The pandemic. In 2019, it was like a wave of fear and despair that swept over the world and left no one untouched. People were sick, a lot died, but even for those who somewhat escaped the clutches of the virus, life was changed forever.

  Of course, France was no exception. As soon as the wave hit in february 2020, a curfew was installed and vaccines were being produced at a neck-breaking pace. Only the essential workers like nurses or policemen were allowed to go out, the rest had to stay at home. And if your job didn’t allow you to work from your house, then it was just a stand still without anything to do. They weren’t allowed to fire you, of course, it wasn’t your fault that your entire country had come to a halt. But there were other ways to get your life ruined and leave you jobless : If the company you worked for didn’t have what it took to stay alive without any employees. It was an economic crisis.

  Unsurprisingly the little bookshops were the first to fall, they closed one after the others. One of the employees who ended up jobless in that way was Cyrielle Laporte.

  “Them too… They had offered to hire me in 2018 because I had the best grades in my major, but now they don’t have the resources for new hires…”

  She was job hunting. The same routine everyday since the start of the curfew a year and a half ago. Her old bookstore was already erased from the streets, same for the others in the big city of Bordeaux, and the only ones still keeping up didn’t have the resources for new employees.

  “Did you try digital communication ? I remember you had a talent for that.”

  A very tall and skinny man approached her. He had long curly red hair, and a simir bushy beard. His name was Marius, well it wasn’t his real name but everybody called him that. He was a rolepy fanatic that Cyrielle met in a pub a few years ago when she came to Bordeaux for her studies. They quickly became friends and even though they weren’t very close, Marius immediately offered her his couch when he heard she was homeless. It wasn’t that strange, in fact a lot of people offered their couch or their guest room to Cyrielle, whether friends or not. In those kinds of circles, where everybody is poor, you know misery and you offer a hand when you can. Because if you don’t, nobody will do the same the day you are the one in need.

  She had accepted Marius’s help because he worked two jobs and wasn’t home often, so she didn’t disturb him as much. Moreover, since he was so busy he didn’t take care of his home. It was filthy, dusty, with clutter everywhere, and she didn’t feel clean even after taking a shower, but at least it was better than the streets and he wasn’t a pervert waiting for his chance. And he has had a girlfriend since two years ago. Having a long sting retionship was always a nice reassurance that one isn’t an absolute maniac.

  “I tried but all companies erased those jobs first, it costs less to take an intern for those tasks than to employ someone fully…”

  There were simply no jobs avaible. At least none that Cyrielle Laporte could apply to. She was nearing her breaking point. The thought of relying on someone for food and shelter was already hard enough, but every passing day reminded her of her own incompetence. She was full of regrets. ‘If only I had taken a different major… If I didn’t go to Bordeaux to study… If I chose a different job….’. Everyday was a battle against herself not to break down and cry.

  “I called Julie, tonight you’re going out.”

  Marius was looking at her with a stern face. ‘Is he finally chasing me out ?’ Cyrielle felt her eyes burn, the tears not too far.

  “You need a break and I need to see my girl. So tonight you’ll go out with Julie, and don’t come back until at least midnight. She’ll bring you to a bar or something”.

  His tone was sharp and aggressive, but his eyes were full of worries. Having lived with Cyrielle for a few months, he understood her enough to feel that she was reaching her limits. He wasn’t good with comforting people, but he knew that Julie, Cyrielle’s best friend, was more than capable of doing that. And fortunately, he had her number. So the best thing to do was to give Cyrielle to Julie and let her do the rest. With a bit of luck, tomorrow everything will be alright again.

  An hour ter, Cyrielle was sitting in the passenger seat of an old white car. The person driving was a small and cute girl that looked at most 18, but was really in her thirties. She had thick shoulder length hair dyed in bck and straighten to the point of absurdity. Her long acrylic nails were tapping the steering wheel in the rhythm of the heavy metal tune on the radio, her face covered in heavy makeup stretching to sing the lyrics in her cute high pitched voice. She seemed very small, almost like a toddler driving a truck, one would wonder how she reached the pedals. It was Julie.

  Her friend, trying her hardest to seem happy, still had eyes without any sheen. But the girl didn’t care. She didn’t want to force her to do anything, she was just vibing and hoping that this alone could put a smile on her face. And it worked. After a few minutes of silence, Cyrielle finally mumbeled the lyrics. Happy, Julie turned up the volume and sang louder, prompting her friend to do the same. Soon, they were both screaming along to metal songs, singing their hearts out and unveiling all the feelings bundled up in their chests. It was their own form of therapy.

  When they arrived in the center of Bordeaux and Julie finally stopped the car, they were both out of breath but refreshed. Cyrielle brushed her brown hair out of her face, revealing her freckles and her two moles. One on the corner of her lips and another next to her left eyebrow. In French they are called beauty marks, and it’s true that Cyrielle Laporte made heads turn in her prime. Even now, with a bad skin and wavy hair that lost its peps, she was undeniably an elegant beauty. She didn’t wear any makeup but it was usual. Except for mascara and a bit of blush on her cheeks and lips, Cyrielle never really tried to better her appearance. It was her charm.

  When they exited the car she looked around her, confused. Julie was jumping around, blurting out in a high pitched excited tone :

  “I thought going to a karaoke was a good idea ! So I brought you to my favorite pce ! They do karaoke here every monday.”

  Cyrielle lifted her gaze, silently reading the sign. ‘Bad Mother Breaker Pub’ it was a reference to a movie where an angry man insults someone ‘You bad mother breaker, I’ll rip your face off !’, or something like that. It was obviously not the type of pub you go to if you want to silently enjoy a gss with soft music. The outside was crowded with people in leather or jean jackets, smoking while speaking loudly. The dominant color was bck, and some looked quite fierce. Metal music could be heard inside. It was definitely a pce that resembled Julie.

  Not intimidated in the least, Cyrielle followed Julie inside. From her own experience, metalheads are usually more friendly than posh rich guys. They welcome people in their communities and since they don’t want to be stigmatized because of the music they listen to, they tend to be polite and protective of newcomers.

  The interior was quite narrow at first, but it quickly expanded into a big room with old benches and chairs clumsily brought around small tables. People freely brought the tables together to form bigger groups, and you could see strangers sitting together and talking happily. In the center of the room, there was a big empty space that no one approached. And in front of that space, a video projector was showing lyrics on the wall. Immediately, Cyrielle understood what was happening and froze. ‘Wait… We go in the middle of the room and sing in front of everyone ? There are at least 30 people here !’

  While she was stuck in pce, Julie casually chatted with other regurs that she knew well and was trying to introduce them to Cyrielle. The funny thing was…

  - Swish

  For those who didn’t know Cyrielle, her ‘frozen in horror’ face didn’t appear that way at all. Cyrielle was an imposing woman. She didn’t have any fat, just full of muscles and bones, but her natural frame was massive. She was 175cm tall, and was wearing brown leather boots which gave her a little boost, standing at more than 180cm. She had rge shoulders, rge hips, but a tiny waist under her rge ribs, highlighted by her vintage high waisted pants that fred at the bottom and seemed to dance when she walked. Her white shirt might seem basic, but structure was given by a long dark green coat with square shoulders. She seemed absolutely elegant with her moles, freckles and wavy hair, but also strict with an angur face, a squared jaw, high cheekbones and hollow cheeks.

  But she didn’t seem masculine at all, it was more of an aura, a pressure, the air around her seemed to dominate everyone. And with her face stiff, really frozen in fear but seeming almost reflective, her gaze had a weight.

  The man who was trying to introduce himself was taken aback, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. ‘Wow… She doesn’t seem to be just anybody… How does Julie know her ?’

  Regaining composure, he smiled at her and extended his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Hyena ! It’s my stage name but everybody calls me that. I come to this karaoke so that I can sing my lungs out without disturbing my neighbors. It’s also a good practice if you pn to go on stage one day.”

  Cyrielle calmly shook his hand, introducing herself briefly. In fact, she didn’t listen to a single thing, she was trying to send distress signals to Julie with her eyes. But her reluctance seemed to be interpreted differently, as the man’s eyes started to twinkle like a kid receiving candy.

  Soon, curious people started to flock to her to introduce themselves, and Cyrielle couldn’t see Julie. She replied appropriately to each of them, trying to remember their names, but inside she was absolutely panicking. Then she heard a high pitched voice behind her.

  “I wrote you down on the list, I hope you are ready !”

  Cyrielle met Julie’s mischevious eyes. ‘I’m going to kill her’

  But before she could do anything about it, the hosts of the karaoke happily announced the next singer in their mics.

  “And now, we’ll hear Cyrielle Laporte ! The song she chose is… ‘Padam Padam’ by Edith Piaf !”

  ‘Edith Piaf ? Are you serious Julie ? Who sings Piaf in a karaoke unless they are an absolute maniac or an impersonator ? Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better ?!’

  She couldn’t shout in indignation now. So she just walked to the host, took a mic and then stood in the middle of the room, looking at the lyrics projected on the wall.

  ‘I don’t know anyone here anyway. Let’s just get it over with and never come back.’

  In the eyes of the others, she seemed to exude an aura of confidence and effortlessness, as if it was nothing important. It was so strong that a lot of curious customers turned their heads to watch her. Even the hosts dimmed the light of the room and turned the spotlights to her head.

  ‘I can’t see anything ! My eyes !’

  Cyrielle started blinking furiously. Ten times, twenty times, then suddenly…

  [The conditions are met. Welcome to the Path of Destiny.]

  A blue hologram appeared before her eyes.

  ‘What ?!’