne and me to safety." Noel pronounced, rising from his chair. His prosthesis had been completely rebuilt and was far shinier and thicker than he remembered.

"You deserve a bit of rest, or we will not be able to train together."

"From how much Noel has praised you, I imagine you have the makings to become a rival of mine… I want to challenge you when you are at your best, if that's good for you." Hoku smiled, making his glasses glint under the light.

"I must admit I am surprised by you two, however… WHY THE DEVIL DID YOU MAKE ME THE BABYSITTER OF A LITTLE GIRL BOUGHT AT AN ILLEGAL AUCTION?!!" Lautre exploded, setting his glass on top of the photocopies, staining them.

"Ah, right… How is she doing?" Lance replied, remembering his small business deal at the Child's villa.

"HOW IS SHE DOING MY ASS!!! DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT—" Lautre was brusquely interrupted by Edvard, who, to avoid a terrible flood of complaints, had blocked Lautre's mouth with his hand.

"The girl is fine. He has been a decisively good guardian, unlike someone…" He turned his gaze to Monica. The commander was completely incapable of concealing her guilt.

"I thought that children liked… Noisy things." Monica excused herself, twiddling her thumbs.

"Giving her the button for an experimental propulsion engine was Maverick's idea…" Monica indicated, seizing the opportunity to turn all attention to the now-gone Maverick.

"Not that you are exempt from blame." Edvard noted, pointing his fountain pen at her.

"Well… A bit of drama does no harm…" She murmured, moving ever further from the table. The door behind them opened, letting in a little girl dressed in an adorable violet mantle. She ran at once to hug Arte's legs, still motionless behind Lance.

"Rea… Should you not greet our new arrivals?" Lautre suggested, letting a smile escape.

"Yes... Dad!" Lautre was stunned for a second before sighing again. Rea turned her gaze, lighting her face with joy the moment she spotted the figure of Jeanne, trembling.

"Miss Jeanne!!" She exulted happily, running to embrace her. Jeanne rose to her feet, accommodating the request with a smile. Lance watched the girl play with Jeanne's hair, and something warmed inside his heart." I guess I missed important things..." Suddenly, she detached her face from her jumper, noticing the affable and curious gaze of the boy beside her.

"AH! IT IS JEANNE'S COMPANION!!" Rea detached herself from her, going to sit directly on Lance's legs.

"You see, Edvard, Rea is doing excellently…" Monica smiled, almost proud of her educational measures.

"Certainly… A shame I was referring to Lance." He noted, showing the precarious state the boy was in.

"Companion and a little girl… Companion… Little girl." Lance could only repeat these words in the grip of his confusion. Jeanne was incapable of confronting him in that state. He limited himself to slamming violently on the table, fracturing it, promptly making Jeanne faint. Rea laughed happily, as if watching a puppet show.

"And with this, we conclude the October meeting…" Monica announced nervously, watching Lance being dragged away by Noel and Sai, followed by Arte carrying Jeanne in her arms.

"Clowning around…" Maliard sighed, rising irritably from his chair, clearing the way for the trio. The icy air filtered into the room, wrapped in trunks and plants. A series of square chairs occupied the centre. Every seat was wrapped in thick vines, and the upholstery had been perforated and torn. Bullet holes were visible everywhere, scattered across the walls and rubble. Traces of flames and the smell of blood pervaded the air. Two figures emerged from the darkness, kicking dust aside.

Their steps echoed through the ruined room, advancing slowly toward the seats, occupied by other silhouettes.

"So this is the meeting place? A ruined military outpost?" Roman did not appreciate either the smell of blood or the filth dripping down from the plants.

"Come now, it is not in ruins… Laure and Guin just got a bit carried away." Smiled the person wrapped in a thick black mantle.

"Will the boss not come?" Maica asked, taking a seat near Laure, covered only by a series of rags sewn together.

"Do you not think it is appropriate to cover yourself?" Without waiting for a reply, Maica began poking Laure, tugging her mantle.

"It is not a priority right now… Besides, no one I care about can see me." She replied dismissively, slapping away Maica's hand.

"Sir David… Had things to do with the client." Malcolm smiled, crossing his legs one over the other. His gaze seemed almost to devour the darkness around him.

"Then why are we here?" Another figure gave voice to its words, broken by intense chewing. It was fairly tall, but its build was its most striking characteristic. The white-and-green waistcoat was tight on it, almost exploding with every bite. Its brown hair was fairly short on the head but unusually long at the nape. Its entire chubby face, from the snub nose to the moustachioed lips, was covered in grease.

"Ed… Are you not overdoing it?" Roman asked, covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

"It is for the best." He murmured, swallowing a thick bite of beef. It was incredible how, in the middle of his feeding frenzy, he had not dirtied himself in the slightest.

"Is someone still missing?" Roman asked, pointing to the empty seat beside him. Suddenly, the darkness began to float through the air, writhing and twisting like worms. The entire chair was wrapped in it, condensing on its surface.

"Excuse the delay… I had some errands to do." A whisper was heard from the thick, shadowy patina. Slowly, a man began to emerge through the darkness. He was young and wrapped in an air of melancholy and torment. His thick, wavy hair, mixed black and yellow, ran across his forehead and neck. He was dressed in a white shirt, decorated with a few pins with attached golden chains.

"I imagine with this, we are all present!" Laure exulted, crossing her legs excitedly.

"Ascan had a project in hand. We all know what he is like when he has an idea to work on." Malcolm announced, turning his gaze to the boy who had emerged from the shadows.

"How did the investigation go, Angel?" He asked, his gaze crossed with the boy's bluish eyes.

"A success…" He murmured sombrely, while extracting from the darkness around him a series of documents, stained by blood and mud.

"Judging by their condition, I would say you enjoyed yourself," Roman noted, running his eyes through the partially legible lines.

"It's only work…" He replied with slowness, leafing through the file. The members of Changeant grabbed the documents from the shadow pedestals that emerged from the ground. Though they appeared wet and liquid, the pages were completely dry.

"Our opponents are the Operational Nucleus of the Ruther Institute… The NOIR agency." Angel explained the situation briefly, indicating the faces of all the members in the files.

"I guess they can't still be called like this since their influence on the institutes has begun to fade."

"The current Commander is Monica Net, the Lead Maiden… From the files I managed to retrieve, she is probably on a par with David in terms of strength."

"Very interesting. It only makes things more entertaining." Laure spoke, almost gladdened by the news.

"Following are Maverick Haia, Lucas Hoppenheimer, a really important name for the Institute. The files on these two were encrypted excellently, and these are the only pieces of information I managed to gather."

"Continuing… We then have Maliard Turner, The Light Crow, an important member of the agency."

"Is that not the one who keeps tampering with the Singularities we spread in Sector II?" Maica asked, annoyed at seeing her chaos tidied away so quickly.

"Following are Edvard Ross and Lautre Clerc, both founding members of the current agency."

"Current?" Malcolm asked, this time intrigued. He had known some members in the past, but the names now murmured by Angel were different from those he remembered.

"From what little I managed to gather from the encrypted files… NOIR was born toward the end of the Great War to contain the Singularities and the clashes between Meta. That was the first generation, but what became of the members who composed it is not known." Angel replied, examining the screen of a computer he had consumed in his darkness.

"I see… Go on," Malcolm said, cracking his knuckles.

"The young veterans grew at NOIR… Noel Ryes and Hoku Sai. They are both immigrants from different parts of the East. I imagine Mr Roman knows the first well."

"That brat… I lowered my guard, but he would not be a threat." Roman gripped the armrest with force until it snapped, letting it fall to the floor, yet his face and bearing had not cracked in the slightest.

"I imagine that even he was not equipped for a fight with a Meta… Am I wrong?" The question bounced back to Roman, and Angel ignored his severe look.

"Finally, we have the last two recruits. Information on them is limited, but we have already had dealings with them…"

"You are talking about Jeanne Goghette and Lance Klint?" Laure interrupted, pricking her ears.

"Correct… Subject Alpha and the Witch." Angel indicated their faces on the files.

"The Depraved Witch! I cannot forget that gaze…" Maica exclaimed, jumping from her chair, trying to wash off the perversion and malice that accompanied the memory of Jeanne.

"We agree for once. That girl disgusts me!" Laure said, striking her fists together.

"Would that not be because you have a crush on that Klint guy?" Maica let those words slip from her lips, knowing they would provoke a fire.

"Exactly… That boy is special." She smiled, swaying and wrapping herself in her mantle.

"I will not deny that for a recruit, his capabilities are extraordinary… But the way he fights is aberrant." Roman said, materialising in his mind the memory of his fight with him in the old metro.

"I know him well… After all, I met him when he was around seven years old." Malcolm opened, rising from his chair, which crumbled instantly. All the members of Changeant were assaulted by a sensation of powerlessness, as if standing before a scene of ruin.

"The meeting is over… Prepare for the next mission." He ordered, slowly heading toward the door, the heavy metal plates scraping the floor.

"Roman and Angel… Have you found the candidate?" He asked solemnly while immersing himself in the shadows of the corridor.

"It is probable that the Demiurge will yield shortly." Roman replied, taking Maica beside him, crossing the opposite door.

"Excellent…" Malcolm smiled, disappearing into the darkness.