Chapter 12 : A children's story

Quota 0/270 - On hold : 12 days left to start the quota (Only 3 days left to meet Mister T. deadline)

Once upon a time, in the heart of the Afghan desert, there was a princess who could speak to firearms. She had been born with this unique ability but only discovered it when she was five years old. Life was peaceful and filled with her parents' love until tragedy struck. One day, on her way home from school, she encountered her first gun—an AK-74 with an extended 75-round magazine. The gun spoke to her:

"What are you doing out here all alone, young child?"

Surprised, the young girl could only stare.

"You can talk?" she asked.

"Of course I can talk!" the gun replied.

Her mouth formed an 'O' of astonishment before she answered the original question. "My parents are inside the house," she told the gun, pointing with her little finger towards the distance.

"Could you pick me up to make me feel less lonely?" the gun on the ground asked her.

"Of course!"

She continued on her way, the gun as tall as her standing over her shoulder . As they walked under the scorching desert sun for several minutes, the girl stopped to inform her new friend, "Just over that hill is my house!"

They reached the top of the hill, and the AK-74 asked in surprise, "Why can't I see your house?"

There was no trace of life around, as if the sand had swallowed everything. The heat made it seem like a mirage, but a storm had indeed passed through. Nothing remained except for a few scattered weapons lying on the ground. The girl wanted to take them but didn't have the strength.

She asked one of them, "Where is my house? Where are my parents?"

It was a rocket launcher, an RPG-7 with a hoarse voice, "They have been taken far from here, carried by the wind."

"Like angels?"

"There are no angels in this world, my child, only power, money, and weapons."

'That's a strange moral for a children's story,' Victor thought before diving back into the story.

The girl headed back towards the village with the AK-74 slung across her and dragging the RPG-7 behind her. After walking for over 30 minutes, she reached the village entrance. Men, women, and her classmates were laying peacefully on the ground. It seemed to young child that they were sleeping.

"This is… morbid. Is this really a story for children?"

The only people awake were holding weapons. One of them approached her. "You should shoot, my child," she said.

So, the girl fired three bullets before the man in front of her fell asleep.

She continued on her journey, asking the weapons if they had seen her parents and putting their holders to sleep. After a few minutes, her 75 bullets' magazine was empty and no one was awake in the entire village.

Suddenly, the sound of an engine was heard in the distance. An all-terrain vehicle was approaching with new weapons to talk to. The girl lifted the rocket launcher and fired her only munition.

"Wow, it's like the sun," she exclaimed, watching the fireball.

She approached one of the surviving weapons to ask, "Do you know where my parents are?"

"Dead," it replied.

The end.

'What?'

The children did not seem surprised by the abrupt ending of the story : it must have been Olivia's trademark. They were even pleading with their eyes for her to tell another one. Victor turned to Nathalie to see her reaction. She was beaming at the sight of the children in her orphanage being happy. She seemed to follow the philosophy: "As long as it pleases the children, it doesn't really matter which story she tells." Victor didn't know it, but today's tale was soft compared to other stories she had narrated to the children.

After promising to return the next day with a new story, Olivia and Victor left the orphanage. Nathalie hadn't joined them because she needed to make sure the children were tucked into bed. They found themselves alone, with only the coolness of the late evening to accompany them. Victor checked the time on his phone.

9:47 PM

Olivia, of course, had not forgotten to bring her weapon. It wasn't an AK-74, but Victor asked her anyway:

"Can you talk to guns?"

- Do I look like an Afghan girl?"

Victor stared at her for a long moment.

Pale skin, blond hair, and azure blue eyes.

"I guess not, but I don't really know what Afghan girls look like," he finally replied, scratching his head.

'She's got a point, but I need to stay on guard. At any moment, she might show up tomorrow morning with a rocket launcher in one of her hand.'

Olivia had pulled out her phone to make a call. Just a few minutes after she had ended the call, a German sedan pulled up beside them. The driver appeared to be a hotel employee, judging by his uniform.

'I didn't know the hotel offered a chauffeur service,' thought Victor, reassured to be in the hands of a professional.

Victor climbed into the back seat with Olivia, and the driver set off.

His driving was smooth and soothing, a comfort to Victor after the travels he'd suffered recently. As he closed his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, Olivia spoke in English to the driver:

"**I'd like to be at the hotel by 10 PM.**"

The man checked the time on the central screen.

9:54 PM

It was going to be tight, but the man couldn't really say no. He simply answered, "Very well, madam," before slamming down the accelerator.

Victor only felt the pace change when the driver drifted the car at an intersection. He was thrown against the window, his eyes filled with terror as he realized they had just run a red light.

'It's a trap!' he exclaimed, reminding himself never to trust anyone he met.

They arrived after a wild ride just seconds before 10 PM struck. The chauffeur opened the door for them with a big, friendly smile.

'Don't try that with me, you cheat. The first thing I'm doing when I get back to France is getting my car out of the impound to drive myself,' he muttered as he stepped out from the sedan with Olivia.

They went into the hotel. The lobby was almost empty, but the same receptionist stood behind the counter, unphased by their arrival. Olivia simply showed her badge before heading toward the elevator. The receptionist wished her a good night before turning to Victor. He should have an impressive memory because he was speaking to him in French, "Good evening, Mr. De la Fayette."

"Good evening, Mr. Receptionist," Victor replied, unsure of the man's name.

"Please, call me Charon, Mr. De la Fayette. Your badge was returned to the hotel this afternoon," Charon informed him, pulling out a familiar badge from a drawer and handing it over.

"Try not to lose it this time, Mr. De la Fayette."

"I didn't lose it," Victor muttered, slipping the badge into his trouser pocket.

"I know, Mr. De la Fayette, it was just a joke," Charon replied with a smile.

Victor had to admit the joke hadn't landed, unlike a certain story that had worked wonders just minutes earlier.

'What can I say? Life is unfair sometimes,' Victor thought, making his way to the elevator. Charon wished him a good night just before the doors closed.

Victor found his room, opened the door, and collapsed onto his bed. He fell asleep so quickly that he didn't even shut the door behind him, starting to snore immediately. The night passed in utter silence, and when Victor woke up, it was already 10 AM. Jet lag was unhelpful, as he still felt tired after so much sleep. He yawned, got ready, and left his room, not noticing someone had closed his door during the night.

He headed to the restaurant area for breakfast, greeting the receptionist on his way. Inside, he was welcomed by the smell of fresh pastries and bread. The dining room was nearly empty, as most guests had eaten over an hour ago. However, he spotted three familiar faces at a table and joined them after grabbing some food. Shirley, Olivia, and the mysterious man from the manager's office were there.

Without a greeting or introduction, the man gestured for Olivia to speak. She stuck her tongue out before addressing Victor in French, "The dealines have changed. We need to start our quota in two days, so he wants to know what you can do."

- What does he mean by that? Victor asked.

- What are your skills?"

'Well, I have a knack for bad luck, the charisma of a corpse, and a mountain of debt to pay off, but I guess that's not what they want to hear,' Victor mumbled to himself, searching for an answer.

After a few moments, he answered Olivia, "I know what has value and what doesn't."

It was vague enough to cover his back and close enough to the truth to avoid suspicion. Olivia translated his response to the others before continuing to sip on her orange juice.

The man didn't press further. They all had their secrets, and he had no interest in uncovering them. All that mattered to him was meeting the upcoming quota. Nothing else mattered. He stood up.

"**Tonight, 7 PM, same place. You're free for the rest of the day,**" he said before leaving.

Olivia translated for him once more before letting him enjoy his breakfast.

'Truly a man of few words.' Victor thought before focusing back on his food.

Victor had to admit, the pastries were excellent, and he would have eaten more if he had woken up earlier. Shirley was watching him with curiosity.

"**What happened to you yesterday?**" she asked.

She waited patiently for Olivia to translate her question.

"I kept walking forward," Victor replied.

Olivia wasn't surprised by his answer, but Shirley clearly was.

She stared at him in confusion for a few seconds before clarifying her question.

"I meant, where were you while I was battling the police forces?"

Victor nearly choked upon hearing the question.

"I ran away. Did you expect me to stay and cheer you on?"

Once Shirley got the translation, she retorted, "Of course, you should have cheered for me you dummy !"

She was pouting, so Victor tried to cheer her up:

"And how did you manage to escape?" he asked through Olivia.

Her pout turned into a scowl.

'Wrong move. Maybe I should ask Olivia to tell her a story to distract her,' he thought, finishing his croissant.

Breakfast ended on that sour note, but Shirley wasn't one to let yesterday's troubles spoil her day. She invited Victor for another tour around the city and asked Olivia as well, who declined because she didn't want to translate all day. She jokingly suggested kidnapping a hotel employee who spoke French to translate for them. Surprisingly, this plan was immediately discarded when the receptionist looked at them.

He had a friendly smile but didn't seem in the mood for jokes with his piercing gaze.

Victor would have liked to stay in the hotel to sleep, but Shirley gave him no choice. Just like yesterday, they left the hotel in the same monster truck.

They toured the city all morning before returning to the hotel around 1 PM for lunch. Victor was still sad about not seeing the White House but he hadn't given up his hope of seeing it the next day.

After eating their lunch with Olivia, who appeared to have spent the morning reading, the two rascals left the hotel again. Shirley hadn't warned him, but they wouldn't be using the monster truck that afternoon. Remembering it was Victor's first time in the U.S., she couldn't help but showing him more than just New York. She had planned for a transporter to deliver two bikes for a ride outside the city.

They approached the motorcycles, Victor looking at them with both apprehension and curiosity.

"**Take that one and follow me. I'm going to show you around New York !**" she exclaimed, pointing to one of the bikes.

The transporter, who had stayed near the bikes, handed her a bag that she had prepared. Inside were two helmets, two leather jackets, and two pairs of gloves. She handed one of each to Victor before wearing her own. After putting on her helmet, she mounted her bike and turned to Victor. Her face showed her anticipation, while Victor's conveyed his bewilderment.

He had never ridden a motorcycle in his life and had no clue on how to ride one.

'It can't be that hard, I've ridden a bicycle before,' he encouraged himself.

What he didn't know was that he was about to ride a Kawasaki Ninja H2R, a bike so powerful and high-performing, it wasn't even legal on the road.

'This will be a piece of cake,' thought Victor as he approached the bike.