Chapter 2: First Steps

The night stretched on in the hospital room, a heavy silence punctuated only by the soft snoring of Élise, asleep on the bed a few meters from the crib. Victor Langlois stared at the ceiling, his tiny eyes wide open in the dim light. The faint glow of an outside neon light filtered through the curtains, casting trembling shadows on the white walls. He wasn't sleepy—not really. His mind, trapped in this infant body, refused to rest.

He turned his head with difficulty, an awkward movement that reminded him once again of the absurdity of his situation. In his previous life, he had spent whole nights coding complex algorithms. Now, he was reduced to staring at a cracked ceiling, unable even to sit up.

A faint groan escaped his lips, an involuntary reflex he immediately hated. Élise stirred in her sleep, muttered something unintelligible, and then fell back asleep. Victor sighed inwardly. He would have to get used to these uncontrollable noises, this total dependence on others. But patience, he told himself. Each passing day would bring him closer to independence.

The next morning arrived with a sudden flurry of activity. The door opened gently, and Paul entered, carrying a tired backpack over one shoulder. His black hair was still damp from a quick shower, and a smell of cheap soap hung around him. He approached Élise's bed, placing a hesitant hand on her arm.

— Élise, he murmured. It's time to go home. I've prepared everything at the house.

She opened her eyes, blinked several times to chase away the sleep, then smiled when she saw her husband. She sat up, adjusting her wrinkled sweater.

— Already? I feel like I barely closed my eyes.

Paul nodded, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He glanced at the crib, where Victor silently watched the scene.

— And him? he asked. Did he sleep?

— Like an angel, Élise replied as she stood to approach the crib.

Victor watched her move forward, her heavy steps betraying the exhaustion from childbirth. She leaned over him, her hair falling in disheveled strands around her face. Her hands, soft but a bit rough from hours spent handling bills and coins at the supermarket, caressed his forehead.

— My little treasure, she said with a tired smile. We're going home today.

Victor couldn't answer, but in his mind, he analyzed every detail. Élise was 28 at that time, younger than he had known her in his teenage memories. She was full of energy despite her fatigue, and her words overflowed with sincere love. Paul, 32, seemed more reserved, almost intimidated by the role of father he was taking on for the first time. Victor wondered what they really thought of him. To them, he was just an ordinary baby, a mundane miracle of life. They had no idea of the chaos swirling in his mind.

Nurse Dupont returned shortly after, her bun as impeccable as ever. She carried a stack of forms, which she handed to Paul with an authoritative air.

— Sign here and here, she said, pointing to the lines with a pen. And make sure he's properly covered for the journey. It's chilly outside.

Paul awkwardly complied, scribbling his signature as Élise wrapped Victor in a hand-knitted yellow wool blanket. Victor smelled the wool, a mix of softness and slight dampness, and allowed himself to be handled without resistance. He had to play the part, after all.

The journey home was a silent ordeal. Paul was driving an old Peugeot 206, a model that Victor recognized instantly. The engine sputtered with every acceleration, and the interior smelled of gasoline and worn fabric. Sitting in the back in a baby seat, Victor watched the world pass by outside the window. The streets of their small French town—a modest suburb an hour from Paris—were familiar, almost unchanged from his childhood memories. Dull brick houses, trees with yellowing leaves, pedestrians bundled up in autumn coats. Everything was so... ordinary.

— Do you think he likes the car? Paul asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

— Oh, I'm sure he loves it, Élise replied with a soft laugh. Look how calm he is.

Victor mentally suppressed a smile. Calm? If only they knew he was mentally calculating how long it would take him to access a computer and start coding, they'd be less at ease.

The Langlois' house was a small single-story building, wedged between two more modern apartment blocks. The beige paint was peeling off the walls, and an unkempt wisteria overtook the facade. Inside, the scent of old wood mixed with that of a lemon cake Élise must have baked before her hospital stay. Paul placed Victor's car seat on the living room table, a pine piece of furniture marked with crayon stains from years of wear.

— Welcome home, little guy, he said, awkwardly tapping the blanket.

Victor surveyed the room. A worn sofa occupied a corner, facing an old CRT television playing a morning show on low volume. Yellow-flowered curtains hung at the windows, and a pile of bills lay on a sideboard. It was modest, almost suffocating in its simplicity. But to Victor, it was a base, a starting point.

Élise sat next to him, lifting him into her arms to rock him. She hummed a lullaby, a melody he vaguely recognized from his past childhood. He wondered what she saw in him at that moment. A promise? A better future than theirs? Paul, on the other hand, was busy in the kitchen, preparing a bottle with exaggerated concentration, as if he feared doing it wrong.

Victor closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to think. This day had been slow, almost insignificant in appearance. Yet, it marked the beginning of everything. He had to wait, grow, observe. His parents were his first allies, even though they were unaware. They were simple, hardworking, full of good intentions. He could gently manipulate them, push them to give him what he needed—books, a computer, an accelerated education.

But for now, he was stuck here, in Élise's arms, listening to the irregular ticking of a wall clock. Each passing second was another second closer to his goal. He imagined his future classmates—innocent children he would surpass effortlessly. His teachers—women who would never understand the extent of his knowledge. And his enemies—those he would face later, when he had built something worthy of his name.

— Sleep well, my love, Élise whispered, laying him down in a small folding crib set up in the living room.

Victor did not sleep. He stayed awake, listening to the sounds of the house—the creaking of Paul's footsteps, the murmurs of the television, the wind whistling outside. He had all the time in the world, and he intended to make good use of it.