The Games of Moriarty

by Ragnarok777

Xana is gone. Victory has been achieved by the Lyoko Warriors. But a simple test to understand William's nightmares of Xana unveils a new enemy: Moriarty. This evil entity wishes to play a series of games that shake the Lyoko Warriors to the core.

26. Chapter 26

You know how I promised to have the climax finished for you? Well, I guess I lied. In my defense, I've been very busy with schoolwork and I had to deal with an unexpected death in the family. Nevertheless, it would be a crime against humanity not to give you this Christmas present, even though I planned on having this done by Christmas. Oh well, enjoy it. I promise to have the other part done soon.

So yeah, Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year or something…

Part 40

The days tick on into weeks. The terrorist attacks come to an end, but a lingering sense of dread hangs over the nation of France. The typical hustle and bustle of the nation's cities slows down to the pace of fear and uncertainty. Christmas Day nears and decorations are put up as usual. But there is no heart in it. The usual joy of the season is completely gone. The temperature drops, and the first snow of the winter descends on Paris a couple of days before the Eurovision concert. A few inches of snow coat the campus of Kadic in a wintry pall, shrouding the school in white. The land is colder, but beneath the icy exterior, the tension elevates to its breaking point, ready to burst at the seams into a fiery inferno.

Monday morning- Five days before the Eurovision concert on Saturday night.

Angeline stands at attention in Moriarty's classroom. Her body is taut, not allowing a single muscle to become lax in the presence of the Commandant. Her hair and appearance have returned to their former radiance, but the red marks under her eyes reveal the scars of her intense emotional trauma. She stares intently into the eyes of Moriarty, who sits across from her at his desk, but the fire in her eyes is gone. Moriarty sits with a rigid posture, mirroring her tensity. He drums his fingers on the desk, looking at her with a limited amount of interest. Mathias stands at Moriarty's side, watching the scene with some level of discomfort.

Moriarty: So…you wish to leave?

Angeline: Yes Commandant. I do.

Moriarty exhales through his nose, regarding the news with only the slightest bit of disappointment. He arches his shoulders and briefly glances out the window toward the early morning sun.

Moriarty: I see. I'm not going to be so callous as to ask you why….but I can't help but point out your poor timing.

Angeline: Commandant, The Order….no…Kadic has not been the same since I…came back. I thought I would adjust over time but-Her voice stops short-I was wrong.

Moriarty: But it's almost the end of the semester. It would do you good to stay. He leans forward slightly. And Mr. Delmas and I gave you plenty of time to be with your family and rec-

Angeline suddenly interjects with a hint of desperation in her voice.

Angeline: I-I can't!

Moriarty raises an eyebrow. The sternness in his tone elevates.

Moriarty: Why not?

Angeline: There….She shuts her eyes tightly….There's no place for me at this school!

Moriarty remains quiet for a moment. Mathias glances at him, wondering what his response will be.

Moriarty: No place for you? What a terrible self-deprecating thing to say. Your place is here, with The Order. Don't forget that they look up to you. Especially the girls. You are an inspiration to them.

Angeline shakes her head in disagreement. Her eyes start to examine the floor instead of her leader.

Angeline: Commandant-She swallows-with all due respect, I am not Emman-

Moriarty: Which is why I am denying your request to leave the school and The Order…

Angeline takes this news painfully. She stares at Moriarty with alarm, hoping against hope that he didn't say what he did. Her body begins to shake a little bit. Her mouth opens and closes several times before she speaks again.

Angeline: Commandant, I….please…

Moriarty: You only have a week more to endure. I need you for the demonstration at Eurovision. He stands up and turns to the door. I would encourage you to visit Klotz again. I'm sure he can help you work through your-

Angeline: And if I refuse?

Moriarty stops, still facing toward the door. Mathias' eyes widen with trepidation and shock. No one in The Order has dared speak to the Commandant in that way. Moriarty cranes his neck back toward Angeline, who still remains firm in spite of her fragile state. The leader of The Order shows no visible signs of anger in his response.

Moriarty: Well, I suppose I can't prevent you from leaving. But if you do leave-Angeline listens intently to Moriarty-I'm afraid I can't promise the full support of The Order in locating your brother. Angeline's face contorts as if she had been directly punched in the stomach. Mathias double takes, not believing what he has just heard. I've sent word out to all the organization branches to help in the search. They've been working tirelessly on your behalf. I would hate for you to reward their efforts by leaving us. It wouldn't be fair to them, and it would be wrong of me to continue to demand information on Emmanuel's whereabouts in such a case. Short pause. We need you Angeline, and that is all there is to it. He opens the door and motions for Mathias to leave. I'm sure you will make the right choice for both yourself…and The Order.

Moriarty walks out the door with his subordinate behind him. Mathias glances back at Angeline. Her eyes fix themselves to the floor. All feeling has been drained from her face. She is hollow, completely stripped of any pride or hope. He can't help but feel a measure of pity for her. He makes his way down the hallway with Moriarty, sensing a pit forming in his stomach. His head twists back in the direction of the classroom, and he is tempted to go back and try to comfort her. To his disappointment, his leader does not seem to share his unease. In fact, he marches down the hallway at a quick and confident pace, forcing Mathias to walk faster to keep up. Moriarty looks back at the straggler out of the corner of his eye.

Moriarty: Mathias…

Mathias looks forward again, caught off guard by Moriarty's sudden call for his attention.

Mathias: Yes Commandant.

Moriarty: It would be suiting for us to keep that little exchange our little secret. He puts his hands behind his back and holds them together. I truly want the best for Angeline, and unfortunately right now I need to be forceful to do what's best for her. You can comprehend that well enough, right?

Mathias finds himself nodding by pure instinct. Words of affirmation leave his mouth before he has time to reflect on them.

Mathias: Yes I can Commandant.

Moriarty: Good. It's just that I'm afraid not everyone in The Order would. So it's best to keep such minor details secret from the rest until we are at our full strength. He hums a low tune that possesses a slightly haunting tone. Things have been going very well for you lately, haven't they Mathias? Though it pains me to admit that your success had to come from another's tragedy, you should be happy all the same that fate has brought you here. A slightly threatening edge emerges in his voice. You are happy having such an enviable position, are you not?

Mathias endures a small, but poignant moment of hesitation before he answers. For the first time in a while, doubt creeps into his mind about the Commandant's intentions. But his normal Order mentality immediately rescues him.

Mathias: Yes Commandant….absolutely.

Wednesday morning- Only three days away from the Eurovision concert.

Christophe stares out the sole window in his dorm room, looking out at the snow cascading softly onto the ground. His phone is attached to his ear. He speaks slowly and with obvious emotional reservation to the person on the other line. His fingers tap nervously on the windowsill.

Christophe: I'm telling you, I can't do it.

A deeper and increasingly authoritarian voice quickly answers him.

Mr. M'Bala: What do you mean 'you can't'? Of course you can. It's just a school. You can leave and you need to leave. Kadic is no longer the place for you.

Christophe: No. It still is. I need to stay.

Mr. M'Bala: Based on what logic? You just finished your last exam. Your semester is essentially done. All that remains are a few winter events and some preparations for the spring semester, which would be entirely useless to you. It's time to go son. That academic environment is nothing but a danger to you.

Christophe stares off into space with his eyes dimly focused on the snow. He initially does not reply to his father. His face freezes with tension as he contemplates his next move. But his father does not give him a chance to think of a response.

Mr. M'Bala: Christophe, are you listening to me?

Christophe closes his eyes and inhales.

Christophe: Dad, please…just give Kadic another chance.

Mr. M'Bala: I've given that school far more chances than it deserves. As a matter of fact, I've given this country far more chances than it deserves. Only the need for you to finish the semester made me decide to hold off on leaving. He takes a moment to pause and articulate his point. But now your semester is essentially over. Now is the perfect time to leave.

Christophe grunts into the phone and sticks his hand in his pocket. He slouches against the wall, acting as if his dad were physically with him in the room so he could show him this obvious sign of disrespect.

Christophe: You know, you're kinda dropping this on me at the last minute.

Mr. M'Bala: I'm sorry. But it took me a while to find a new home and a job in Italy. And your mother took some convincing before she understood that this country is no longer good for us. But no matter, I did what I could. Besides, you should like Milan. You already have taken Italian classes so-

Christophe's palm hits firmly against the windowsill.

Christophe: I don't want to go!

Mr. M'Bala fires back with an equally firm retort. Christophe can sense the tension and frustration rising in his father's voice.

Mr. M'Bala: That is not your choice to make! I don't know what kind of foolish bravery this Outcast bunch has stuffed into your skull, but either way you are going with us. Christophe's grip on the phone tightens. His right hand trembles slightly. Am I making myself clear? Christophe doesn't answer. His father receives the silence as an indication that the matter has been settled in his favor. Good. Now to give you plenty of time to pack and say your goodbyes, your mother and I will come on Friday-

Christophe: NO!-Christophe blurts out his refusal before he even knows what he is doing. The fear of his parents' interference with the mission heightens. His growing resentment quickly transforms into desperation as he seeks to prevent that from happening. Not that day! Not Friday! You can't come before…He stops himself for a moment….Saturday…

Christophe's gaze turns toward the calendar, one of the few things hanging on his wall. On the Saturday mentioned, there is a red circle around the date with the words JUDGMENT DAY written on it. The light in his eyes disappears. His muscles relax, but not out of physical relief. An indescribable misery overtakes him. He walks forward toward the calendar, cautiously measuring his steps as if he were walking over landmines. As the date marked in red burrows into his mind, a reality he had repressed for a long time forces its way back to his conscious thoughts: If they fail to defeat Moriarty by Saturday night, nothing will matter anymore. Christophe backs up and slowly sits down on his bed.

Mr. M'Bala: What are you talking about?! Why Saturday?

Christophe tries to reply, but he has been robbed of the ability of speech.

Mr. M'Bala: Son, what is it?! Why are you being so stubborn? I just don't under-

Christophe: I'll do it.

His bewildered father takes a moment to process his sudden victory. The anger in his tone transitions to confusion.

Mr. M'Bala: You, you're suddenly okay with leaving Kadic and going to Italy?

Christophe: Yes. His voice has become hollow. Just not before Saturday. There is one last big rally against The Order on Saturday and I want to be there. He nervously swallows saliva. Can you please just wait two days? If you come on Sunday, I'll be all yours.

Mr. M'Bala takes a moment to think this over. But seeing no possible danger with this small request, he agrees.

Mr. M'Bala: Alright, we'll pick you up on Sunday. But I expect you to be ready for us when we get there.

Christophe forces a half-smile to this victory. But the inescapable feelings of dread pounce on him, denying him any joy from the success. In the midst of the psychological storm plaguing him, a sudden gush of admiration and love for his father breaks to the surface. Without truly understanding why, his eyes start to water and his heart sinks. Words exit haphazardly from his mouth.

Christophe: Yeah…we…we'll have a great time in Italy. It'll be a new start for us-His throat becomes dry and his lips tremble- a new beginning.

Mr. M'Bala marks Christophe's sudden emotional change with alarm.

Mr. M'Bala: Christophe, are you doing okay? Is something wrong?

Christophe: I'm sorry I have to go.

Without letting his father say another word, Christophe hangs up. The phone drops from his hand to the bed. His watery eyes look at the calendar, focusing on the red circle for a very, very long time.

Wednesday evening- Three days before the Eurovision concert

Jeremie sits at his desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. The Cannae Initiative program stares back at him, taunting him with the never-changing status report: WEAPONIZED PROTOCOL IN PROCESS. Estimated time for its completion is 3 days and 7-8 hours. But this guess gives Jeremie little comfort. Every couple of minutes the estimated time changes, sometimes lowering to barely 3 days and sometimes it goes as high as 3 days and 13 hours. Jeremie remains in place at the computer for what seems like hours, watching, waiting. At times he almost forgets to blink. Beneath his expressionless exterior, his inner mind works feverishly, running countless calculations in his head, all to try to answer one fundamental question: When? The night grows darker outside. For some reason his room also appears to be darker as well. To alleviate any possible strain on his eyes, Jeremie turns on a couple of lamps to brighten the room. But they have little effect. The darkness he perceives around him is inexorable, insatiable, and unyielding. He hears a knock on his door. It takes a moment for him to snap out of his trance.

Jeremie: Come in…

Aelita opens the door. She steps in and softly treads on the floor. She stops a few paces behind his chair. She waits a moment.

Aelita: Jeremie, please try to be patient. No response. When it happens we will know. She pauses. Still nothing from him. All of our laptops and phones are primed to sound an alarm as soon as it's ready.

The two are quiet. Aelita monitors his movements, or rather the lack thereof. She can faintly hear the rhythm of his slow, deep breathing. Just as she is about to turn around, Jeremie speaks.

Jeremie: I know.

Aelita: Then why are you still looking at the computer?

Jeremie: I don't know. He checks a few minor details on the program. I can't stop. I just keep staring at it, hoping it will change. Demanding it to go faster. I don't want to but I keep doing it. He looks down at the keyboard. We've practiced the final assault six times already…

Aelita: Actually, it's been seven.

Jeremie: And yet I'm not satisfied. He rubs his forehead. When I'm not driving you guys harder and harder I can't do anything but look at this stupid screen. He groans. What do I do?

Aelita walks over to his side and presses the shut down button before he can stop her. At first Jeremie reacts with alarm, but before he speaks he gets a hold of himself.

Jeremie: Thank you. I needed that.

Aelita looks him straight in the eye.

Aelita: Go. To. Bed. You need sleep. She walks over to his bed and lays down on it, pretending to get comfortable. I'll spend the night here if I have to, to keep you from checking on the program.

Jeremie turns a deep shade of red.

Jeremie: Uh…That won't be necessary. I…I promise I'll go to bed…straight away.

Aelita gets off the bed and stretches. She gives him a mischievous smile.

Aelita: You better. She opens the door. Because if I come back here and you're still glued to the computer, you and I might have some explaining to do with Jim the next morning.

On that note, she leaves Jeremie. The nerve-wracked general takes in a deep sigh. He reluctantly gets out of his chair and gets dressed for bed. When he is comfortable, he reaches into his medicine drawer and pulls out a bottle of strong sleeping pills. He takes two more than the recommended dose.

Thursday morning- Two days before the Eurovision concert.

Natalya takes a shower before going to breakfast. She shampoos her hair and lets the steam around her calm her nerves. She briefly turns her face to the water and lets it wash over her. For a moment she finds peace, but it does not last. Out of the darker, repressed portions of her mind come the memories of the fight on the island. She sees the twisted, demonic figure of Moriarty mercilessly trying to extinguish the life of William. She sees the mad look in his burning eyes, the smoking skull. The evil gaze envelops her, dragging her helplessly into the abyss of his unrelenting power. The shock of her painful memory jars her to the point that she screams in terror. When she recovers, she finds herself back in the shower, still safe from his grasp. Natalya leans against the shower walls. She looks up at the ceiling.

Natalya: Why me?...Why now? Her face darkens with fear and sorrow. Why all of this?

Thursday evening- Two days before the Eurovision concert.

The Ishiyama residence. Yumi and Ulrich both sit on Yumi's bed, looking up at the clock. Their eyes remain transfixed on the hands that move across the white circle without emotion, without any compassion on them. The face looks down on them with indifference, chugging at the same pace it always does. Its rhythm sinks into their thoughts. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. The cycle goes on and on. Ulrich leans back slightly, gazing up at the ceiling.

Ulrich: So…what do you want to do? Yumi hears but does not answer. Her eyes stay on the clock. Ulrich hugs his knees close to his body. We've been staring at this clock for almost an hour. We should do something.

Yumi: Like what?

Ulrich: Anything. Anything that doesn't involve sitting here. He glances back at the clock, hating its presence on the wall more every minute. He longs to look away but his eyes do not obey him. Watching the clock is not going to accomplish anything. We need to go out, see the city, just….leave this room.

Silence seizes the bedroom. Yumi shifts her position on the bed, stretching to ease the discomfort of her own inertia. The ticking of the clock burrows in her ears until it becomes almost unbearable. She covers her ears.

Yumi: Ah, I can't stand that noise!

Ulrich: Then don't listen to it.

Yumi: I can't. She sighs. I want to not hear it, but wanting to not hear only makes it harder to ignore.

Ulrich gets off the bed and walks to her dresser. He focuses on her iPod SoundDock System.

Ulrich: Fine. Then I'll drown it out. He turns on the system. The Subdigitals begin to play. He turns the volume up to a moderate setting and turns back to her. Better?

Relief becomes immediately evident in Yumi's face. She falls back onto her bed.

Yumi: Yes. Very much so.

Ulrich walks over to the bed and plops down, mimicking Yumi's theatrical display. His head rests very close to hers. Yumi gives him her typical look and Ulrich responds with his innocent grin. The two start to laugh. For a moment the fear in their hearts evaporates, but it doesn't last nearly long enough. The couple becomes very somber and quiet.

Yumi: You know what?

Ulrich: What?

Yumi: In the movies, whenever a character only has a limited time to live, it always shows them living life to the fullest, doing the things they always wanted to do. Her expression becomes wistful and dreamlike. And at the very end that person is always happier than they were before, because they finally appreciated life. She bites her lip and makes a face, as if she is trying to hold back the instinct to cry. But here I am, only days away from what could be our final fight, and I can't do anything. Nothing. I can only sit here and wait.

Ulrich gives a solemn nod.

Ulrich: Yeah. It's very hard to do anything in this situation. I've tried to do my normal activities, but none of it works. The only thing I have been able to do is train….train for our final attack.

Yumi: Every time we get in the Skid, I become calm for a moment. I know that what we are doing could give us an edge over Moriarty when the battle comes. But at the same time it terrifies me. She rubs her forehead, which starts to become damp with cold sweat. Odd's vision still haunts me. I see myself in that Nav Skid, doomed to get annihilated.

Ulrich closes his eyes for a second and inhales through his nose. He hums the lyrics of the song "Planet Net", which is being played in the room at the moment. But his humming soon breaks down, almost degenerating into a whimper. He rolls over on the bed away from Yumi.

Ulrich: Any update from Jeremie on the program?

Yumi: Not a thing. He said it should be ready in a day or so, but he also mentioned that it's hard to predict.

Ulrich looks at the clock again and immediately hates himself for doing so.

Ulrich: It better happen soon. It's already Thursday. How much longer is it going to take? He pauses. After a long silence he cautiously looks over at Yumi. Uh Yumi?

Yumi: Yeah?

Ulrich: What if…hypothetically….it's not ready in time?

Yumi does not answer. The hollowness in her stare deepens, mirroring the complete apathy of the ceiling she observes. Then, without warning, she pops off the bed and walks toward the closet.

Yumi: I have an idea of what we could do.

Ulrich: What?

Yumi reaches into her private mini-fridge and pulls out a red can of soda. She holds it from the top, letting it dangle in her fingers. Ulrich raises an eyebrow at his girlfriend.

Ulrich: Drink soda? That's all?

Yumi: Not just any soda. Her eyes focus on the can. This was the soda you gave me….well, you gave Odd who then gave it to me….before Jeremie tested out his direct materialization to Sector 5 thing on you. Her grip on the can tightens. And then when I thought we…Her voice cracks slightly. When I thought I lost you, I decided to keep it. Her fingers drift to the tab. I don't remember why I saved it for so long when you came back but…She pops it open. The drink fizzes, still fresh after all this time…just in case, I want to put it to good use, while we still can.

Warmth rises to Ulrich's face when he hears Yumi's explanation. The symbolic gesture overwhelms him for a second, as he starts to feel his pent-up emotions come to the surface. He turns away and rises from the bed.

Ulrich: I'll get some cups.

Two plastic cups are set on the table. Yumi pours the soda out equally. They raise their cups and tap them together.

Ulrich: Cheers.

Yumi chuckles a little.

Yumi: Cheers.

The two take a sip. The drink is cold, comforting, and familiar. Ulrich swallows.

Ulrich: Hmm…root beer. I made a good choice back then. He leans forward and lets his forehead touch hers. Thank you for this.

Yumi: No, thank you. She sighs. Let's just forget about everything, just for a second.

Almost immediately after she says this, the sound of an old man wandering through the hall disrupts their state of peace. Grandpa Ishiyama moans with pain.

Grandpa: Son, where are the laxatives? He groans. I feel like I'm about to give birth to a baby cow.

Ulrich and Yumi's eyes widen to their fullest extent. The two stare at each other for a moment.

Ulrich: How many seconds was that?

Yumi: Two.

Ulrich: Oh….how fitting.

Friday evening- One day before the Eurovision concert.

A bus travels on a French Autoroute highway, making its way from Rouen to Paris. A massive traffic jam blocks the bus' path, turning the hour and a half trek into an almost three hour trip. Dr. Basil, the leader of the Lycée Jeanne d'Arc Outcast group, taps the wheel impatiently as the cars continue to crawl along.

Basil: I should have known leaving this late was a bad idea. It seems like everyone and their cat is trying to get to this concert.

Behind him, most of the Order group has fallen asleep. The students are blissfully unaware of the situation outside. Towards the back row, Patrick starts to stir. He eventually opens his eyes and looks around. He is initially confused as to how night could have fallen so suddenly without them reaching their destination. A quick glimpse at his surroundings answers his question. Once he recovers from his grogginess, he senses a head resting on his shoulder. He glances over to his left and quickly becomes both embarrassed and surprised when he sees Jacqueline sleeping on his shoulder. She appears to be very innocent and comfortable where she is, and Patrick ponders over whether he should move her or not. As he considers his options for the unusual scenario, he feels her begin to stir as well. She opens her eyes and looks up. Her eyes suddenly become very wide, but she doesn't move from her position. Suddenly she gives him an accusatory glare.

Jacqueline: Patrick, did you purposefully let me sleep on your shoulder?

Patrick turns red and quickly denies it.

Patrick: Uh, n-no. I just woke up and there you were and I didn't want to wake you so…

Jacqueline: Ha! She sits up. A likely story. She stretches her back and gives him a playful smile. I'm just kidding. The truth is I was awake the entire time.

Patrick: What?!

A light punch hits him in the shoulder. Jacqueline laughs.

Jacqueline: Kidding again! I was conked out big time. Your shoulder is comfy!

Patrick: Thanks…I think. He rolls his eyes. Just don't make up stuff like that again.

Jacqueline: Oh…are you upset because I made you feel uncomfortable? She gives him a fake pout. I'm sorry. I'm terrible, aren't I?

Patrick: No. You're just insane. Besides, we came here to join the Outcast protest against The Order outside the Eurovision concert. Not for you to goof around and make non-platonic advances on me for your own amusement…

She leans in close to his ear with the same playful look on her face.

Jacqueline: Oh don't be so Victorian. After all, we're going to be in the city of love. It brings everyone together. Even your nerdy cousin has a girlfriend.

Patrick: Knock it off.

Jacqueline: Oh? The slim brunette leans back and lays her head in his lap, much to his chagrin. She pretends to be offended. Are you saying I'm not attractive?

Patrick: No comment.

Jacqueline: Are you saying I wouldn't be a good girlfriend?

Patrick: No comment.

Jacqueline: Are you saying I'm not-She puts an erotic emphasis on the final word- sexy?

Patrick: Definitely no comment…

Jacqueline laughs and pats him on the cheek. Patrick remains mostly unfazed.

Jacqueline: Oh relax already. You know I only do this for laughs.

Patrick: Yeah. He opens the bus window. Now it's my turn to laugh.

A wintry blast enters the bus. Jacqueline recoils in horror from the cold wind.

Jacqueline: Ah! You monster! Patrick laughs hysterically from her reaction. That's cruel and unusual punishment!

Patrick: That's what you get for playing your games again.

Jacqueline: Why you…She prepares to hit him with one of her gloves, but she quickly stops. Her eyes are distracted by something she sees out the window. Her carefree attitude suddenly disappears and is replaced by genuine horror. Her mouth drops. Patrick observes her reaction with deep concern. He has never seen her look like that. Jacqueline points out the window. Patrick, look.

Patrick turns around. The first thing he sees is flames. The second thing is the sirens. Police cars and fire trucks swarm a burning building on the side of the autoroute. The cars on the freeway have slowed down to watch the spectacle, thus explaining the origins of the traffic jam. Amidst the yelling and chaos, Patrick notices a crescent moon on top of the building. Realization soon hits him like a lead brick.

Jacqueline: Patrick, that's a mosque, right?

Patrick's throat becomes very dry.

Patrick: Yes.

Jacqueline: And that fire….was an accident, right?

Patrick takes a closer look. At the front of the burning mosque, he notices a purple and black symbol sprayed over the welcome sign to the mosque. It is the fleur-de-lis that they have come to loathe.

Patrick: Unfortunately no.

Back at the driver's seat, Dr. Basil looks away, trying to focus on the road.

Basil: This country has gone to hell.

Odd finds himself in a haze of purple, engulfed by the sights and sounds of battle. All around him, chaos reigns supreme. The turrets in Moriarty's corrupted bubble in the Network fire with cold precision at the Skid, which launches torpedoes in response. Infected databases explode at every turn. Nav Skids fly past him, reeling from the impact of the turret fire and ready to be torn in pieces. At this time Odd recognizes that he too is in a Nav Skid, caught in the middle of the crossfire like a plane in the eye of a raging hurricane. Without warning Jeremie's demanding voice rings in his ears.

Jeremie: It's all up to you Odd! GO! YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE US!

Odd's hands glue to the controls against his will. He pushes the Nav Skid forward toward the core, which has become encased in black smoke. He locks on with his torpedo and prepares to fire. Apprehension seizes him as the thought of being able to destroy Moriarty almost overwhelms his senses.

Odd: I can do this…I can do this…

He presses the button to fire, but nothing happens. Panic instantly grips him, and he presses buttons like a madman. At that instant the Nav Skid jerks forward, heading straight for the glass core. Odd pulls back on the controls but they don't respond. He hyperventilates, completely distraught at what has happened. Jeremie's tone becomes sinister and unforgiving.

Jeremie: ODD WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU'LL DOOM US ALL!

Odd frantically tries to fix the situation, his mind racing at a million miles an hour. He swoons from the draining effects of his own state of terror.

Odd: I'm trying but...The systems go haywire. Red emergency lights burn in the Nav Skid. His computer interface lights on fire. NO! NO! NO! He pulls back on the controls with all of his crazed might but they simply don't budge. He claws at the hatch, willing to be exposed to the Network rather than die in the Nav Skid. He gazes at the approaching core in horror as the Nav Skid continues its deadly course. LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!

Jeremie: ODD, PULL UP! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!

Before him the black smoke converts into the skull of Moriarty. His jaw opens wide, ready to swallow him whole. Odd presses himself against the back of the Nav Skid, desperate to escape by whatever means necessary. He becomes feverish with the fear of death and watches as the flames inside his tomb begin to crawl towards him.

Odd: GOD NO! ANYTHING BUT THIS! The fiery black smoke begins to close around him. Odd can hear Moriarty's sinister laughing, elevated several decibels above normal. He cries out with wild abandon. I DON'T WANT TO DIE!

Moriarty's mouth closes on him. Odd pops out of bed, screaming. Kiwi starts barking and Ulrich sits up in shock. Odd doesn't pay attention to them, for he is too busy recovering. He pants heavily and his body drips with icy sweat that makes his very bones become numb. The nightmare victim stumbles out of bed, stumbling clumsily over to the window. A clock on the desk reads 07:00. His bloodshot eyes take in a scenic campus covered in snow, with the sun shining brightly in a beautiful clear blue sky. The signs of normal civilian life begin to appear. Cars and pedestrians bustle about on their way for Christmas shopping. Odd grasps the window pane and tries to calm down.

Saturday morning- Twelve hours before the start of the Eurovision concert.

Ulrich walks up behind him.

Ulrich: Same dream again?

Odd: Yeah.

Pause. Ulrich puts his hands in his shorts pockets.

Ulrich: You nearly gave Kiwi a heart attack this time.

Odd doesn't say anything. Ulrich looks around uncomfortably.

Ulrich: Beautiful day isn't it? We couldn't have asked for anything better. Yep. Ulrich's pleasant expression shows signs of cracking. It just makes you want to get up and get going, you know? He loses his voice for a second. Go out and live without a care in the world. Odd's face remains glued to the window. Convinced that there is nothing more he can do, Ulrich turns back around. Well, I better get a shower.

Odd: I'm not ready to go. His expression becomes tortured and terrified. He inhales deeply and somehow manages to speak again. I'm not ready…

Ulrich: Odd, don't talk like that. He glances over his shoulder. Have you forgotten that you're not even going to be in a Nav Skid? The prophecy can't come true for you.

Ulrich's words don't even put a dent in Odd's despair. His face darkens even more.

Odd: Never underestimate the ability of things to go wrong. He looks down at the window ledge. We'd be complete idiots if we thought everything is going to go according to plan. For a moment, he is silent again. Then, he repeats the same mantra. I'm not ready to go.

Ulrich remains frozen in a forced state of optimism, absorbing Odd's pleas with unyielding self-control. Yet his reply is soft and pained.

Ulrich: Of course you're not ready. You're not even sixteen. He drapes a towel over his shoulder and briefly looks at the floor. None of us are ready.

Eleven hours before the start of the Eurovision concert.

Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport, the largest in France. Given the day's event, the crowded air hub is packed even more than usual. Various musical artists and all their entourages soon arrive, greeted by enthusiastic welcomes from their local fans. However, one arrival soon finds that he is anything but welcome at his destination. As a young male Russian artist and his posse exit from the gate, they are greeted with a chorus of jeers and other threatening insults from members of The Order and the National Front alike. The protestors carry signs such as "Go Home!" or "We don't forgive or forget!". The terrified Russians quickly try to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. A familiar reporter stands by at the scene.

Diane: Tensions run high here at Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport, as the Russian pop sensation Alexsandr Yanokuvich has found his welcome to be less than exemplary. Protestors from The Order and the National Front seem to be intent on taking out their anger over the nuclear scare a couple of months ago on the Eurovision contestant, who…

Airport security and police soon intervene in the scene.

Security: Back up! BACK UP! Violence here will not be tolerated!

The scene shifts to Hans Klotz's office in Kadic Academy, where Moriarty and his colleague observe the situation. Klotz watches the screen with growing frustration.

Klotz: They're supposed to be focusing on the big march tonight, not wasting their time at the airport!

Moriarty: It doesn't matter. He turns off the TV. We've gotten the world's attention, and that is what's truly important.

The school psychiatrist, clearly not satisfied with this dismissal, looks over some papers on his desk, detailing the plans for the march. He rubs his forehead with annoyance.

Klotz: We have only nine hours before the big event and things are still not fully worked out. How can we be the symbol of discipline in France if we can't solve our own problems? The schools from Lyons are complaining about hotel arrangements even though I gave them specific instructions on what to do. The group from Lincoln still hasn't given me a confirmation on the number of people attending the march, and that idiot gym teacher from Lycée Jeanne d'Arc failed to produce the banners he promised. He growls in frustration and tosses some papers off his desk. Does the name Hans Klotz not get anything done in this organization?!

Moriarty registers his subordinate's anger with some level of amusement.

Moriarty: My, my, aren't you the controlling type? You need to relax more, Hans. A grand moment like this will not succeed without some minor bumps along the road. He stares out the window into the wintry sunlight. Don't worry…everything will come into place today. It must.

Klotz taps a pen against his head, still wrapped up in the details.

Klotz: There are still other things we need to be concerned about. Our own group for example. The Order students are ready to go, but I can tell their hearts are not in it. He shuts his eyes tightly as he contemplates the problem with obvious stress. Ever since Emmanuel disappeared, they've been listless, lacking the spirit they used to have. Mathias has tried his best, but they don't have the same fire. We need them to be with us one hundred percent.

Moriarty's gaze remains far off, immersed in other things that are beyond Klotz's knowledge. His expression radiates an internal hunger that manifests itself in a slight smile. His right-hand man becomes shocked when Moriarty appears to glibly ignore his warnings.

Moriarty: They will do what they have to do. I have faith in them.

Klotz clicks his pen incessantly while his leader shrugs off his pressing concerns. He uncomfortably shifts in his desk chair.

Klotz: And I suppose we can just ignore the obvious emotional instability of Angeline Maillard? Hints of elevated frustration emerge in his aggravated tone. I understand that this is bigger than one person, but may I remind you that the psychological health of the students is still MY responsibility, and I specifically requested that you let her leave school.

Moriarty finally turns his head toward Klotz. His expression of calm arrogance remains firmly intact.

Moriarty: Psychologist or not, you must have faith in her, as I do. Of course, I do not mean to downplay the emotional trauma of her brother's loss. He looks out the window again and relaxes his shoulders. And of course suffering a frightening episode of sexual harassment doesn't help either.

For a split second, neither of the two reacts at all. Then, out of nowhere, Klotz's face becomes lost in a tide of confusion and disbelief. The pen in his hand totters ever so slightly in his fingers and then drops onto the floor, louder than Klotz expected. Moriarty does not notice his friend's sudden change, but Klotz continues to sink with an unexpected fear and suspicion gripping his thoughts.

Klotz: How did you know?

Moriarty: Huh?

Klotz swallows.

Klotz: That traumatic memory was a well-kept secret of the Maillard family, shared only to me as her counselor. He lowers his eyebrows. How did you know about that?

At first, Moriarty does not realize the magnitude of his admission. But after he glances at his underling out of the corner of his eye, he quickly gathers that Klotz is deadly serious. The psychiatrist's glare targets him with pinpoint accuracy, attempting to force an answer out of him. Moriarty pauses, thinking in earnest over his next move. His right hand, out of Klotz's sight, sparks a little. But he thinks the better of it and closes his right hand, killing the electricity. He looks over at Klotz and brushes over the matter with a smile.

Moriarty: Well of course she told me. It was not an easy thing for her to do, but given her emotional circumstances she had to tell me what was weighing on her about her brother's disappearance. Besides, if there's anyone she trusts besides her brother, it's me. He does an about face and begins walking toward the door. Sorry for the confusion.

Klotz: So, are you telling me that she informed you of her own free will?

Moriarty: Correct. Moriarty tries to laugh it off. I mean, how else would I know? It's not like that information was available on file for me to read.

Moriarty exits the room, leaving Klotz still stunned that the leader of The Order possesses this sensitive information.

At the same time, at another terminal away from all the chaos in Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport, a single private jet makes its landing. Inside, a brooding young man in a luxurious seat looks out at the backdrop of downtown Paris. He wears a gray fleece jacket with the coat of arms of the Spanish monarchy embroidered on it. Tiny specks of snow tap against his window. He leans back in his chair for a moment.

César: Ah….París, nos reunimos de nuevo. (Ah…Paris, we meet again.)

Ten and a half hours before the Eurovision concert

Jeremie wakes up from an uneasy night of sleep. He groggily glances over at his alarm clock. It reads 08:30. He checks his phone, but no long-awaited alert pops up. Filled with despair, he barely finds the energy to get out of bed. Usually he rushes to the computer to analyze any odds and ends of the prediction time, but this morning he doesn't feel like it. The burdened general undresses, puts a towel on, and heads over to the showers. The lights in the hallway hum with ill intent, cracking what is left of his strong composure. He soon finds himself in front of the shower stalls. He drops his keys and phone on the bench and turns on the hot water. Immersing himself in the steam and flow from the shower head, Jeremie finally starts to wake up some. But the new state of alertness does not improve his mood. Over the sound of the water, Jeremie hears a familiar sound outside the shower. It takes him a moment to realize it is his phone's alarm. He groans in a half-awake state.

Jeremie: I don't remember setting an alarm. His hair droops under the water while he stands still. Without warning his heart almost stops. His eyes become wider than they ever have been before. He grips the tile of the shower stall. I didn't set an alarm!

Without bothering to turn off the water, he leaps out of the shower and reaches for his phone. His trembling wet hands grasp his phone, which beeps incessantly. The message alert confirm his hopes: WEAPONIZED PROTOCOL COMPLETE: SKID OPERATIONAL STATUS IN EXACTLY NINE HOURS. Jeremie's hands tremble even more as he quickly does the math in his head.

Jeremie: An hour and a half window….He suddenly becomes hysterical, laughing wildly at the news. AN HOUR AND A HALF WINDOW! He rubs his forehead in disbelief. It's cutting it close but we're going to make it. WE'RE GOING TO MAKE IT!

He rushes out of the showers into the main area of the boys' locker room. He hoops and hollers without any concern for those around him. Thankfully the only one around is William, who brushes his teeth wrapped in a towel, fully convinced that Jeremie has lost it…again. Jeremie quickly notices his friend and rushes him, triumphantly showing his phone.

Jeremie: IT HAPPENED…FINALLY! WE'RE GOING TO BE ABLE TO WIN! He grabs William's shoulders. His face is ecstatic. An hour and a half window!

William immediately bursts into a smile.

William: So we'll have time before the concert?! THAT'S FANTASTIC!

Jeremie: I KNOW!

William tries to quiet him down.

William: Okay, yes it's great…but keep your voice down. What if you know who is listening?

Jeremie: Oh, you're right….But I can't let that keep me down! I'm going to tell the others in person right now!

Jeremie tries to run out into the hall but William quickly grabs him by the shoulders. The seriously crazed leader turns on him with an almost violent annoyance.

Jeremie: What are you doing? I'VE GOT TO TELL THEM!

William: Jeremie, before you do, it's important that you know two things. One: They probably all know now because their phones have probably alerted them as well. Two: Well….He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. You're kinda….still naked.

Jeremie blinks several times with surprise. He quickly glances down, quickly remembering that he did just run out of the shower. He looks back up at William.

Jeremie: That I am. I should probably put some clothes on first.

William: Yes. End of the world or not…clothes would still be preferable.

Nine and a half hours before the Eurovision concert.

The basement of the science building. Jim leads the members of the Outcasts in a meeting concerning their counter protest against The Order at the Eurovision concert. A detailed plan of their march is written out on a large sheet of paper resting on an easel. Jim points out the different schools marked by circles. His posture is rigid and his face is firm. He carries the demeanor and dignity of a general preparing for war.

Jim: As you can see, Reilley has been kind enough to draw a clear picture for us. Our group will take the lead with the other schools and other supporters following close behind. We will all carry the main banner in the vanguard of our entire demonstration. He turns to face the audience. Brace yourselves ladies and gentlemen. This will be by far the largest group the Outcasts have ever assembled. We are expecting three hundred people within our ranks. Some people cheer and whistle at this news, but Jim is quick to regain their attention. Don't get too excited. The Order is projected to bring at least five times that number.

Delmas stands up, adjusting his collar.

Delmas: It does not matter. We will face them like we always do in spite of the odds. Some people clap in agreement. If the media pays attention to the larger group, then we will just have to shout even louder than them! At this, the meeting breaks out into enthusiastic applause. A passionate Delmas, in a measure of strength never seen in the taciturn principal before, rallies his students and faculty to action. Let's bring Dr. Renard down!

The Outcasts stand and cheer. Jim also claps his hands and then quickly regains their attention.

Jim: Alright then, now that we have that settled, I believe I will dismiss us for today-

Mrs. Hertz: Not so fast Jim. She puts her hands on her hips and gives him a slightly pretentious smile. We wanted to give you something first.

Jim: Huh? He scratches his head. What do you mean?

Sissi Delmas stands up from her seat by her father's side. She keeps her hands behind her back and clears her throat.

Sissi: Jim, the Outcasts wanted to show our thanks for all that you have done for us. We know it's not much compared to your personal self-sacrifice, but you deserve it nonetheless.

Jim still appears to be confused.

Jim: Deserve it? What do you mean? I was just doing my job, protecting this school and making sure everyone is in top physical condition.

Sissi: No Jim. You and I both know that you went above your position as our gym teacher and helped us and organized us when we had no one else. So for that- Sissi reveals a small certificate from behind her back.-We'd like to give you this year's distinguished faculty award! Jim's mouth drops in awe when he hears this, and the Outcasts soon start clapping. The Order may think Dr. Renard is the best, but we all know who the real leader is on campus. You've waited long enough to receive this award. Congratulations!

Sissi hands him the award and the crowd keeps clapping. Jim holds the certificate in his hands, beside himself with joy. He rubs a tear from his left eye and struggles to form words amidst the thunderous applause.

Jim: I…I don't know what to say. But…thank you. Thank you all! He chokes up on stage in front of everyone. You have no idea how much this means to me…

Several minutes later, the warriors file out of the meeting along with the other Outcasts. The non-Lyoko peers are jubilant, but the atmosphere surrounding them is much more conflicted. They exit the science building, walking into the blinding sunlight and the bitter cold. Their boots trudge slowly into the snow. To their left in the courtyard, Mathias leads The Order in a practice demonstration. Their black and purple flags fly in the semi-freezing wind.

Mathias: STRENGTH THROUGH DISCIPLINE! STRENGTH THROUGH COMMUNITY!

His comrades repeat the motto, somewhat less spirited than usual. The warriors give them a wide berth. Yumi glances back at some of the Outcasts who disperse behind them.

Yumi: We won't be able to join them.

Jeremie: No. We helped foster the Outcasts for our own purposes. As long as Moriarty is still alive, there are vital to our fight, but now they must continue without us. The Eurovision counter protest is pointless unless we are taking care of the real matter at hand.

Yumi: That doesn't make it easy. Jim, Claire, Bastien, Delmas…they'll all be counting on us to show up. She frowns. Even if we win, the Outcasts will still look down on us. We'll be forever known as the cowards who didn't show up when they needed us the most.

Jeremie keeps walking, not even bothering to look back at Yumi.

Jeremie: I'll take that reputation if it means putting a permanent stop to Moriarty.

Odd: Ditto on that.

Aelita: We've always been the silent heroes. If this is our only consequence of victory, I'd say we've done an excellent job.

While they keep walking, Christophe's phone vibrates in his pocket. He quickly answers it without a second thought.

Christophe: Hello?

Mr. M'Bala: Hello son. Scene shifts to the French autoroute system, where a small blue Renault sedan struggles to get through heavy traffic. An Afro-French man and his wife impatiently hobble along toward Paris. I know we agreed to leave on Sunday, but with all the commotion happening in this city your mother and I were worried that we wouldn't be able to get into Paris at all if we didn't get there now.

Christophe immediately senses danger and takes on a rebellious tone.

Christophe: What?! But we agreed that you wouldn't make me leave until-

Mr. M'Bala: Now calm down, we're still not picking you up until Sunday. However, we were wondering if you would like to join us for a very early dinner downtown. If we try to find a place at 17:00, we'll never get a table, so I wondered if you wanted to eat with us before going to the-

Christophe: Yes.

Mr. M'Bala: What? Are you sure? Because if you don't want to, it's perfectly

Christophe: No, please….Christophe catches himself before he talks any further. He manages to curtail the swell of emotions wrestling inside him. I mean, I would love to. He takes a deep breath. I'd love to see you guys again.

Mr. M'Bala becomes puzzled, once again noting the strange emotional tone that is very much unlike the son he remembers. He taps his fingers against the wheel, passing a concerned glance to his wife.

Mr. M'Bala: Christophe, are you feeling alright? You sound…very tense.

His throat dries up as he quickly comes up with a response.

Christophe: That's because things are very tense over here. It seems like the school is really reaching a boiling point.

Mr. M'Bala: Okay…I guess that makes sense. But if it does boil over, make sure you do all you can to stay out of it. We'll pick you up at 16:00.

Christophe: Okay, see you then.

They hang up. Christophe instantly runs to catch up with the others, who are about to enter the main dormitory building. He makes his way to Jeremie.

Christophe: Jeremie, wait!

Jeremie: What? What is it?

Christophe: I…have a bit of a favor to ask you.

Eight hours before the Eurovision concert.

Herb Pinchon sits at a table in the abandoned library, angrily stewing over his punishment. He glares down at the book, but the words mean nothing to him. He just keeps flipping back and forth from one page to the other, pretending to actually do something. All the while, the pencil is in hands nearly breaks in his death grip. The contents of his stare are vacant, full of nothing but a growing, festering rage that leaves a permanent imprint on his wrathful visage. The clock in the corner ticks on the wall, marking with each second the possible implosion of Herb's self-control. Across the table, Hans Klotz looks down upon him with arms crossed, passing judgment on the already unstable pupil.

Klotz: The answer is no Mr. Pinchon, and you know it. There is no way we are allowing you to join us in our march.

Herb's fingernails dig into the wooden table.

Herb: The Order…needs me…They need a student leader.

Klotz: And a student leader you are not. The retort wounds Herb like a knife to the chest. At first, the blow crushes his spirit, but then it only serves to increase his anger. Your behavior does not reflect the true spirit of The Order. Outcast or not what you did was unacceptable. Mathias Burel will lead the students tonight…not you.

Herb: Burel?! He says the name with ample disgust. He couldn't lead The Order even in his dreams!

Klotz authoritatively raises his voice and points directly at him.

Klotz: He's preferable to a troubled youth who can't control his temper! Accept the facts Herb. You will not be joining us tonight.

Herb balls his fists in front of the school psychologist, who lacks his usual pity toward troubled students. Klotz lowers his voice but retains its sternness. He makes a ninety degree turn away from Herb.

Klotz: I'm sorry Herb. I really tried to get through to you these past few weeks. But if anything, your callous attitude has informed me that you are in no way capable of being present with The Order, much less leading our Kadic group.

Reality weighs on Herb unbearably as he processes this news. Suddenly his passion for The Order, his devotion to the Commandant, and all that he has worked for these past few months serve only to mock him. His standing in The Order, which had lately been so high, now disappears into smoke. All that's left is a chaotic vacuum that feeds off his disappointment. Herb bends his head toward the table.

Herb: The Commandant….he told me…he told me I was capable of so much more. He rests his forehead on his right hand and sinks lower to the table. His expression becomes more pained. I tried so hard to do just that. He lifts his head up and shouts in outrage, breaking the silence of the library. AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET?!

Klotz closes his eyes, remaining completely unmoved by Herb's desperate pleas.

Klotz: The Commandant was probably right. But you didn't do it in the right way.

He leaves. The large wooden doors to the library creak open, then slowly creak back and reverberate together as they are closed. Herb is left alone, abandoned by The Order and his own sense of dignity. He stares down at the book again, incredibly bitter at his own fate. Isolation gradually turns to despair, and despair gradually turns to violence. Herb grabs the book and flings it across the room. When that proves to not be satisfactory, he knocks over his chair and several books off the shelves behind him. He slowly sinks down onto the floor, covering his face with his hands. The despair finally moves him to tears, and he covers his face with his hands.

Herb: Dr. Renard….the Commandant….has abandoned me. He doesn't care anymore.

His thoughts drift to his recent fall from grace. He begins putting the pieces back together, remembering how it happened from his perspective. One moment suddenly sticks out in his mind. Delmas' heavy-handed response to the lunchroom battle and Herb's subsequent punishment absorbs his attention. He recalls the event with painful clarity.

Delmas: I may not be able to expel you, Herb Pinchon. BUT I AM YOUR PRINCIPAL, AND YOU WILL LEARN TO FEAR ME AGAIN!

Something clicks in Herb's mind. He removes his hands from his face. As he reestablishes the line between his emotions and the facts, he comes to one simple conclusion: Delmas has been responsible for his loss of rank in The Order. Herb Pinchon stands up, wiping the tears away from his eyes. The confused whirlwind of anger and misery within him now has a direction. The veins in his scrawny arms become visible.

Herb: No. That's not it. Delmas forced the Commandant to make me a liability….Fool. Why didn't I see it before. This is his fault! He knocks over another chair. After an initial bout of renewed frustration, Herb suddenly becomes eerily calm. He glances up at the ceiling…and then starts laughing. A wild, unfettered look of dangerous intent becomes visible in his eyes, courtesy of his experience at the feet of the master. But he hasn't won. No….I'm the one who will get the last laugh!

Meanwhile Klotz makes his way back to his office. He opens the door and leaves his coat on the rack. The work on his desk involving The Order protest is there to greet him. He groans and plops down on his chair, wondering if he will be able to make things perfect tonight.

Klotz: What a nightmare. He adjusts his glasses. Sébastien…are you going to make me do all the work for tonight?

He checks his email, which doesn't improve his mood. His inbox is full of complaints and requests from The Order branches from all over the country. The sheer amount aggravates him to no end. While he tirelessly keeps up the effort, a folder on his desktop happens to catch his eye. It reads STUDENT COUNSELING FILES. He goes back to his work without a second thought. But a few moments later, his eyes return to that folder. The student files compel him to recall his awkward conversation with Moriarty a few hours ago. The knowledge that Moriarty was aware of Angeline's painful secret still bothers him, making it difficult for him to concentrate on his work. He sighs and backs away from his desk.

Klotz: Even if Angeline adored the Commandant, a young lady does not typically reveal something like that to anyone, especially an older man. He shakes his head. This makes no sense.

Klotz remains hopelessly puzzled for several minutes. He replays the conversation he had in his mind. One sentence from The Order leader stands out to him.

Moriarty: It's not like that information was available on file for me to read.

Klotz suddenly remembers something.

Klotz: But…it was on file. I had already had a counseling session with her before she transferred to Kadic. At that moment, a major realization hits him like a speeding truck. His mouth opens in shock. His face becomes pale. His hands tense up at the keyboard. Klotz takes off his glasses and sits there, spellbound by disbelief. His mouth utters a painful admission. He did it. He leaps from his desk. He stole my files! Of course-He curses his own stupidity to the depths of perdition. Why would he mention the files at all unless he was tying to allay his guilt? We weren't even talking about files. 'On file for me to read'….no…no that's not a coincidence. It can't be. Ahh!...I've been so stupid! Why didn't I see this before?! He pauses to process the magnitude of this new revelation. And he was the one who recovered my files back for me. A nervous panic starts to grab hold of him. He never explained to me how he did it. And….His face contorts with horror….the way he so easily formed relationships with the students, getting them to trust him, making them feel special….He already knew them. He sits back down at his desk, too overwhelmed to stand. For a while he isn't able to speak. Then, he begins to talk in a whisper. My God. Who….What have we let into our school?

His room is silent. The esteemed school psychologist stares into an empty corner of the room, drowning in the whirlpool of lies he has stumbled upon. For ten minutes, he can hardly move. After a while, the hum of the computer catches his attention. More questions come to mind, fervently demanding more answers to this disturbing predicament. He lunges back to the computer and begins to do some in-depth research.

Klotz: I need to know more.

Six hours before the Eurovision concert.

Jeremie takes command in the lab room, prepping for the final confrontation. Aelita stays by his side, running every necessary diagnostic on her laptop.

Aelita: Turbine engines stabilized. Skidbladnir's shields at 100%. Cannae missiles standing by for launch.

Jeremie spins around the room in his throne, ready to do battle. He puts his earpiece on and calls everyone.

Jeremie: Attention all Lyoko Warriors. This is your commander speaking. He checks up on the status of the Network before continuing. In approximately four hours and ten minutes we will assemble at the factory for what will no doubt be the last time. This is the real deal people. Tonight we rid the Earth of this cancerous parasite for good. Scene shifts to the different warriors. Ulrich holds two kendo swords in his hands and breathes deeply. In a flash, he knocks down the dummies in his path, gritting his teeth while he does it. If everything goes to plan, we'll be finished with Moriarty before the concert even begins. Back at her own house, Yumi dresses in light-fitting clothing and inhales. She proceeds to practice her Pencak Silat with a purpose, facing down an invisible enemy with determination and unrestrained hate. I'm not going to sugarcoat this one guys. This may be a lot tougher than Xana's defeat. Moriarty is not going to let us get near his core without giving us the fight of our lives. Several arrows pierce the wood in the woods outside Kadic. In the bitter cold, Natalya targets the frozen trees with merciless precision. Her breath slowly escapes from her mouth in a fog. But that's not going to stop us. In the boys' locker room near the gym, William and Christophe face each other when no one is around. They take their shirts off and spar, holding back to avoid injury but making sure they both get a workout. However, remember that those of you going into the Network will only have one Cannae missile. We only have enough power to give each of you one. So use it wisely. Odd walks down the hallway, looking pale and weak. His legs shake to the point that he can barely stand on his own two feet. Fear drains the color out of his body, and he holds onto the walls for support. But the pressure soon overcomes him, and he stumbles into the bathroom and retches into the nearest toilet. As he gets momentary relief from the episode, he looks up at the ceiling. Despite his bodily weakness, the fire in his eyes has not died. I know that you're afraid. So am I. Until he is defeated, we will never be free. So let's be rid of him once and for all! The scene shifts back to Jeremie, who radiates an inexorable drive for ultimate victory. Let's show Moriarty the true power of the Lyoko Warriors!

Five hours before the Eurovision concert

Yumi takes a bath after her training. She sinks in the tub, too overwhelmed to think and too numb to feel. She prepares herself mentally for the challenge ahead, refusing to let any other concern stand in her way. After soaking, for a good long while, she rises from the tub and puts her towel on. Her feet step out and recoil from the cold tile. She then makes her way back to her room, dressing herself in a slow, methodical fashion. In these confined, private moments Yumi absorbs the surroundings of her room, paying close attention to any detail she once looked for granted. She can't help but think that this small, bare, and cozy room may never be occupied by her again. Her body and mind rebel from the thought and push it aside. She finishes putting her clothes on and checks her phone. She still has more than three hours before she needs to leave. Nevertheless, sixteen year-old Yumi Ishiyama is restless, unable to cope with the thought of staying at home any longer. Her parents argue downstairs over something trivial involving her father's laziness, the same as always. The same incoherent mumblings from her grandfather accompany the conversation. The same smell of her mother's authentic Japanese cuisine permeates the house. Everything in her home that is perceived by her senses remains the same, a beautiful tapestry of chaotic and stable domesticity. A tear forms in her right eye, glistening in the afternoon sun from her window. It is too much; her emotions tell her to leave and get ready for the inevitable. She walks out of her room and slowly shuts the door, banishing the contents of the interior from her sight. Yumi makes her way down the hallway. As she walks, she comes across her brother's room. Immediately the area gives her a definite repugnance, and her instincts tell her to leave. But the door is wide open, and Yumi can't help but see the shape of her brother, sitting with his back turned on his bed, completely motionless. He wears a white undershirt and dress pants, which is an odd sight for the older sister. To her confusion, the black Order shirt she has come to loathe lies tossed into the corner, devoid of any care or respect. At first, Yumi can't make sense of it, but then she hears him crying. The amoral and misguided younger brother she has come to know now chokes in occasional sobs before her. Yumi doesn't move, not sure what to think initially. But the pitiful sight of her brother and the pressing circumstances surrounding her prompt her to act. She taps on his open door.

Yumi: Hey, can I come in?

Hiroki doesn't answer, so Yumi decides to repeat herself.

Yumi: Can I come in?

Her brother finally manages a response.

Hiroki: The door's open, isn't it?

With this half-hearted invitation, Yumi decides to cautiously approach. She sits down on the edge of his bed, staying at a comfortable distance. The two don't say anything for a long time.

Hiroki: Burn the shirt.

Yumi: What?

Hiroki: Burn the shirt! He turns around to her with anger and sorrow etched on his face. A few tears flow down his cheeks. I've been the biggest idiot in the world. All that time and energy and dedication-Anger temporarily tips the scale in his emotional tumult.-flushed down the toilet! He shakes his head. All that Order stuff was a complete lie…

For a few seconds, Yumi can't grasp what she has heard. The news opens up a wellspring of emotions encompassing her betrayal that she had repressed for some time. But gradually her brother's words relieve her of this burden, and she covers her mouth in an attempt to suppress her joy, lest it provoke Hiroki to recant what he has said.

Yumi: What…what happened?

Hiroki stares idly at his bedsheets and pauses.

Hiroki: I went with the Kadic group to a local rally to prepare for tonight. I came out with the right uniform and everything, but when I showed up at the park to practice the event, some big guys at the rally stopped me from entering. Self-disgust creeps into Hiroki's face as he continues to explain. I gave them the proper salute and everything, but they kept questioning me, asking if I was really a part of The Order. He bites his lip. No matter what I did, they still weren't satisfied with my answers. It didn't matter that I had the right shirt. It didn't matter that I knew all of the salutes and slogans. They didn't accept me. I….I tried to get the Kadic students to help me, to vouch for me, but they all kept walking and hardly even noticed. Even Johnny-His expression darkens with the sting of treachery.-even Johnny looked away, and pretended that he didn't even know me. He looks down at his hands, touching the skin of his palm with his left index finger. All this time I tried to pretend…tried to believe what they were telling me…that it didn't matter that I wasn't really French. But I was wrong. He looks up into her eyes again. He immediately begins to break down and cry with greater intensity. I'm sorry. I'm so….so sorry. Please for-

Hiroki doesn't even finish his sentence. Her older sister instantly wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. Hiroki sits there passively, absolutely stunned by the embrace.

Hiroki: Why? Why are you hugging me? I…I don't deserve it!

Yumi smiles broadly and refuses to let go.

Yumi: Don't deserve it? Is that what being brother and sister is all about? She leans back and wipes a tear from his eye. Giving to each other only as they deserve? No. That's not love. So…apology accepted. I'm just glad you found out the truth.

Hiroki, completely blown away by his sister's reply, begins to cry into her shoulder. Yumi holds him firmly, sending a silent prayer of thanks that her little baby brother has finally returned.

Four hours before the Eurovision concert.

The Catholic Church in France is in the midst of preparation as well, but not for The Order march. The solemn atmosphere inside the sanctuary is somewhat lifted by the decorations for Christmas. Nativity scenes greet any visiting parishioner in both wooden and contemporary models. Ornate wreaths hang above the crucifix and two small twin Christmas trees stand on opposite sides of the altar. A children's choir completely clothed in white practices for an upcoming mass. A lay director leads them, encouraging them to smile as they sing. Rosaire emerges from the back part of the church and observes the scene. He walks down the aisle away from them and adjusts a wreath that had been crooked. He then turns back around and listens to the choir near the entrance to the cathedral.

William: They're pretty good.

Rosaire does an abrupt about-face, greatly surprised to see his younger brother leaning against the doorway to the sanctuary.

William: Though I personally am a fan of more modern music.

Rosaire: William, what are you doing here?

William pretends to be offended.

William: Isn't the church welcome to anyone?

Rosaire: Of course. But that does not mean that everyone is expected. Occasionally in the church one encounters a few- He somewhat politely motions to William.-surprises.

William: But isn't that the fun part of the job?

Rosaire: One of many. So…The young priest becomes slightly more serious….What can I do for you? Are you here to confess or… something else?

William glances down at the floor for a minute and rubs the back of his neck.

William: I confess that I havn't been able to correct my faults as I would like to-

Rosaire: We all suffer from that moral deficiency-

William: Or protect the people I promised I would protect.

Rosaire gazes at his brother with some measure of confusion.

Rosaire: Protect who and from wha-?

William: But I am not here to talk about that. He walks past his older brother and stares up at the crucifix. There is a slight amount of indifference in his stare, but he maintains that look for several seconds. I am here to ask you a question.

Rosaire walks up and stands next to him.

Rosaire: Which is?

William turns his head to Rosaire.

William: If God exists like you say he does, does he promise to not let evil win? Does he promise to stop those who seek to…hurt the world?

Rosaire loses himself in thought for a moment as he contemplates this unexpected question.

Rosaire: Evil may be able to get a temporary foothold in this world, but God will not let it last. At the end of all things, all forms of evil, both on this Earth and beyond it, will be vanquished.

William: Okay…but what about the people involved?

Rosaire: I…don't follow.

William pauses, showing some level of discomfort. He chooses his words very careful.

William: Say…God used some certain people to bring about the downfall of that evil. Does God promise to keep all of those people safe? Does he guarantee that all of those people will…survive the battle?

Rosaire: No. William's heart sinks at his brother's rapid response. Many persecutions throughout history have claimed untold numbers of martyrs. The defeat of evil often claims many casualties along the way. Catholics who have gone to war have died just as any other soldier. Believers are not entirely immune to danger.

William stands there in silence, reflecting on his brother's reply. He puts his hands in his pockets and taps his foot on the floor. He inhales through his nose and becomes strangely calm.

William: In that case-He suddenly hugs Rosaire, shocking his stern older brother to no end.-I'll see you around.

Rosaire slowly returns his brother's embrace, looking up at the ceiling as if it this were a miracle of God.

Rosaire: Yes. I'll stop by at the old house at Christmas. We'll see each other then.

William doesn't reply. He breaks off the hug almost immediately and makes his way out the door. Rosaire watches him leave.

Rosaire: William, were you referring to some kind of personal spiritual battle?

William looks over his shoulder and meets Rosaire's concerned expression with a forced grin.

William: Something like that…

Three hours and ten minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Christophe stands outside the Kadic gate, patiently waiting as the temperature continues to drop. He hugs his jacket closer to his body with one hand while he talks to Jeremie on the phone.

Jeremie: I let you have this dinner for obvious reasons. But I don't need to remind you how crucial it is for you to stick to our schedule.

Christophe: I know. I want this done too. I told you, I won't let you down.

Scene shifts to the factory. Jeremie continues to work tirelessly over the details on the program's functionality. He maintains his steel gaze on the screen while on the phone with Christophe.

Jeremie: Okay. But be careful and keep your phone on at all times. There's no telling what could happen.

Christophe: Relax. It's just a dinner with my parents. I'm not going into Lyoko wrists blazing. His parents' car pulls up. I gotta go. See you soon.

Christophe hangs up. As soon as the car stops, Mrs. M'Bala gets out of the car and hugs his son tightly.

Mr. M'Bala: Oh Christophe, it's been so long. You should have called more.

Christophe winces from the unusually tight squeeze.

Christophe: Oh yeah, sorry about that. I've just been…quite busy.

While his family makes idle conversation, a security camera at Kadic's front gate slowly rotates in their direction.

Two hours and fifty minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Moriarty looks on from the stands as The Order group performs a robust demonstration of fervent nationalism. They march together, displaying an impressive example of structural unity and strength in numbers. All the while they chant The Order slogans. Despite their initial lack of enthusiasm, Mathias Burel whips them up into a frenzy that culminates in a large shout to end the practice. They keep their rigid posture as they wait for Moriarty to respond. Their leader slowly claps their hands.

Moriarty: Very well done. The Order relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief. Mathias bends over and puts his hands on his knees, worn out by the event. But don't get too into it just yet. You need to wait for tonight to show the rest of Europe what you are truly capable of. It's time for us to truly come out of the shadows as a movement that the rest of the world can't ignore. Are you ready, loyal members of The Order?

The Order students give their leader the salute, feeling slightly more inspired by his presence.

All Students: YES COMMANDANT!

Moriarty shakes his head with glib approval.

Moriarty: Good…good. Okay then, you're dismissed for now. Go eat, get dressed, take a shower, rest a bit….whatever you need to do before we leave for downtown.

Once the group disperses, Moriarty slinks away from the area and makes his way back to his own residence on campus. He passes by students and faculty, greeting his allies as warmly as he can. However, his mind is elsewhere, working at a thousand miles an hour while his human form continues to go about its business. Though his stress has increased with the approaching of what should be his finest hour, on the outside he remains calm and serene, showing no hostile intent to anyone, not even the Outcasts he encounters. He goes inside and enters his hall, suspecting nothing to be amiss. But when he opens his door, those illusions are quickly shattered. Greeting him from the inside on a chair facing him is Hans Klotz, who vilifies Moriarty with unfriendly eyes. Moriarty shuts the door behind him, slightly perturbed by this sudden glitch in his meticulous plans for the evening.

Moriarty: Hans, what a pleasant surprise. Though I have to say…He tries to downplay the awkward situation with a laugh…most people wait until their friends are home before they visit them…

Klotz doesn't laugh.

Klotz: What are you doing?

Moriarty: I think I have the right to ask you that. After all, you are sitting in my apartment…

Klotz: No. I mean what are you doing here…at this school? Hans Klotz holds up a series of papers printed from the Internet and lays them on his desk. Klotz glares at the leader of The Order. I've been doing some research, asking some questions about things I have ignored before. And I don't like the answers I have found.

Behind Moriarty's cheerful and playful expression, the wheels of violence begin to turn. Yet on the surface, he acts like nothing major is wrong.

Moriarty: Research? I thought you were busy with the details of the march toni-

Klotz: Fifty-two branches. Fifty-two branches in total are gathering tonight to show their loyalty to your ideal of being a French citizen. To show fealty for their leader. But-Klotz points an accusatory finger at Moriarty-who exactly is their leader? A humble teacher who inspires people and just happened to fall into the spotlight? Or a master manipulator who weaseled his way into the school and used my-Anger seeps through his voice-personal student files to get a hold of the students and me?

Moriarty scoffs at the idea and acts like his friend has gone completely insane. He pretends that Klotz is going to end this terrible joke at any time. All the while the wheels in his head begin to turn with greater urgency.

Moriarty: Hans, you can't seriously be putting the blame for that on-

Klotz: How did you return the files to me so easily? I'm no expert with computers but retrieving hacked information can't be easy. How did you know about Angeline's sexual trauma? That information WAS on file before it was stolen, yet you claimed it wasn't. Klotz increases the pressure, figuratively putting Moriarty in a corner. But how would you know it was or wasn't on file in the first place?!

Moriarty drops his smile. The warm façade disappears from his face, revealing his cold, calculating nature. The wheels turn in earnest.

Moriarty: How did you get in here?

Klotz stands up, getting up right in Moriarty's face.

Klotz: I'm the one asking the questions here. He picks up the printed papers. I have done some research on you. There's no record of you being in the armed forces. I know your supporters say that's because the information is probably classified, but how did you take out five gunmen all by yourself? You may have had a secret life that could have given you those skills, but if so why on Earth have you come to this school?! It makes no sense. And there's more…Klotz continues his attack, gloating with satisfaction for having unraveled this great lie…Your biography doesn't make sense. You've given some details to the press, but when I looked into your supposed childhood history, it doesn't add up. You say you grew up in Gascony but there's no evidence of you living there from any school records I could find. One of your childhood photos-He holds up an image of a blonde boy in a wide open field-turned out to be very similar to one I found of a boy in New Zealand! He shows the two photos side by side. It is clear that Moriarty's version is merely a doctored take on the original. The only record I could find of a Sebastién Renard that fit your description was a postal worker here in Paris that supposedly disappeared more than ten years ago…He shows a missing persons news clipping from the 90s with a faded black and white photo of Moriarty in his postal uniform. Klotz casts all these papers aside and takes several deep breaths, almost worn out by his long tirade. He storms up to his former companion, coming with centimeters of his opponent's face. The million-dollar question that I want to know is…who are you really, Dr. Sebastién Renard?

Moriarty does nothing for a few seconds. The wheels turn madly, ready to explode at any moment. At that point, Moriarty drops his expression of hostile anxiety. He looks away and sighs, pretending that he has been caught and now it is time to confess. He turns back to Klotz.

Moriarty: Oh dear…how inconvenient. And here I thought you were an idiot. He shrugs. Oh well. In a flash, Moriarty viciously grabs Klotz by his neck with his right hand and covers his mouth with his left. Klotz struggles in panic, but he is helpless in his attacker's grasp. Moriarty puts his index finger over his lips to tell Klotz to hush. His left hand becomes smoky and the vapors enter through his victim's nose. Klotz staggers and eventually passes out in Moriarty's clutches. Still, you didn't find out everything…

Moriarty sheds off one of his specters, which then possesses Klotz's limp body. He strains from the effort needed to control a comatose person without activating a tower, but eventually Klotz stands back up. Moriarty pats the zombie on the shoulder.

Moriarty: Let's go for a drive, shall we?

Twelve minutes later Hans Klotz wakes up….in gravel and snow. The completely disoriented psychologist hazily checks out his surroundings. On every side, stationary boxcars sit on railroad tracks, slowly rusting from the elements. His left hand reaches over and touches the cold steel of another track. Above him stands a low-hanging railroad bridge that is covered with graffiti. Klotz tries to stand, but quickly falls back down.

Moriarty: I wouldn't try that if I were you. The gas hasn't worn off yet.

Klotz spins his head around. Moriarty is there to greet him, glaring down at his prey with cold satisfaction. He stuffs his hands in his lab coat pockets and slowly draws closer to him. Klotz begins to hyperventilate, almost at the point of screaming from fear.

Moriarty: Oh don't bother to call for help. He motions to the surrounding railroad tracks and boxcars. We're at a railroad junction. A very old railroad junction. No one is going to hear you scream.

Klotz digs his fingers into the gravel in a desperate and foolhardy attempt to escape. His face, incredulous of the mortal danger he is in, emits a pure, unadulterated terror of death.

Klotz: W-Wh-Who are you?!

Moriarty shakes his head with disappointment.

Moriarty: Hans, Hans…if you're going to ruin someone's reputation you could have at least done it thoroughly. If you had figured out everything about me, you wouldn't have confronted me. You would have taken off and left on the next flight to Siberia. He looks down on Klotz with fake pitying eyes. But you didn't. You didn't bother to investigate the Islamic Republic of France and realize that the group doesn't exist. You never connected the dots between me and the untimely demise of Mr. Stern. Klotz's countenance of horror doubles with this new information. Moriarty basks in the moment with excessive satisfaction. And that's only to name a few. But no…Moriarty drops his pleasant act. You only went halfway, and now you're going to suffer the consequences.

Moriarty fires on Klotz with a purple electric strike. Klotz screams and shakes in complete agony. He cuts off the attack briefly, letting his hopeless victim cough and breath before continuing.

Klotz: WH-WHAT ARE YOU?!

Moriarty: Poor, poor Hans. You could have accomplished so much if you hadn't stood in your own way. You could have gone to the top-Moriarty chuckles-well, not THE top. That is reserved for me of course. His fingers spark with deadly power and strike Klotz again, who screams with the full force of a wild animal in its death throes. Moriarty doesn't even blink an eye. But now I've got to get rid of you. How unfortunate. Klotz trembles, unable to speak or move. His right hand extends toward Moriarty in a desperate attempt to make him stop. Unintelligible moans and cries of fear escape from Klotz's mouth. Hmm, should I burn you to a crisp and leave no traces, or should I be nice and leave them something to bury? Tears of horror drip down from Klotz's eyes. I assume I owe you that much. After all, I could always use you as a martyr. Moriarty calmly walks up and steps on Klotz's chest. The school psychologist closes his eyes and prepares for the end while Moriarty's gaze remains completely hollow. Anyway, time to get this over with.

The entire bottom half of the bridge lights up, quickly followed by one last scream from Klotz. Smoke rises from Klotz's skin as Moriarty walks away. He looks up into the fading sunlight.

Moriarty: Glad that's over with. He looks back at Klotz's body. It's been fun, but I have business elsewhere. He heads back toward the car. It's time I take care of some more pressing loose ends.

When Moriarty enters his car and drives away, a slight muscle twitch can be seen from Klotz's half-burned fingers.

Two hours and eight minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Jeremie maps out the projected attack route for the Skid. While he is at work, he checks the time at least every fifteen seconds. His heart races like never before. He wipes his brow and drinks from a water bottle. As he screws the cap back on, he talks to Aelita.

Jeremie: Aelita, can you check on the status of the exterior of Moriarty's zone in the Network. No answer. He turns around. Aelita?

Aelita comes out of the elevator, wiping her hands a little bit on her dark purple dress. Jeremie sighs with exasperation.

Jeremie: You went to the bathroom again?

Aelita immediately becomes defensive.

Aelita: I can't help it. With time running out like it is, I get really nervous.

Jeremie: I know. I'm sorry. I just…I need you to be here. He checks the time. The others will be here in about fifteen minutes or so. After that…it's go time. But a lot can be done in fifteen minutes.

Aelita: Jeremie, we've been working all afternoon on this, checking every possible detail. Why don't you take a breather, just for a few minutes at least?

Jeremie takes off his glasses and handles them improperly, nearly breaking them due to his stress.

Jeremie: Just think about it, Aelita. The fate of the free world could very well depend on these fifteen minutes. One mistake of mine could-He snaps his fingers-unravel everything. Just think about it…fifteen minutes.

Aelita: Well at least go to the bathroom or something. The fate of the world can't be unraveled by a full bladder, you know.

Jeremie leans back in his command chair, taking a deep breath. He forces himself to become calm.

Jeremie: You make a good point. He gets out of the chair. I'll be back shortly.

Aelita and Jeremie switch places while Jeremie exits via the elevator. Aelita checks on a few things, but in a matter of about thirty seconds, the unexpected happens. The super scan picks up an activated tower. Aelita stops everything, feeling the breath leave her body.

Aelita: No. She shakes her head with disbelief. No, it's too early. What is he doing?

Two hours and five minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Downtown Paris. The Renault sedan belonging to the M'Balas drives on a road to the right of the lovely River Seine. Christophe sits in the back, checking his watch every five seconds.

Christophe: 16:55. He checks the status of the traffic. I should have just enough time.

His mother glances back at him.

Mrs. M'Bala: Did you say something dear?

Christophe: Uh…it was nothing.

Mrs. M'Bala: Are you sure you're okay? You were mostly pretty quiet during dinner.

Christophe looks out the window, purposely avoiding his parents' gaze.

Christophe: I'll be a lot better after tonight.

Mrs. M'Bala tries to force more information from her son, but her husband then distracts her.

Mr. M'Bala: Just like at that mess over there. He points to a road on the other side of the river, where traffic is especially heavy. Christophe's father looks at the scene with loathing. This city's commute is a disaster. I tell you one thing I won't miss when we're in Italy, this country's traffic. He looks at his son through the rearview mirror. Congestion in this city sure is murder, eh son?

Christophe: Yeah. Christophe replies to the question absentmindedly. Murder.

Three seconds later, the seemingly perfect world around them is completely undone. Two sniper shots ring out in the air, piercing the front windows. Glass shatters. Blood spatters on the windshield like a red Rorschach ink blot. The car veers out of control. Christophe instantly grabs hold of the back seat, relying on his instincts while everything spins out of control. He is unable to think, for things change too fast for him to have time to do so. First he feels the car swerve. Then, the impact of the vehicle on the stone guardrails and the subsequent recoil. Next he is weightless, losing all semblance of control. Finally he is surrounded by water. Christophe becomes seized with shock, unable to comprehend or do anything until water starts to leak into the interior and rise up to his knees. His breathing becomes sharp and irregular. The water is cold, and he looks down and then up again. The water creeps up on the windows, increasing its stranglehold on the car and its occupants with every second. Finally sensing the pressing danger, he leans forward to the front seat and jostles his parents' shoulders.

Christophe: Mom! Dad! We need to-His parents slump to the side in their seats. Two clean bloody holes in their heads are his only answer. Christophe chokes out a silent gasp, trembling uncontrollably at the sight. He looks down again. Profuse amounts of blood mix with the water in the interior. The terrible concoction elevates rapidly, threatening to drown Christophe on his parents' own blood. Christophe looks at the windshield and promptly screams for all he is worth. MOM! DAD!

One of the front windows breaks and the torrent of rushing water comes in. Christophe barely has time to get a breath in. His senses panic as he opens his eyes in an underwater world of blood and polluted river water. He nearly gasps for air from the sheer hellishness of the sight. The terror quickly makes him desperate for air. He vainly kicks at his back windows, but they do not budge. Every physical action only makes his need to breathe even worse. His half-crazed eyes note the broken window at his mother's side. Trading bodily necessities for decency, he swims past his mother's body and swims out of the car. Confused and nearly dying for air, Christophe eyes what he prays is the surface. He launches himself up with all his might, fearing that he won't make it. But just as his lungs are about to collapse, he finds himself above the surface. He gasps for all he's worth for almost twenty seconds, becoming almost drunk on oxygen. His eyes dart madly about, quickly finding that he is in an underground canal of the River Seine. The roar of cars continues above him. As soon as Christophe gets hold of his surroundings, everything inside him breaks apart. He splashes like a wild man, churning in the waters with no purpose. As the facts begin to set in, Christophe loses all hope and sense of self. He yells at the top of his lungs the cry of a young man who has just lost everything.

One hour and fifty minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Jeremie and Aelita work feverishly in their recent analysis of the activated tower. Jeremie pulls his hair in frustration, torn by indecision.

Aelita: It's still activated. Either Moriarty is actually doing something or this is just an elaborate delaying tactic. We can't just-

Jeremie quickly interjects.

Jeremie: We cannot just run after one random activated tower right now. It could throw off our whole operation!

Aelita: But what if it's not random? What if Moriarty is doing something we don't expect? The elevator hums above them. Aelita turns around. Finally, they're here. We can get some different opinions on this.

In the elevator, every other warrior besides Christophe is present. None of them say a word. Natalya leans on William's shoulder and holds him close, but no one else moves at all. The doors creak open, revealing the tense situation at hand between Aelita and Jeremie. The warriors file out of the elevator.

Ulrich: Don't tell me we already have a problem…

Aelita: Unfortunately, yes. There's an activated tower in the Ice Sector.

William: This early? What is he doing?

Jeremie turns around in his chair to face them.

Jeremie: Probably a distraction. What better way to keep us busy on the last day he could possibly lose than to send us running around to different towers in a pointless chase?

Aelita: But we don't know that for sure. That's what I've been trying to tell you!

Jeremie quickly counters, aggressively proving his point by raising his voice.

Jeremie: And until we have evidence of that, we shouldn't move forward!

Aelita: By then it might be too la-!

Odd: Hey, hey, hey! He forces the two to break off their argument. All eyes quickly turn on him. I think we're all missing something more urgent here. He looks around. Where's Christophe?

Jeremie eyes the group, lifting himself a little in his chair to see if he is behind some of the taller members of the group. When he fails to see him, a pang of anxiety emerges in his strained voice.

Jeremie: You mean he didn't come with you?!

The other warriors shrug.

Yumi: We thought he got eager to do this and joined you two a bit early.

Jeremie and Aelita shake their heads. The other warriors quickly become concerned. Jeremie begins to think aloud.

Jeremie: He was outside Kadic, eating with his parents. He…he promised to come back in time…He cuts off his own conversation and rushes to the computer. He quickly calls Christophe. The phone rings but no one picks up. Every unanswered beep increases Jeremie's fear. Come on…come on….What are you doing Christophe? The call ends and Christophe doesn't reply. Jeremie bangs his fists against the armrests in frustration. You've got to be kidding me! I let him take one personal trip outside Kadic, and when we need him the most…He grinds his teeth together, ready to rip the main monitor apart from anger….he…has the….He suddenly starts shouting…NERVE TO NOT ANSWER HIS-!

Jermeie is quickly cut off. A voice, not belonging to Christophe but still one they are all too acquainted with, makes its presence known in the room.

Moriarty: Having a little trouble locating a friend? Jeremie's blood runs cold. The others stop what they're doing and listen with barely restrained dread. Oh, but in all fairness, it is partly your fault. You did let the little birdie leave the nest.

The commander of the Lyoko Warriors shakes in his own skin as he asks the terrible question.

Jeremie: What…have you done?

Moriarty: What haven't I done is a better question. You really out to take better care of your comrades.

Jeremie: If you have taken him hostage, don't expect that to stop us from-

Moriarty: Hostage? There's no hostage situation here. The room temperature drops twenty degrees as the warriors listen to this information with horror. And this is no game. In fact, the games are long over. You all survived them, so congratulations. You deserve credit for that. However-The tone of his voice becomes infinitely more sinister.-even I tire of entertaining my enemies. He shows a clip of Christophe entering the Renault sedan with his family from the front gate. He then shows a clip of the same sedan in the River Seine, sinking slowly below the water. The doomed vehicle is close to the concrete wall separating the river from the road. The stunned warriors see no one come up to the surface. The car disappears below the dark water, carrying everyone inside to their unmarked grave. Several seconds pass. No head comes above the surface. No signs of life disturb the river. There is nothing to lift any bit of hope in their hearts and minds. The warriors don't speak. They don't move. They can't even breathe. The face of death stares into their souls, seizing them with a speechless truth that torments every fiber of their being. Moriarty continues the conversation casually. So I decided to get it over with. I know you must be planning something at the last minute to stop me. I don't know if you have the Cannae Initiative ready or not, but either way, your efforts will be fruitless. I just needed to show you how helpless you really are. Honestly, I should have done this a long time ago, but I am quite the procrastinator. Oh well, better late then never.

Natalya ends the silence with one enormous, ear-piercing scream. Her agonized face matches that of the tortured souls in hell. She falls to her knees and becomes hysterical, pointing at the screen like a madwoman.

Natalya: MURDERER! MURDERER! HE MURDERED CHRISTOPHE! She tugs on her hair and screams even louder than the first time. WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!

Natalya's initial response sets off a chain reaction in the group. Jeremie sinks from his chair onto the floor. An unstable mixture of uncalculable sorrow and rage wage war in his conflicted expression. His closes his eyes, shutting out the unbearable reality. The others react in simpler ways. Aelita immediately starts to cry. Odd trembles in place, unable to avert his eyes from the screen. Ulrich looks away and stomps his right foot on the ground. William and Yumi curse Moriarty for all their worth, refusing to let up until their throats become hoarse. Meanwhile Natalya continues her meltdown and becomes curled up on the floor.

Moriarty: Despair and die Lyoko Warriors. Christophe was only the first of all of you. Tears come to all of their eyes. Why bother to throw yourself into a hopeless fight? Would it not be better to enjoy what time you have left? The conflicted sorrow and rage in Jeremie's expression begin to transform. He puts his hands on his knees and slowly starts to rise. After all, I have this nation in the palm of my-

Jeremie: Like Hell we're going to accept that-Jeremie goes onto the computer and cuts off Moriarty's transmission. As soon as that's done with, he wheels around towards his friends. The overwhelmed warriors look at Jeremie, their strength almost completely drained from them. He points at the screen. Do you not see what he's doing here? No one replies. Jeremie shouts at them to knock them out of their stupor. Do you not see what he's doing?! He gets up in their face. He's trying to discourage us! Frighten us into submission by taking away someone we love. He pauses. But he's made a big mistake. If anything, it should only make us more eager to do this. A lust for vengeance takes hold of him. Hatred beyond any possible description occupies his complete body, soul, and mind. LET'S AVENGE HIM! This hunger for vengeance soon becomes contagious. The warriors begin to drop their misery and replace the vacuum with murderous intent. Christophe was a Lyoko Warrior, and when you kill one of us….you invite the whole wrath of Hell upon you!

Aelita wipes her eyes and stammers out a reply.

Aelita: Christophe would want us to keep going. She starts to break down again. He would want us to finish this!

Ulrich: Then let's finish this then. Ulrich's face darkens with a merciless, violent passion. Once and for all!

Yumi: For Christophe!

All of the warriors besides Natalya cheer with bloody determination. William slowly helps her off the floor. She continues to resist, still in shock from the event.

Natalya: NO! NO I CAN'T!

William: Yes you can!

Natalya: NO! She becomes completely hysterical. THERE'S NO WAY I COULD-

William: Natalya, look at me! He forces her to face him. She looks at him through teary eyes. His face has become set in steel, with every weak emotion purposely cut off from his conscious thoughts. We have two options here. One: we let Moriarty kill us at his own discretion. Two: We kill him first. He starts to shake her a little. Which do you want?!

Natalya cries some more. She sniffs and finally regains some composure. In a weak yet passionate voice, she gives her reply.

Natalya: I…I want to kill him.

William gives her a look of approval.

William: Then let's do it.

The scanners hum to life. Smoke vapor exits from the cabins, greeting the incoming warriors. Ulrich, Yumi, and Odd enter first at Jeremie's command. Upstairs, Jeremie prepares the Skidbladnir for battle. He updates the new weapons he's programmed onto their Network vehicle.

Jeremie: Alright Moriarty. I hope you like my latest toys. He finishes that and begins the virtualization process. After fixing his earpiece, he gives one last message to the people below. Does anyone need to review the plan? No one answers, which Jeremie interprets to be a good thing. Good. He cracks his knuckles. This is for you Christophe…

A few minutes later, Odd, William, Ulrich, and Yumi step onto the Skid docking platform. They are quickly energized into their war machine. Odd grasps the controls. The mortal terror he experienced earlier does not show up in his expression. Right now, only the cold desire to inflict pain on Moriarty remains.

Odd: You know I'm not as qualified for this as Aelita.

Jeremie: I know. But we've practiced. And Aelita is the only one who can deactivate towers. He closes his eyes for a moment. I have faith in you Odd.

Odd smiles, inspired by Jeremie's vote of confidence. He takes command.

Odd: Undocking…The Skid detaches from the hangar and soars upward toward the exit. Odd expertly pilots the Skid out of the Network Access Gate to Lyoko. The Skid quietly and unassumingly enters the vast Network. Odd looks out calmly into the deep and turns on the lights. Okay Jeremie. He pushes the Skid forward on a course to Moriarty's infected zone. We're on our way.

Back in the scanner room, Natalya and Aelita are virtualized as well. They drop onto a waiting Overwing in Sector Five and take off down the purple walls.

Jeremie: Be in position at the Celestial dome when an activated tower goes off. You need to be ready at a moment's notice.

Aelita rounds a corner in the Core Zone.

Aelita: We're on it Jeremie.

One hour and forty minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Christophe continues to flail in the water, screaming and crying without any control. Shock and horror exercise total dominion over his body and mind. Though the blood stains from his parents' murder have been physically washed away in the Seine, everywhere he looks he sees blood. He is swimming in it and the concrete walls above him are soaked with it. Nothing seems to allay his breakdown into madness and despair. However, with time his body becomes exhausted and the need to keep his head above water overrules his trauma. The current continues to take him further away from the river, setting him adrift in the underground canal. Eventually Christophe notices a concrete walkway he can grab onto. The beleaguered warrior crawls up out of the water, sprawling onto the cold stone in a soggy wet heap. He screams again but this time he simply doesn't have the energy to continue. He has lost the ability to continue his emotional tailspin. Despite the drain on his body, Christophe finds himself getting up and walking down the path. He has no purpose to his movements, he just keeps going. All he knows is that to stop means to face reality, and he wants no part of that. Gradually he makes it from the canal to the sewers, which immediately assault him with a terribly foul odor. But he doesn't care. He keeps on going, heedless of direction or any sort of idea on what to do.

One hour and thirty minutes before the Eurovision concert.

Downtown Paris. Outside the Eurovision concert arena, massive crowds gather for the upcoming event. News teams from around Europe come to film the concert goers, who immediately cheer in an attempt to get noticed. On the surface, everything appears to be normal. But the sheer amount of law enforcement at the scene proves otherwise. A police fence is set up in the middle of the expansive boulevard. On the left side of the fence, three hundred or so Outcast members and other anti-Order dissidents gather, proclaiming their displeasure with the upcoming Order march. The characteristic "O" letter of resistance can be seen on their banners, signs, flags, and even clothing. Most of the crowd comes from student, faculty, or other academic backgrounds. Jim and the Kadic group begin to struggle their way to the front.

Jim: Excuse me, pardon me, coming through…He squeezes in between a couple of people…I'm not as thin as I once was.

Delmas follows Jim close behind. He taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.

Delmas: Jim, wait…

Jim: Not now, Mr. Delmas. We're already late enough as it is.

Delmas: But this is important.

Jim: I'm sure it can wait.

Delmas presses him with greater urgency.

Delmas: As a matter of fact, it can't. Jim finally turns around. Jeremie, Yumi, and the rest of their gang are not here.

Jim registers this news with complete disbelief.

Jim: What?! What do you mean? Wasn't there supposed to be a head count on Bus 2? Come to think of it, wasn't your daughter supposed to call roll for that bus? Jim quickly becomes exasperated. Why didn't she call me about this?!

Delmas scratches his head.

Jim: Um, she said…she did. Six times…

Jim's face becomes blank. He takes his phone from out of his pocket and briefly looks at it. He realizes with horror that his phone was accidentally put on silent. Sure enough, he has six missed calls. Jim slaps his forehead with embarrassment.

Jim: I don't suppose that bus is still waiting for them at Kadic?

Delmas: No. Once they heard we left, they saw no choice but to leave them behind.

Jim slowly puts his phone back in his pocket. Disappointment takes shape on his crestfallen face. He stares back at his very small group from Kadic, which has been further reduced by the lack of the Lyoko Warriors. Their disheartened looks weigh heavily on his heart. He suddenly becomes very quiet.

Jim: There's nothing that can be done now. They are not here. We will just have to accept that and continue without them.

Delmas: Of all the times to abandon us, why now? Delmas looks back at the small number of student and faculty with despair. They were dead set against Renard from the very beginning. Why would they desert us?

Jim glances over his shoulder, reprimanding Delmas with his authoritative eyes.

Jim: I said they weren't here. I didn't say they deserted us. Before Delmas can question what Jim means, the gym teacher cuts him off. I trust Jeremie. Whatever he and his friends are doing, I'm sure they have a good reason.

Elsewhere in the crowd, Jacqueline and Patrick stand with their school group, ready for the counter protest. While the people around them chant against Dr. Renard and The Order, they remain quiet. Jacqueline hugs her jacket close to her body.

Jacqueline: It's cold.

Patrick: Yeah.

Another round of silence.

Jacqueline: Does it not bother you?

Patrick doesn't answer. His eyes lock on to something in the distance.

Jacqueline: Patrick? He still doesn't reply. Patrick did you hear me?

Patrick: Yeah. It bothers me. He points in the distance. But that bothers me way more.

The two turn and look down the empty boulevard. On the other side of the fence, the rumble of footsteps echoes over to the Outcast side. Jacqueline and Patrick start to notice a large sea of black and purple descending on them like a roaring tsunami. And that roar develops into a loud, thunderous chant.

Order March: STRENGTH THROUGH DISCIPLINE! STRENGTH THROUGH COMMUNITY!

The uniform force marches forward at a steady rhythm, hungry for action. Foreigners waiting outside the arena receive the march with a combination of awe and fearful uncertainty. The Outcast crowd quickly boos their presence, but The Order replies with a deafening shout. Several rows back in the march, Mathias Burel leads his Order comrades.

Mathias: Remember your discipline! Remember your combined strength as a group! The Commandant will be here soon, so make him proud!

Back at the Outcast side, a chill moves down Jacqueline's spine. The numerical advantage of The Order with respect to them quickly settles in. Patrick swallows with unease.

Patrick: Well, that's one way to make an entrance…

One hour and twenty minutes before the Eurovision concert.

The Skidbladnir hovers outside Moriarty's corrupted zone, staring at the pink wall that has almost filled in all the gaps leading to the core. Odd sits at the helm impatiently.

Odd: Jeremie, it's been ten minutes. We need the go ahead.

Jeremie stares at the schematics of the Cannae Initiative missiles, biting his fingernails uncomfortably as he scrutinizes over every detail until his eyes feel heavy and sore in his head. He finds himself whispering a prayer for this one last effort to win.

Odd: Jeremie!

Jeremie closes his eyes and then slowly opens them again.

Jeremie: Do it Odd. Just do it.

Odd doesn't hesitate. The Skid jerks forward to his movements, entering through a slowly shrinking circle in the energy wall. The warriors enter through a narrow pathway with the core slowly emerging up ahead.

Ulrich: This space is a bit cramped…as usual.

Odd cracks a smile.

Odd: Let's fix that.

A wide net of blue lasers streams out from the Skid. The black infected databases are quickly turned into Swiss cheese. The nearby turrets quickly explode. Once the debris passes, a wide open space to the core reveals itself.

Odd: I'd say we got his attention. He begins undocking the Nav Skids. Now, let's give him hell.

As soon as Yumi is released, she accelerates forward at a speed William and Ulrich didn't expect.

William: Yumi wait!

Ulrich: We should do this together!

Yumi completely ignores their warnings to slow down. All she can focus on is the approaching core and how glorious it will be to see it go down in flames.

Yumi: Sorry boys, I'm not giving him any time to respond. A mad desperation creeps into her voice. He will suffer eternally for what he did to Christophe!

Jeremie: Yumi's right. His eyes lock onto Yumi's Nav Skid as it closes the distance to the core. Let's finish this. Begin the firing sequence.

Yumi prepares to fire her torpedo, just as she has practiced. But once the core comes within firing distance, she suddenly freezes. The impressive structure looms over her, echoing the same uncomfortable vibe that Moriarty always gives her. Memories of Moriarty's psychological abuse return with a vengeance, and her fingers start to freeze. Try as she might, she cannot block out the paralyzing fear from her mind. Doubt leaks in to her thoughts, making her second guess herself before firing. Jeremie quickly breaks her out of her trance.

Jeremie: What are you doing Yumi?! DO IT NOW!

Yumi shakes herself awake and rapidly starts to activate the firing sequence. But in her haste, she accidentally hits a wrong button. The minute the torpedo is activated, error messages light up the Nav Skid. This error quickly spreads to the other Nav Skids and the main computer back in the lab. Jeremie turns white. Slowly and robotically he puts his hands on his head. His nails dig into his cranium almost to the point of puncturing the skin around his skull. He speaks through his earpiece in a hoarse, distraught whisper.

Jeremie: Yumi…what…have you done?

Yumi trembles as she contemplates the enormity of her mistake.

Yumi: I…I messed up….I messed up…

The turrets in the corrupted Network reappear and unleash a barrage on the Nav Skids. William and Ulrich dodge the onslaught.

William: Jeremie, we're under attack! What do you want us to do!

The red light of the malfunction alert burns into Jeremie's corneas. He looks up at the ceiling and shouts so loud that it nearly destroys the warriors eardrums.

Jeremie: Pull back! Pull back! Retreat from the corrupted zone until I can fix this bug. He tries to communicate with Odd. Odd, get ready to dock with the Nav Skids again. Odd does not reply. Odd? Still no answer. Odd? His message goes unanswered. He frantically checks the Network map. He sees all three Nav Skids piloted by his warriors, but the Skid and Odd are nowhere to be found. Odd where are you?!

The Nav Skids dart back and forth through the Network for dear life. All the while Jeremie begins to lose it as the reality of another major problem manifests itself.

Jeremie: ODD!

To be continued…