Fine rain slides over flickering neon lights, turning the streets into cracked mirrors reflecting a city in decay. Paris-Nova, a megalopolis with polluted arteries, suffocates beneath a night sky tinted purple by artificial glow. In the dilapidated district of Météore, gutted buildings rise like the carcasses of giant beasts, their hollow silhouettes swallowed by urban fog. At this late hour, a handful of sputtering streetlamps cast a pale light over fractured sidewalks, intermittently revealing the fleeting shadows of wandering souls.
Inspector Gabriel Moreau walks slowly through the rain, the collar of his long coat pulled up to his cheeks. His shoes sink into blackened sludge mixed with trash, each step accompanied by the melancholic splash of water. He pauses beneath a chipped cornice, lights a cigarette, and studies the crime scene with weary eyes. Another murder in this damned city without light. Gabriel exhales; the smoke dissolves into the mist. Blue police sirens paint the walls with ghostly reflections.
Under the wavering glow, the body lies in the middle of the alley. Mathieu—the young detective, soaked to the bone—kneels beside the corpse, scanning for clues. Gabriel approaches carefully, avoiding shards of glass scattered near a dark pool. The metallic scent of blood blends with the acrid stench of nearby sewers.
"Male victim, early forties," Mathieu mutters as he stands. "Massive wound to the thorax. Looks like… a localized blast impact."
Gabriel narrows his eyes. The man is still wearing a navy uniform marked with an official insignia. On the bloodstained badge, the words read: *Energy Department – Prometheus Project*. A tightness grips Gabriel's chest. Project Prometheus—the city's technological pride, meant to provide clean, inexhaustible power. What was one of its employees doing alone in this hellhole at this hour?
"Find anything?" Gabriel asks, sweeping the alley with his gaze.
Mathieu nods toward a charred remote-like device near the body.
"I think he was holding this when it went off. Could be a homemade detonator. Or whatever triggered the blast."
Gabriel carefully lifts the object with evidence tweezers, examining it under his flashlight. The edges are melted, the smell of burnt plastic sharp in the air. Nothing recognizable remains, but its crude design suggests something assembled in haste.
"Someone rigged him? Or he was carrying a bomb that backfired?"
Mathieu shrugs.
"Hard to say. Looks like there was wiring attached. Maybe an improvised explosive."
Gabriel crouches beside the corpse. The wound's edges are blackened, seared—as though a shaped charge had pierced straight through.
"A shaped charge," Gabriel murmurs. "If that's right, it's the work of a professional… or a very experienced anarchist."
They exchange a troubled glance. In Météore's tangled alleys, gangs and dissidents thrive—but this kind of targeted strike is rare. Especially against someone tied to critical infrastructure.
Heavy footsteps echo behind them. Commissioner Valmont approaches under a black umbrella, flanked by two officers. His square jaw tightens when he sees the uniform.
"Inspector Moreau. What do we have?" he asks, voice rough.
Gabriel rises.
"Unidentified male, Energy Department employee. Likely killed by a focused explosion. We found what might be the trigger device."
Valmont grunts, eyes locking onto the Prometheus badge.
"That's just what we needed…" he mutters. "You understand what this implies? If they're targeting Prometheus—"
"We don't know that yet," Gabriel interrupts calmly. "We'll analyze the device. Could be internal sabotage. Or a deal gone wrong."
Valmont lowers his voice.
"Not a word to the press about Prometheus. Officially, we have an unidentified victim. Nothing more. No need to cause panic."
Gabriel clenches his jaw. The usual cover-up. Prometheus is the crown jewel of the city government—an immense reactor soon to be inaugurated with great ceremony. Any sign of vulnerability would be buried.
"Understood, Commissioner."
Valmont gives one last look at the body being wheeled away.
"Find whoever did this. Fast."
He turns, leaving muddy footprints across the wet pavement.
Gabriel remains still, fists buried in his coat pockets. The city without light answers him with silence, broken only by the rain. Around them, broken towers loom like mute witnesses to yet another tragedy.
"What do you think?" Mathieu finally asks.
Gabriel stares at the spot where the body had been.
"I think someone's sending a message. This isn't random. If Prometheus was the target…"
He lets the thought hang.
Mathieu nods slowly. They both feel it—this alley is only the surface of something much larger.
Gabriel crushes another cigarette between his fingers without lighting it. His gray eyes drift into the mist.
In a whisper meant only for the rain, he concludes:
"…then the whole city could start to shake."