I did not intend to start yet another story when I already had so many to finish.
The weekend I started this I was sick, and as I begged my imagination to provide me with a nice story to cheer me up, it said,"Well, remember that idea you had three weeks ago? You're going to write it now!"
"Yes, but ... it's a saga novel !"
"That's the only idea you have right now that is neither explicit nor depressing, so get to it!"
If you've already had the feeling of chocking on a story if you did not write it, you'll understand when I tell you that I did not have a choice.
This is my final answer to the survey "Les héros sont-ils éternels ?" of the centaur club. Because no matter how many tragic scenarios I could imagine, none was entirely satisfactory.

Part 1 : Professor Satô's 4th Formula.

It's a day in March like any other, really, with its share of routine. Of course since they are both retired Blake and Mortimer no longer live at the same pace as before. Recently it feels as if this pace is slowing down even more. How long has it been since they last went abroad?

Old age is a shipwreck. Mortimer has the feeling that they have already hit the reefs. What a shame ! Mortimer regrets this beginning of the end somewhat, but after all as his body tired, his mind slows.

Today they are both on an outing in town, and at a crossroads in Picadilly Mortimer lingers on the sidewalk while Blake crosses, to look at an unusual object in a window which has caught his attention.

Suddenly Mortimer raises his head at a screech of brakes.

A large, black, American car has pulled up alongside Blake' at the zebra crossing, its doors wide open, while the captain looks at it dumbfounded from the sidewalk. Instantly, two dark figures approach and grab the captain while the third remains behind the wheel.

Blake struggles and Mortimer rushes to his help, ignoring incoming vehicles

But the captain is rendered powerless, despite his years of training. He barely manages to pull one of his attacker's hood in a last defensive gesture as the other one knocks him out.

Mortimer freezes mid-step, suddenly petrified.

He knows that face.

From time to time when he is tired, he still expects to see it in the mirror despite all the adventures that have taken place, despite all the time that has passed.

This face mocking him, maybe half a century younger...

...is his !*

* No, not Olrik's!