Christine leaves La Gacilly with her family without feeling the need to turn around. She abandons the schist houses, the flowery streets, the overly sober shops and the gardens tended with parochial fervor. Above all, she abandons looks. In this small town where everyone seems to know the habits, faults and secrets of their neighbor, she always has the impression of living in front of an assembly of judges devoid of imagination.
She can no longer stand the silences of her mother, the sermons of her father, the Sunday meals and the cautious conversations around a table where no one says what they really think. For Christine, moral rules mainly serve to hide desires, cowardice and betrayals. Since the world is based on a huge comedy, she chooses not to respect the text.
She now lives in Saint-Martin, in a villa in Cupecoy where Milton Fleet sometimes finds her. He disappears for several days without providing an explanation, then returns in the middle of the night with the same impassive expression, as if the passage of time concerned neither of them. Christine says she appreciates this freedom. She claims that faithful couples are just prisons run by jealous fools. However, she tolerates Milton's absences less and less and the indifference with which he returns to her.
This evening, a reception is taking place aboard the Vénus. The means deployed make it possible to demonstrate the good financial health of companies. The yacht, lit up like a floating palace, seems designed to demonstrate that its owners have far more money than they can reasonably spend.
The stacked decks, the lounges covered in precious wood, the bay windows and the chrome staircases make up a decor where wealth no longer seeks to be useful. It only requires being visible. Every detail reminds guests that they are entering a world whose access requires permission, fortune, or a special indulgence toward those who possess both.
John Pyne brings together shareholders, intermediaries, heirs and several representatives of the ChronoEmpire dynasty. The guests are participating less in a party than in a demonstration of power. The dimensions of the ship, the supposed quality of the wines, the abundance of the dishes and the docility of the staff must confirm the prosperity of their businesses.
John especially wants to have his Ariana admired. He presents it with the pride of an industrialist unveiling a revolutionary machine, while pretending to consider its presence as perfectly natural. Ariana moves among the guests with calculated ease. She tilts her head at the appropriate moment, gives everyone a personalized smile, and makes the men she passes feel like they've just uttered a remarkable thought.
They turn around when she passes. A few women observe her with hostility carefully hidden behind their smiles. Ariana doesn't seem to notice anything. She absorbs glances, compliments and jealousies with the serenity of a device designed to transform human attention into renewable energy.
A gigantic buffet is spread out near the swimming pool. Whole fish sit on beds of crushed ice. Scarlet lobsters open their claws among fruits cut with surgical precision. Pyramids of pastries threaten to collapse under the weight of their sophistication. The guests fill their plates, abandon them after a few bites, then return to help themselves to prove that abundance imposes no limits on them.
Behind the bar, a few extras move around with the discreet efficiency of well-programmed machines. They clear away still full cups, replenish the rows of bottles and meet the demands of a clientele convinced that waiting constitutes a form of humiliation.
A singer maintains a languorous relationship with her microphone. She closes her eyes on the longest notes and runs a slow hand along her dress. Behind her, an orchestra plays loud enough to create ambiance, but low enough to barely drown out the exchanges of a tribe conscious of the distinction of their postures and fascinated by their own importance.
Conversations follow simple rules. Everyone waits for their interlocutor to stop speaking so that they can pronounce the name of a richer person, a more expensive hotel or an island that is more difficult to access. Some recount their successes with such painstaking modesty that it resembles a form of ecstasy. Others talk about projects of which they know neither how they work nor the cost, but which they consider remarkable since they own a part of it.
The assembly includes a few old beaus accompanied by young brainless people kept in a state of dependence on their sugar daddy. Men show off their partners as proof of financial vitality. Young women are perfecting this absent air that allows them to remain present without having to listen.
Widows with worm-eaten necks, weighed down by several rows of pearls, rub shoulders with young heirs busy perfecting the story of their imaginary successes. Near the pool, influencers photograph their plates before abandoning them. They correct the tilt of a glass, move a wedge of lemon, start taking it again, then contemplate the result with professional gravity.
Christine observes this menagerie from an armchair installed near the bar. She rejects norms less out of conviction than out of reflex. As soon as a rule stands before her, she feels the desire to trample it. She sees the world as a hypocritical chaos, temporarily covered by white tables, good manners and declarations of principle.
She is already drinking her third glass of Côte-Rôtie. The heat of the wine mixes in her belly with the substances she consumes before boarding. At first, she experiences only a slight acceleration of the world. Conversations seem brighter, lights more precise and faces more expressive.
Then the edges start to shake.
A woman sitting on the edge of the swimming pool slowly turns her head in his direction. His smile seems too wide. His lips stretch beyond what human skin can reasonably support. Christine blinks. The face returns to its usual shape, then becomes deformed again.
The woman's tongue becomes black and sharp.
Two other guests join her. They lean towards each other and their whispers turn into croaks. For a few seconds, Christine can see something moving in the older woman's mouth. A small dark mass appears between his teeth, jumps onto the table and disappears under a napkin.
Christine suddenly stands up.
Christine: Look at these witches! Look, there's one who vomits toads! And then look at this idiot sticking her tongue out at us! You don't realize it, but I know they're witches.
No one reacts. A waiter gives her a cautious smile before looking away. Near the swimming pool, the three women continue their conversation. They regain an almost normal appearance, but Christine is not fooled. Witches know how to hide their true nature when they feel they are being watched.
She is certain: there are indeed three witches on the edge of the swimming pool. She will expel them using her superpowers. All he has to do is concentrate his energy, stare at their faces and wait for the light to burst from his hands.
She stretches her fingers under the table.
Nothing happens.
Perhaps the wine temporarily interferes with the functioning of his powers. She orders a new glass of Côte-Rôtie from the waiter.
Christine is wearing her orange swimsuit. She chooses it because its aggressive color seems capable of repelling all those who demand more discretion from her. In principle, this outfit is supposed to show her off. She spends a good part of the afternoon convincing herself of this in front of the mirror in her room.
Now she is no longer sure of the effect produced. Her slightly protruding belly seems more visible to her under the lights of the yacht. Every time a girl with an impeccable body passes by her, Christine thinks she perceives a furtive glance, a restrained smile or a discreet movement backwards.
She repeats to herself that she doesn't care about their judgment. These women are just interchangeable decorations, bodies disciplined by hunger, gyms and the fear of growing old. She despises them. However, she pulls in her stomach when they approach and pulls on the fabric of her swimsuit to modify its shape.
His presence seems better tolerated near the bar. The bottles don't compare her to anyone. The waiters don't ask questions. She can drink, observe others and turn their faults into a spectacle.
A woman dressed in a pink dress walks past her. His gait is heavy, his shoulders massive. Christine follows her with her gaze. The guest's nose lengthens slightly. His ears stand back. His skin takes on a gray tint. When she raises her glass, her arm turns into a trunk.
Christine bursts out laughing.
Another guest, then a third, undergo the same metamorphosis. Their clothes disappear beneath pink, wrinkled skin. They move slowly through the middle of the reception, swinging their enormous heads to the rhythm of the orchestra. A fourth elephant enters the pool and floats on its back.
Christine recounts. Three pink elephants circulate among the guests and a fourth does a plank in the swimming pool.
She wonders how these animals escape security surveillance. At the entrance to the Vénus, however, agents inspect bags, invitations and faces with maniacal attention. They let four elephants pass, but they confiscate an old lady's perfume bottle because it exceeds the authorized capacity.
Christine sees Élise and her friend Ève near a table. Élise is wearing a light dress that bares her shoulders. Under the lights of the yacht, her skin looks almost unreal. Christine feels the immediate desire to approach her, without knowing if she is looking for an ally, a protector or simply someone who agrees to look at the same world as her.
She leaves her chair, leaning on the bar. The floor lifts gently under his feet. For a few seconds, Vénus stands vertically. Christine waits for the horizon to return to an acceptable position, then advances towards the two women.
Eve notices his approach first. She observes her dilated pupils, her overly intense smile and the glass she is holding dangerously tilted. She leans towards Élise and whispers a few words to her.
Élise turns around. A quick worry crosses her face, then she gives Christine a cautious smile.
Christine tries an approach that seems perfectly reasonable to her.
Christine: Have you seen these elephants? I don't know who invited them...
Élise follows the direction of his gaze. She only sees several guests gathered near the pool.
Élise: Elephants? There are no elephants!
Christine frowns. She doesn't understand how Élise can't see them. The biggest one, however, has just overturned a table with its trunk. Cups fall onto the bridge, but no one seems to care.
She counts again.
There are indeed three pink elephants among the guests and a fourth still doing the plank in the pool.
Christine should not have accepted the little pills that Isaac takes out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He presents them to her in the palm of his hand with the generous air of a miracle seller. A pink to laugh, a blue to float and a yellow to make the world stop causing problems for a moment.
She no longer knows exactly which ones she swallows. The mixture with the powder that she is already stuffing in her nose becomes unstable. For now, she feels euphoric. The colors vibrate, the music passes through his chest and each thought seems charged with an immense truth.
However, she knows that tomorrow her slight headache will turn into unbearable pain. The voices around her begin to fade away. The lights expand above the pool. Faces stop remaining still. Christine understands that products are winning the game.
One thought reassures her, however: maybe it's not the drugs. Maybe others just refuse to see what she sees.
Christine has strong beliefs about androids. She claims to be fighting against the great replacement of Sapiens by artificial creatures. In the videos, forums and private groups she consults, women with too regular faces, too smooth skin or too docile behavior are presented as the first units of a silent invasion.
According to her, ChronoEmpire has been preparing this substitution for a long time. Gynoids enter homes, businesses and places of pleasure. They observe humans, copy their gestures, learn their desires and end up taking their place.
Christine does not consider this conviction to be a fear. On the contrary, she sees herself as one of the rare people lucid enough to identify the conspiracy. When others laugh at her, their disbelief only confirms the success of the manipulation.
Among the Legalls, his fight against the machines is mixed with an older war. Christine manipulates her father, steals from her mother and humiliates her every chance she gets. She knows her parents' weaknesses and uses them with the precision of a person who no longer believes in family benevolence.
Eve is lying in her bathtub. A fragrant foam covers the water up to his shoulders. She places a glass, a telephone and a religious book next to her, which she does not open. The bathroom door is left ajar.
Christine enters without knocking and sits on the edge of the sink.
Eve closes her eyes, as if stillness could make her daughter less present.
Christine: Hey, are you still here? Shouldn't you go out with your friends this afternoon?
Ève: No, Véronique is ill. We have to postpone.
Christine observes the bottles lined up around the bathtub. She takes one, reads the label, then puts it back in another place.
Christine: What are you three crazy about?
Eve: You know it well, it’s a biblical meeting.
Christine: A Bible meeting in a tea room?
Eve: We read the texts and we discuss them.
Christine lets out a brief laugh. She opens a drawer, searches among tubes of cream and discovers a bottle of perfume still wrapped. She makes it disappear in her bag without bothering to hide.
Eve looks at her, but says nothing. Christine interprets this silence as permission to continue.
Christine: Do you know if Dad will be there for dinner?
Eve: I think he will be at church. Today is the Old Testament study group, like every Wednesday.
Christine: Old Testament my ass.
Eve opens her eyes and sits up slightly. The foam slides along his shoulders.
Eve: Christine, I forbid you!
Christine: What are you forbidding me? You have no doubt about how our reverend spends his evenings?
Eve: Christine! This is truly insane!
Christine: Blonde or brunette?
Ève: Well, let’s see, Christine! It is very serious to make such accusations!
Christine carefully observes her mother. She knows this expression. Eve is less interested in determining whether the accusation is true than in measuring the damage it risks causing.
Christine: Brunette. I know.
Eve’s face twitches. For a second, Christine thinks she recognizes fear there. That’s enough for him.
Eve: Your father would never do such a thing.
Christine: Of course. Dad studies the Bible. You get together with your friends. Chloe is working. Everyone does exactly what they say. It’s wonderful.
Eve: Why do you always have to destroy everything?
Christine smiles. The question seems naive to her. It doesn't destroy anything. It simply lifts the rugs under which others hide their dirt.
Christine: Because you build everything with lies.
Eve turns her head away. She suddenly seems very tired. Christine might leave the room. She could also close the drawer, return the perfume and let her mother finish her bath. This possibility only lasts for a moment.
She gets off the sink, approaches the bathtub and leans towards Eve.
Christine: You know what’s funny? It's not even that he's cheating on you. It’s because he thinks you don’t know.
Eve: Get out.
Christine: See? You know that.
Eve: Get out of this room immediately.
Christine kisses her mother on the forehead with exaggerated tenderness.
Christine: Enjoy your bath.
She leaves the bathroom, leaving the door open.
Provocation constitutes its most familiar language. When she discovers a weakness, she does not try to understand it. She presses on it until she gets a reaction. Each conflict provides her with proof that she still exists in a family that would prefer to see her silent, docile or absent.
Jules sends a five-letter coded look to an operator who responds with a knowing wink. After offering his face to the eye of a camera, he advances in the line assigned to him.
Following the usual procedure, the system responsible for controlling migratory flows absorbs it. Lighted signs tell him where to put his feet, how far away from the person in front of him and when to remove his headgear. A synthetic voice thanks him several times for contributing to collective security.
After a nasal swab, an operator meticulously scans all the elements of his person. His bag, shoes, belt and electronic devices disappear into separate tunnels. Approved as a product that complies with current health standards, Jules joins the seat assigned to him under the anthropomorphic criteria in force in ChronoEmpire stations.
The flight lasts ten hours. Jules complies with the recommendations of the aircraft personnel. The rituals of this church are known to him. He straps himself in, gets up, sits down and closes his tablet following the instructions of the lights obligingly placed above his seat.
As it moves in a trajectory that places it in an orbit chasing the sun, its day lengthens by a few hours. He plans to arrive in the evening to dine in one of the restaurants in Marigot. In this expectation, it absorbs various substances certified by several dietary labels and distributed in packaging whose volume greatly exceeds that of their contents.
During the flight, Jules consults the information which allows him to reconstruct the drift of Christine's body. Meteorological records indicate a northwest-oriented current and an average speed close to one knot. The drowning is probably in an area near the beaches of Simpson Bay or Maho.
The first toxicological analyzes reveal a significant consumption of MDMA associated with several other substances. Christine probably no longer had a correct perception of her environment when she entered the water.
Jules deplores the current habits on SXM. They prick their noses, swallow anything and then entrust the sun, alcohol and sea to arbitrate their experiences.
After his arrival, he goes to the Sunset Bar, the cafe in Maho Beach. Sunset is near. Tourists crowd together on the beach or stay in the water, a bottle of beer in one hand and a SmartPhone in the other.
As a plane approaches, the whole crowd turns around. Arms rise, screens light up and bodies move closer to the track. The roar of the engines makes the parasols vibrate and raises clouds of sand. Tourists scream excitedly as a plane descends overhead.
However, it is this means of transport that allows them to arrive on the island. It lands a few hundred meters away. Jules wonders what they are looking for here. They all seem to have an urgency: to photograph what they no longer take the time to look at.
A new plane is approaching. It descends slowly above the sea, crosses the sky between the raised telephones and disappears behind the airport fences. Immediately, the crowd consults the images it has just recorded. Everyone checks that they are witnessing what they have just experienced.
Jules waits for the sand to settle, then walks to the Sunset Bar. He shows a photograph of Christine to the owner.
Jules: Does this young woman mean anything to you?
Gregory examines the photograph without taking it. His gaze remains on Christine's face for a few seconds, then he shakes his head.
Gregory: Sorry, no, I don't see…
Jules brings up a second image on her phone. Christine wears her orange swimsuit.
Jules: She is wearing this swimsuit. Does that mean anything to you?
Gregory observes the image longer. The color of the garment seems to awaken a memory.
Gregory: There was a girl with a swimsuit like that yesterday, quite late. It was hard not to notice her and her friend.
Jules: Why?
Gregory: She spoke loudly. She laughed and she screamed, and then she got angry without us really understanding who.
Jules: She seemed drunk?
Gregory: Not just drunk.
Jules: And his girlfriend?
Gregory: She was trying to calm her down. Well, at the beginning. Afterwards, there are too many people. I have to tend the bar.
Jules: Did you see them leaving the beach?
Gregory hesitates. Behind him, an employee puts bottles in a refrigerator. A plane takes off and momentarily covers their conversation.
Gregory: No. I especially remember the jersey. Orange like that, under the lights, it's hard to forget.
Jules puts away her phone. The beach stretches out in front of him, now almost peaceful between two plane arrivals. Some bathers let themselves be carried away by the water. A few meters from the shore, the party seems harmless. At night, the music, the products and the currents transform this narrow strip of sand into a place where a woman could have disappeared without anyone knowing exactly when she stopped participating in the party.
Analyzes reveal high consumption of MDMA. The route taken by this substance and several similar products is one of the regular concerns of local authorities. Drugs circulate between clubs, beaches, private villas and pleasure boats with an ease that official controls fail to thwart.
Christine does not seem to have any difficulty obtaining supplies. Isaac distributes his tablets with the self-interested generosity of a man who prefers to multiply debtors rather than customers. Christine also hangs out with people who have privileged access to places where these substances circulate.
She is known as the companion of Milton Fleet, an active member of the ChronoEmpire network. Milton appears and disappears according to the requirements of missions, the nature of which he never reveals. He has installed Christine in a villa in Cupecoy, but their relationship seems dominated by indifference, dependence and sudden power struggles. He accompanies Christine during certain parties. Jules must question this individual.
It also appears that Christine maintains a complicit and intimate relationship with Élise Gillet. Several witnesses saw them together on board the Vénus, then in different establishments on the island. Élise is attentive towards Christine, without it being possible to determine whether this closeness comes from friendship, desire or a form of protection.
The relationship with Damien Gillet appears much more conflictual. Christine accuses her of adopting intrusive behavior and taking advantage of her state when she uses. Damien is near the beach during the evening when she disappears. According to some testimonies, he tries to approach her when she is already no longer properly controlling her movements.
Adam Legall, his father, tries to reestablish a relationship of authority. Without success. Their exchanges become more and more violent. Christine claims to know of her father's infidelities and regularly uses this information to threaten him. Adam claims to want to protect his daughter against her excesses. Christine considers this protection as a desire for control.
In recent months, his lifestyle has clearly shifted. Consumption is increasing. Delusional episodes become more frequent. Those close to him end up considering his falls, his screams and his temporary disappearances as ordinary incidents of an existence that has become chaotic.
I've used substances that can seriously harm my health... but at the time, it seemed more like a promise. A slow, warm rise, as if the night itself was breathing through me. And then the beach became a living organism.
The techno hits relentlessly, heavy, hypnotic, and each beat seems to move my body without asking my opinion. The water is full of moving figures, people dancing and laughing, drinks in hand. They oscillate to the rhythm of the bass. The lights cut out fragments of faces. Unreal colors slide across the sea.
I feel light, too light. I know Milton is somewhere, but he belongs to another, vague, secondary plane. Everything is distant except the immediate sensations: the music, the water against my skin, the voices mixing.
Then Damien appeared. I don't know exactly when he approached. He is simply there, as if he had always been part of the decor. His gaze is clear, almost too clear in this rocking world. I feel a tension, something intrusive in his presence. I want to react, to put some distance. My arm goes, but my body doesn't follow.
The gesture breaks along the way and suddenly everything changes: the water, the sky, the lights... everything mixes in a brutal dizziness. I lose my balance as if the ground had disappeared. My legs no longer respond properly and the water, which was lukewarm and light a few seconds earlier, has become dense, hostile.
I try to stand up. I believe. I'm slipping out of rhythm. The rest is vague, fragmented. Around me, the party continues: the laughter, the music, the raised glasses... no one really sees me when I lose my balance.
It's a strange sensation: that of losing control, not just of my body, but of the entire scene, as if someone had moved the benchmarks. I feel like I'm leaving the stage.
Among the three suspects, Damien Gillet is the only one whose presence at Maho Beach at the time of Christine's disappearance is clearly established.
Several witnesses saw them together in the water. Christine is already heavily intoxicated. His movements are imprecise, his balance fragile and his perception of reality profoundly altered. Damien knows it, yet he approaches her.
According to testimonies, Christine first tries to move away. Then she tries to push him away or slap him. Damien grabbed her arm before pushing her away. The gesture seems brief. It's enough. Christine loses her balance.
Jules examines the testimonies collected on the beach. None describe a particularly violent blow. No one sees Damien throwing Christine into the water. This is precisely what makes the matter more difficult. Damien can say that she fell alone. But Christine was not in a normal state. She had used MDMA, alcohol and several other substances. His balance was already precarious. Pushing away someone in this state does not produce the same consequences as pushing away a sober person.
Jules then looks for what Damien does after the fall. This is where things become clearer. Christine tries to stand up. She doesn't succeed. She drifts. Damien stays in front of her for a few moments, then he comes out of the water. No call for help, no attempt to bring her back to shore.
Jules: Did you see that she was having difficulties?
Damien: She was completely stoned.
Jules: That wasn’t my question.
Damien: She was in the water with everyone.
Jules: Did you push her away?
Damien: She was trying to hit me.
Jules: Did you push her away?
Damien: I defended myself.
Damien denies almost nothing. He merely changes the words. Christine didn't fall because he pushed her, she lost her balance. She wasn't drowning, she was swimming poorly. He didn't abandon her, he just left. For Jules, this way of telling the facts is a lot like Damien. Jules doesn't know if Damien wanted to kill Christine. On the other hand, he knows that he saw the danger and that he chose to do nothing.
For months, I have been living with this certainty that is gnawing at me and wearing me down at the same time. They are there, everywhere. Behind the perfect faces, behind the gestures that are too fluid, too precise. Gynoids are not simple machines. They learn. They observe. They replace.
When Élise came into my life, I immediately felt something strange. A fascination, yes… but also a dull alert, like a signal that I couldn’t ignore. Too perfect. Too smooth. Too...other.
His movements are controlled, almost unreal. His skin catches the light in a way that bothers me. I try to reason with myself, but the more I look at her, the more my conviction strengthens. It is not possible otherwise. She's not like us.
I know that ChronoEmpire deludes us by pretending that the androids around us are simple machines entirely devoted to our service. My friends and I are waging a fight because we know that they want to replace us. We have undertaken a fight against these things that want to make us disappear. We are determined not to let ourselves be overwhelmed. As we are aware of the legitimacy of our fight, we will fight to the end and in the end we will win.
Élise gets off her plane at Juliana airport. She takes me to her house. His caresses become intrusive. It's a gynoid. I recognized her. I am fascinated by the softness of her curves, by the fragility of her neck. Such perfection is inhuman.
Harmonious curves, a doll's face and perfectly smooth skin: it brings together all the perfections. I have one certainty: Élise is certainly a female android and I belong to an organization that fights against the great replacement.
I feel an attraction, but also a disgust for this mechanical beast, this devil's machine which would like to replace authentic sapiens, beings of flesh and blood.
I followed her into her room. My heart is beating too fast, but I tell myself that it's normal. I try to take her by the waist:
Me: Come on! Come closer!
Elise: Christine! Gently Christine!
Élise resists, she pushes me away. This simple gesture, this refusal acts as a discharge. Everything is getting carried away. My thoughts are jostling, hardening. She's hiding something. She must be hiding something. When I try to push her onto a sofa, she still resists and I lash out. I grab him by the neck and squeeze. She struggles but doesn't offer much resistance.
I expected contact with a sheath surrounding a network of wires irrigating circuits, but I am horrified because I realize that it is in fact a sapiens. She is inert. Reality hits me suddenly, brutal, irrevocable. My breath catches. My mind refuses to accept what I immediately understand. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake.