Mathieu and the others hadn't reacted much, but inside they were devastated. If the power plants had experienced any malfunction, then it would be the end of the world. France was known to be a major producer of electricity, and it wasn't thanks to coal, gas, or renewable energies.

Stéphanie had participated in many anti-nuclear marches, although this source of energy was generally accepted by the population and, to her greatest shame, recognized as "green." She knew that using such a source of energy could only have negative consequences. According to her, the question was when they would have to pay for this policy. There had been Chernobyl and Fukushima, yet few countries had turned their backs on nuclear power.

Although this police officer had acknowledged that there had been an unprecedented environmental disaster as she had warned countless times, the young girl did not cry victory. Even if she had proof that all this time she had been right to fear nuclear power, she had gained nothing. There were only losers.

If even one power plant had indeed exploded, then the entire Europe would be contaminated. People, air, plants, water, animals, soil. If this police officer was not mistaken, from the moment the power plants released their poison into nature, they were breathing, eating, drinking, and touching radioactive particles.

She had seen horrible, nightmarish images of what had happened after these two accidents, especially Chernobyl. The same for all those places polluted by nuclear tests. The same for Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

She then imagined losing all her hair, her appearance changing as if she had been locked in a microwave oven, and her organs turning into mush.

She already saw herself dying in agonizing pain.

"D-did what you said about the power plants get verified?" Jérôme asked in a trembling voice.

"Not for the moment. We sent someone to Nogent-sur-Seine, which is the closest site to Paris. It's about a hundred kilometers southeast (100 kilometers = 62 miles). Maybe he'll have good news?"

The young gendarme didn't seem to believe what she was saying, and it showed. She looked away, her voice trembled, and her hands seemed to bother her. All these signs clearly indicated that she feared the worst.

"She's the worst liar! Anyone can see she doesn't believe it for a second! Is she doing it on purpose or what ?!"

Leto and Soda, the two dogs of the house, then stood up, their ears alert. They rushed to a window even though it was closed. This immediately caught everyone's attention.

The atmosphere in the room then suddenly changed.

"You weren't expecting visitors, I suppose?" the policewoman asked seriously.

"No," Mathieu replied. "You're the first to come in a while."

"Do you have weapons? Just in case."

Mathieu looked at the policewoman who seemed to be searching for something in the darkness.

"Just tools, that's all. Is... Is your gun loaded?"

"Yes. But I only have this magazine. Ammunition is precious, now more than ever. Take something to defend yourselves and put the youngest ones to safety. I'll go check."

Stéphanie felt her blood freeze in her veins. Her heart was beating so hard that she felt like everyone could hear it.

She remembered that cursed night when people had entered her home and hurt her family.

Her hands began to tremble violently like her whole body. Marie, although terrified, moved closer to her sister and hugged her tightly. It was as if she was trying to break her bones. She whispered a few comforting words in her ear:

"Don't worry. We have a policewoman with us, and she's armed. If these people mean us harm, I hope for them they're prepared."

These words and the fact that Marie was by her side comforted the young girl. Slowly, she snapped out of her stupor.

"Y-you're right. It's not for us to be afraid."

It wasn't just one person who had come to Mathieu's farm, but a whole group. They ignored it and had no idea they were surrounded. The enemy was a group known for their violence in a neighboring district where they ruled.

This was the case before the blackout, but things had been getting worse for them since the power outage. These people lived off small trades, including drugs and stolen goods. This had allowed them to live the high life and expand far beyond their block of buildings.

At the top was the one they called Tonton. He was the one who dictated the rules. Anyone who broke them had to deal with him. Generally, young people kept in line because they were really afraid of him and his punishments. In summary, anything that didn't threaten his business was allowed.

Thanks to Tonton, many residents of the neighborhood had access to goods they wouldn't normally have had: a scooter, a 4K TV, a sports car, brand-name clothes, and so on. Those who were not part of this circle often ended up joining Tonton's ranks to enjoy the same benefits. This also allowed them to benefit from a certain level of protection.

As Tonton regularly said, they formed a family and one never attacked family.

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All the others could only keep quiet and be as discreet as possible.

But all that was over. With the power outage and especially the shutdown of all vehicles, the drug trade had stopped circulating. There were still some buyers in the first few days, but it didn't take long for them to stop consuming in search of food.

Cash, which they had in abundance in these neighborhoods, had lost its value. They couldn't buy anything with it, so working for Tonton no longer made much sense. Tonton had to pay his guys differently, and what they wanted, since they needed to feed themselves and their families, was water and something to eat. Some needed medication for a sick parent, but what could Tonton do? He had never tried to make this type of provision.

After two weeks of looting, his family was hungry again. Two factions had appeared quite quickly when it became clear that electricity would not return immediately. There were those who thought that France had nothing more to offer them and that it was time for them to leave with as much wealth as possible for a fresh start in their home country, and there were those who did not want to start their lives elsewhere, often in a country they did not really know and for some only loved from afar.

The latter were partly made up of radical elements very focused on religion and who advocated the colonization of France for the glory of Islam and fair compensation for decades of colonization.

This was the case with the leader of this group who had targeted an easy prey earlier in the day. His name was Mohamed El Fassi, but most of the time he was called "Mad Dog". For Tonton, young El Fassi was a time bomb. A fanatic with whom he had to deal because he was his nephew.

If he had been just a foreigner among others in his neighborhood, he would have driven him away long ago. Unfortunately, they were bound by blood.

Mad Dog had just served a short prison sentence for burglary, kidnapping, and violence. He was scum, even from Tonton's point of view, who was not an angel himself. Because he was of foreign origin with dual nationality, he was flagged for his affiliation with a terrorist group and known for his radicalism, he had received an order for expulsion from the territory. However, no one had dared to come and get him to put him on a plane to Morocco, which, by the way, did not want him.

Since Tonton had left with all those who wanted to return to North Africa, there weren't that many, Mohamed El Fassi had naturally risen to his throne.

He then realized that managing the neighborhood was not as easy as he thought. He now understood why Tonton had chosen to leave.

When he was told that they had spotted a girl with a man carrying goods, even though they couldn't say what they had found, he almost cried out in joy. He was even more delighted when they then went to a farm whose existence he had been unaware of until then. After all, he had no reason to cross the highway.

He had high hopes, because life had become very complicated in recent days. The neighboring neighborhoods had formed militias as violent as his guys. One of them had been stabbed in the stomach no later than the day before while looking for food in a house. Those who had accompanied him had then been chased for hundreds of meters by a group armed with kitchen knives and sticks!

By targeting an isolated farm, he reduced the risks for his team. He even thought about letting them have fun with the girl for days. Finally, they could eat their fill by roasting the dog.

The one who had followed the girl, the man, and the dog to this farm had said that there were other girls and that there were only three men. For this little visit, they had come with fifteen and with weapons. In the meantime, the rest of their family protected the territory.

"Fuck, did we have to come all the way here?" one of the men, dressed entirely in black, with a face marked by the trials of recent days, said. "We walked for an hour! There better be grub! I've been running on empty since yesterday, you know?"

"Oh, shut up!" snapped another, not looking too pleased himself. "You've only got your mom and sis to worry about! We're five! And my older bro just eats and sleeps! We've been starving for three days straight!"

"Hey, is there even any food?" asked a third, scratching his beard. "Karim? You saw them, so?"

"Well, I don't know!" grumbled the youngest of the group, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess? These people need food to live, right?"

"In my opinion," said the first, "he's after the girls more than food, Mad Dog."

"Watch your mouth!" the second man exclaimed threateningly.

The agreement was not good between the members of the team, and this was partly due to their empty stomachs. They saw every day their families suffering from the same evil. The solution was simple: they had to eat. But how to find food when it was scarce everywhere and the people who had a little were ready to fight and kill to keep it?

Even though many were part of Tonton's band, now Mad Dog's, few were prepared to risk their lives for a bag of sliced bread or a can of food.

The fanatics like Mohamed El Fassi were the ones ready to die and kill, not them. Those who were truly willing to get their hands dirty were not or were hardly present that night because they had to prepare for what Mad Dog called "the big day." And that day was finally coming. It was scheduled for the next day. After several days of discussion and organization, all the true Muslims of Paris were going to leave their neighborhoods to make their voices heard and express all their hatred towards those who had long despised them.

"Maybe he's all hyped up 'cause of tomorrow?" one of the men said.

"Yeah, well, it better go well," Karim said, plagued by doubt. "My mom's freaking out, man. She says it's dangerous."

"Wallah! She's treating you like a kid!"

"Hey, relax. Mine doesn't want me to go either. But I told her it's us they should be afraid of! She didn't like it. She wants to leave the neighborhood to go to the countryside, tss!"

The young man with the split eyebrow spat in the grass with contempt. Like all those who had stayed by Mad Dog's side, he didn't want to leave, not for his grandparents' Algeria, nor for the countryside. And for what? Work the land like a peasant? Never!

"Shut the fuck up," warned the oldest of the group, "he's coming."

The one who was coming was none other than Mad Dog. Armed with a 9mm automatic pistol and dressed as usual in a tracksuit, a sweatshirt, and his PSG cap, he stopped in front of his team. He gave his instructions and had his men placed all around the house, ignoring for the moment the storage buildings. They could hear a dog barking inside, but nothing else.

Because they had seen the lights go out through the curtains, the attackers thought the occupants had gone to bed.

It was, as Mad Dog had said, the right time to attack.

They broke down the doors without any problems and burst into the building. The candles having just been extinguished, there was a gentle smell of smoke, mixed with that of a delicious vegetable soup.

Mad Dog, his weapon in hand, entered first through the main door and was surprised to distinguish a silhouette in the living room. He barely had time to raise his weapon before he was mowed down by a short burst. The three men behind him couldn't do anything but the policewoman took aim at them.

She wasn't trying to hurt, but to kill.

Those who had gone in from behind were very scared when they heard the shots, but before they could turn on their heels, they were greeted by a furious Mathieu. He, who was usually very calm, had turned into a demon.

He showed no mercy to these people, even if among them there were teenagers. The shock that had struck them prevented them from defending themselves effectively. To make matters worse, they found themselves in an environment that was unknown to them and very poorly lit.

It was a massacre.

Out of the fifteen who had accompanied Mad Dog, only eight returned home, some of them injured by bullets.