With his hands raised, he waves them left and right, feeling for any possible obstacles. But the path is completely empty.
He pats his pockets, searching for anything that might help, but the sound of footsteps all around interrupts him.
He can’t tell where the footsteps are coming from, so he stops and listens carefully. With fists clenched, he’s ready for anything. "Who’s there? Show yourself, I know you’re here!"
As he tries to figure out where the footsteps are coming from, the sounds start to concentrate in front of him.
Relieved to finally have a lead, he takes a few steps forward and tries to pierce through the veil of fog. Then, a silhouette slowly begins to appear.
Suspicious, Jo?l keeps his distance. "What do you want from me?" But he receives no answer to his question. When the silhouette stops, Jo?l wonders if he should move forward or wait. But as he ponders, a cold breeze brushes past him, making him shiver instantly.
After the shiver, the wind slowly begins to disperse the fog. Slowly, Jeffrey’s face emerges from the thinning fog.
"Jeffrey?" Jo?l takes a few steps toward him. But immediately, Jeffrey raises his hand to stop him.
"Stay there. Don’t move."
"I thought you were dead! What’s going on?"
"I don’t have time to discuss this with you."
Jo?l frowns, struggling to grasp Jeffrey’s words. "Jo?l, you need to look around."
As he turns his head, he realizes the fog has completely dissipated, and he didn’t even notice. They are at the top of the gallows where the execution took place. Jo?l’s lips move, and he whispers: "How did we get here?" Jeffrey starts to move slowly and approaches the rope at the center of the gallows.
"I didn’t come to talk, but to tell you something."
"What is it?"
Jeffrey loops the rope around his neck and tightens it gently, making sure it’s comfortable. Jo?l stands frozen, watching in silence. "Should I intervene?" But before he can decide, Jeffrey points at him.
"Remember, the dead tell the best stories because they can’t lie."
"That was your last words. But what do they mean?"
Jeffrey smiles as the trapdoor beneath him opens. He falls and disappears into the complete darkness under the gallows.
Jo?l watches helplessly as the rope jerks taut, then stills.
He drops to his knees, peering into the darkness, but it’s too dense. "Jeffrey! Jeffrey!" he yells at the top of his lungs.
He frantically searches for something to cut the rope but finds nothing. He tries to pull Jeffrey up, but his fingers slip on the rope. Jo?l panics. "I missed my chance to understand. I’m an idiot!"
After a few desperate tries, he falls to his knees in defeat, staring into the total darkness.
Jo?l wakes up with a start in his bed. He lets out a cry of terror before regaining his composure. He breathes heavily, his eyes scanning the room. It takes him two long minutes to realize it was a dream. "What was that strange dream? Why does Jeffrey’s last words haunt me ?"
After calming down, he gets up and heads to the kitchen, where he runs cold water. He splashes his face several times.
He stares into the mirror, repeating: "It was just a dream". Once reassured, he leaves the kitchen and faces the long hallway. He sees his workroom.
He walks into the darkness, sits at his desk, pulls the journal from his drawer, and turns on the lamp. Jo?l flips back to the first pages where Jeffrey introduces himself. Slowly, he reads each line with an unjustified feeling that they contain a hidden or coded message.
But once again, he finds nothing. Only Jeffrey’s introduction is written there. But this time, Jo?l keeps flipping through the pages and reaches the second section, which he hasn’t read yet.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
As he begins to read the first words, he stops, and doubt begins to creep in.
"A soldier risks her life to get this journal out. A general is looking for it. A suicide that looks like a murder.
If you want me to continue, give me proof, and I’ll believe you have something to say."
He continues reading in a low voice.
Even though I’m dead, I can easily sense doubt or questions in you. But know that it’s perfectly normal at this point.
However, you must know that I can prove everything I say and give you evidence that I’m not lying.
But this is where you’ll reach your point of no return. The question you need to ask yourself is: Are you ready to go all the way?
As I’ve already told you, I was a nuclear technician. My research led me to a discovery that cost me my life. So here’s the information I’m passing on to you: 235U2, PU1, CL4.
To someone with no knowledge, this formula may seem incomprehensible, but I want to tell you that this is why I was killed.
This formula represents my last invention: Chloro-Nuclear.
The formula is the basic version, but there’s a superior version. That one, I took to the grave with me as quickly as possible so it would never fall into their hands.
This formula allows the creation of a brand-new nuclear fuel used in the Sibérion-12 power plant.
I deliberately hid the unknown element because it’s with this that I can prove to you that I’m telling the truth.
To prove my words, you’ll need to go to Refneault University, to the nuclear wing. Since 2020, a computer has been installed there to challenge all new students. The goal of the game is to find the unknown element.
As I’ve already told you, I won’t give you the unknown element, but I’ll give you something that will make you understand the truth.
If you have the courage, go to this university. Once in front of that computer, enter the following impossible formula: 235U2, PU1, CL4, X0.5.
At that moment, you’ll quickly understand. But I want to suggest two very important things. Two rules that will be very useful to you.
1: Don’t let anyone see your face, or any cameras.
2: Be ready to run for your life.
It’s up to you to decide if you want to know more about my story or if you’ll stop here.
The choice is yours. But I truly hope you’ll make the right choice, the one that leads to the truth and answers. Remember, I’m only offering you the truth. It’s within reach, you can grasp it. It’s yours.
Jo?l shuts the journal and leans back, rocking slightly in his chair. The formula spins in his head. "What the hell does this mean?"
A quick search on his computer gives him the following results:
235U = Uranium 235
PU = Plutonium
CL = Chlorine
X = Unknown
0.5 = Impossibility in a formula
Sitting at his computer, he stares at the screen, scratching his beard as he tries to make sense of it.
But as the first rays of sunlight begin to shine through the office window, he jumps out of his chair. "What am I risking... and... what if he was right?"
He gets in his car and heads to Refneault University. The route isn’t unfamiliar to Jo?l, as he knows this university well. It’s where he studied journalism.
Jo?l pulls up just outside the university parking lot. He grabs his brown coat and pulls the hood over his head.
Rule number 1: Don’t let anyone see your face, or any cameras.
He takes the underground corridors toward the journalism wing, each step flooding him with memories. The good old university days when he could skip any class he wanted.
On the second floor, he walks down a long, dark hallway and comes across a large document chute on the wall. A smile appears on his face, and a half-question instinctively slips out: "Could it be that..."
He shakes his head. No, I need to see that computer. He continues on his way, leaving his memories behind as he enters a wing he’s less familiar with—the nuclear wing.
After a brief search, he finds a computer mounted on the wall in the hallway. A black screen displays a blinking line. Before placing his hands on the keyboard, he puts on small gloves. He takes a deep breath and starts entering the formula. Now we’ll see if this is true or not.
The screen goes completely black, and an hourglass appears. Then, a minute later, a message appears in the center of the screen:
Congratulations, your formula works. Report to your instructor as soon as possible. Thank you and have a good day.
Jo?l jumps when he sees the message. "I didn’t think it would actually work. So, Jeffrey ... what happens next?"
As he discreetly looks around, two cameras turn toward him, and a small red light appears.
Jo?l continues to hide his face from the two cameras. He waits for a few minutes, then is suddenly struck by a mental flash.
Rule 2: Be ready to run for your life.
"Run for my life... but from what?"
Doubtful, Jo?l moves toward the window and enjoys the sunlight to warm himself. He can see the first students arriving. Suddenly, in the distance, he hears a police siren wailing. A second one follows the first.
Jo?l’s heart starts racing. His hands begin to tremble. His anxiety rises. "It could just be a coincidence! There’s no way they’re coming for me, right?"
The two police cars arrive, and each blocks the two entrances to the parking lot.
When Jo?l sees two trucks full of soldiers arriving at full speed, he realizes the full meaning of Rule 2.
Before the first soldiers even get out, Jo?l is already running at full speed. Deep down, he knows he needs to get out of the nuclear wing first. If he can reach the journalism wing, he can escape them. During his run, he bumps into a student who drops his books on the ground. Without apologizing, he keeps running while hiding his face.
As he changes wings, he enters a long, dimly lit hallway. He repeats to himself: "Please, God, let it still be there."
When he reaches the large document chute, he opens it and jumps inside without a second thought or hesitation. As the door closes behind him, he slides down a long duct. Using his hands and feet to slow his descent, he reaches an opening cut into the chute.
With surprising ease, he grabs onto the hole and dives inside. He slides a few more meters before landing abruptly in a small, dimly lit room. The floor is completely covered in paper.
Jo?l shakes his head to regain his composure. My old couch, my little lamp, the psychologist’s desk... a young woman sitting — WHAT?!
In the center of the room, a young girl is sitting and staring at Jo?l with wide eyes and her mouth open. They stare at each other like two cats in an alley.
They lock eyes, speaking at the same time — "Who are you?" "What are you doing here?"