7 h 1 AM

Clark leaves the tramway at last. He’s in front of the ginormous building that constitutes the “Vil de Ville” library. Truly one of the few Troposville establishments gifted with a precise budget. Its beauty exposes the murky nature surrounding the rest of Troposville’s architecture.

When one of the country’s most crucial infrastructures is hiding cracked houses and dirty, poorly kept apartment complexes, it starts to get a little ridiculous.

Vil de Ville is held up by a dozen pillars at the front, sides and back of the building. The stairs are on the contrary quite modest. The concrete is showing its age. A couple of steps breaks down as Clark applies but the least amount of pressure. He grimaces.

Clark remembers being the one who called about three weeks ago to get the stairs fixed. Troposville hasn't kept their cleaners in the public sector. They must have mobilised their investments to the pursuit of mutations in the city. Many private companies in the construction business had to relocate to another city.

Most probably in Mesosville…

And yet, when Clark arrives near the front door, he’s surprised by the yellow tapes, posters and barricades. It looks like last minute props have been plastered in front of the library’s entrance. So that explains the police cars from earlier. This can’t be good.

Out of worry, Clark fastens his steps. His rapid paste takes the three police officers sitting near the barricade by surprise. They hurry to meet the young black man on his way.

“Hey hey, wait a sec’ mister! Who the hell are you!?”, orders one of the policemen. He’s about a head and a half shorter then Clark.

“Oh right, excuse me !”, Responds the young man, a professional tone to his voice. “My name is Clark Deschaines. I work here as an assistant librarian.”

Clark searches in his bag and grabs his wallet. In it contains his employee ID card. He passes it to the officer. The latter inspects it, expressing suspicion to the overwhelmingly serious photo of the young black man. Despite feeling like he’s being scrutinized, Clark remains as calm as can be.

The officer looks at the card. The officer then looks at Clark. The officer then looks at the card again.

The pressure rises too drastically for a simple background check. The two other police officers are looking at each other, worried. Then, what seems to be their leader gives Clark his ID card back.

“Well, you must have a lot of luck, Mr. Deschaines, cause you’re in time off today… probably for the rest of the week if you ask me. I don’t know if your employer pays for those kinds of vacations, don’t ask me.”

“Actually, I’m more concerned about what’s going on here, because this seems a bit too sudden of a decision.”

The policemen look at each other for an instant, only for the same officer to respond for the three of them.

“Sorry. That’s confidential.”

Before Clark could comment further on the lack of clarity, a feminine voice, strong in presence, reverberates in the background.

“Absolutely not. You let this man in as well, you bunch of racists.”

Both the officers and Clark feel jolts in their body as soon as they hear the powerful person get closer to them.

A white lady with brown hair cut to the base of the neck walks with a tasteful elegance supported by her black high heels blouse and clean-looking jeans, both chocolate color. Her glasses and the red lipstick would elevate her charismatic charm and seductive nature… if this was anybody else.

This woman gives Clark the heebie jeebies.

“Ah shit, here we go again”, he whispers to himself.

“W-With all due respect miss, for crying out loud, this is anything BUT racism to make somebody who shouldn’t be on the scene walk away from the-!”

“Yes, indeed”, cuts the dame. “A fine demonstration of tenderness to send home an employee who could use the paycheck in this dire economy. Unfortunately, again, as a librarian, he better show his mean mug to work for a library that is not completely closed off. Furthermore, as the article 16:4 of the workers protection act, or W.P.A, suggest…”

The policeman, once talkative with hints of swagger in his professionalism, is panicking. He raises his left hand and his tone shifts in protestation. This woman is no joke, with a deep knowledge of the rules, much deeper than what your standard citizen provides.

“Oh my goodness, yes ma’am the chart stipulates that workers can enter at their risks and peril in danger zones! Let us not forget, however, that they need a paper to get inside in such cases!”

That woman pierces the policeman’s eyes with a stare to snatch souls.

“Oh? So now we’re acting like women never understand anything, even when she’s directly involved, right??” 

This sudden attack on the officer’s character enters one ear and leaves the other. Clark sighs and passes by the officers to go to the side of the authoritarian woman.

“Sir, she is the director of Vil de Ville. She doesn’t need a permit for anything regarding her workers, especially for a crime with no injuries and no murders.” confirms Clark, a bit embarrassed while trying to showcase his own level of showmanship.

“I already know she’s the freaking director of this establishment! And how do you know exactly nobody died in all this business, huh!?” Asks the officer, obviously offended.

The policeman would have preferred she doesn’t boss his directives with her autocratic behavior.

This is the fifth time she comes out of the blue to mess with their work and force a bunch of employees to get inside. This woman commands this place with an iron fist, the engine that powers the operations behind one of the most historical archive libraries ever conceived. She is extra in everything she does. The officer feels like he’s been pranked into managing himself in her mess.

Tayla McKenzie, the co-founder of the “Vil Historique” project, five years ago.

Clark was about to answer to the officer’s triggered question, when Tayla interrupts her employee with a voice as imposing as ever.

“Well said, young man. Sometimes I forget you’re now decent at defending your interests. Next time, do not forget to tell where you found such informations. Even at work, professionals don’t like playing around with guessing games. Understood?”

Tayla then gives a hand sign to her protégé to get inside the building ASAP. It’s clear to Clark that she’s getting sick and tired of all the nonsensical conversations she must be entertaining with the police, much to her chagrin.

Clark remains sensible to the orders of his superior. The best he can hope is to act like a good boy and stop playing with her nerves. The officers are doing a fine job without him. 

“R-Right, Mme McKenzie”, let’s out Clark nervously before dipping inside the Vil de Ville building.

When Tayla leaves for the building herself, she turns back to the officers, sending them a signal that they’ll perish if they keep messing with them, her stare still bare of sympathy. The two novice officers are left quaking in their boots until the leading man, now grumpy, steps in to calm them now.

“We remain cool boys. We’re gonna keep ourselves posted and make sure we don’t let NOBODY ELSE in from now on. We’ll just be a lot more discreet about it. One of us will post ourselves upfront and we’ll weed out the employees and civilians trying to get in.”

One of the novices, still unsure about what just happened, steps in: “Hum, are you sir this isn’t going to cause problems sir??”

“hey, quiet.”, orders the mouth piece. “I still got no idea why, but our department chief told me before sending us that this woman has some mouth-watering government access and grants. We have to be very careful how we operate from now on.”

* * * * *

Inside the archive library, Clark waits for his boss, a dog sitting in garde à vue waiting for his master. Tayla opens the door, leans a more calm and tender look at what seems to be her favored employee and breathes out.

All her acts are calculated to seem elegant, articulated. She may give the creeps, but Clark is still inspired by her way to handle business, as well as her work ethics.

“You’ll have to excuse me for the chaos this morning, Clark. Come, follow me. I’ll show you the infamous scenario that got cops wanting to lock everything down. We’ll have to clean all of this before 1 PM, somehow.”

Clark follows the director, still in awe. They head towards the last room to the right. A few other employees run around without clear explanations, greeting Tayla and Clark in passage, some unable to contain how glad to see the latter on the field. The young man, muscled up, only responds with a faint smile and a shy wave of the hand.

“So, you heard of the 26 cases of mutations in the news? Not a great way to end this month huh?”, conversates Tayla, more nonchalant now than outside.

“Oh… Yes, I heard more details this morning.”

“Shocking that they decided to place these restrictions on Troposville again. A damn shame.”

Clark can only agree. He can feel a part of himself just seethe with anger at the thought, but pushes it away as soon as he senses a tingling of it.

When Tayla and Clark enters a room, we see an entire row of books which stretches until the end of the of the space. A dozen of employees run around with brooms, gloves, construction helmets and other protection equipment. They have the same unnerved energy, lost in the mayhem.

“Well, speaking of mutations, it would be infuriating if one of them came to visit.” Jokes out Tayla while pointing a corner of the ceiling.

A ton of debris and a giant hole in the roof of the library.

A few rows are crushed under all this pack of broken bricks.

The problem is, only a team of people with explosives could replicate damages that resembles what happened to Vil de Ville.

“Guess we’ll have to challenge that theory…” States back Clark.