Published at 17th of March 2026 8:45 pm

Chapter 907: Forgive me, my father in heaven; for I have sinned....

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

Philippe led his cell through the streets of Zurich after dark. Late into the night they had gathered. He had initially planned to strike in the day, but he had to modify his plans after Jacque posed a question that created uncertainty among the group.

And naturally, the other cells adjusted their timing once he coordinated with them about this unfortunate reality.

They wore masks and covered their heads with hoods. They shuffled through the streets, trying their best to remain undetected by the police who patrolled late into the night.

Since Jacque knew the target intimately, he was tasked with breaking and entering the premises.

The man’s hands trembled as he tried desperately to pick the lock. Fumbling the lockpick, which nearly fell to the floor of Philipp hadn’t been nearby, watching and waiting for the moment Jacque slipped up.

He caught it midair, and gave it back to Jacque, his voice contained a performative friendliness that sent chills down Jacque’s spine.

"Here you go... You’re almost there, make sure not to drop it again."

Jacque cursed himself internally as he finished the job, the lock broke free, and the group poured into the building.

Just as Jacque had said, it was an ice cream parlor, its menu written in both German and French. Memories poured through his mind of his childhood years, and how his mother had taken him here once a week, usually after church on Sundays.

They didn’t have much and were among a minority of French speakers living in Zurich. And yet, his mother always tried to provide him with something small and cherishable.

This shop had been a source of warmth, happiness, and unity that Jacques would have otherwise never known.

He really didn’t want to watch it all burn down. But he was in too deep, and the hatred in Philippe’s eyes as he read the dual-menu only confirmed Jacque’s suspicions.

This wasn’t about protecting the French minority, or combating German influence in Switzerland. This was something for more sinister than he could consciously support.

But... he was in too deep. He knew too much, had partaken in too many criminal acts under the guise of liberty. And if he went to the police, he would either be prosecuted... or killed by his own for betraying the movement.

He could only sigh heavily as he watched the members of his cell follow Philippe’s orders. Some of them stole the ice cream in the freezers, others wired explosive devices to the gas vents.

Either way, there was nothing Jacque could do now except pray for forgiveness. Muttering it silently beneath his breath.

"Forgive me, my Father in heaven; for I have sinned...."

His words went entirely unnoticed by the others who were too busy gleefully partaking in vandalism, theft, breaking and entering, and arson.

Anything that could be taken, they took. Money from the register, cash in the office safe. Ice cream and silver utensils. Once the shop had been completely striped of its worth, and the objective had been completed, the cell fled to a safe enough distance.

There, Philippe smiled eagerly beneath the lines of his maroon scarf. A hood pulled tightly over his flat cap.

He rolled his sleeve up and checked the time, waiting for the exact moment the two hands aligned with the minute and second of his mark. And then, like clockwork, a giant explosion engulfed the building.

The heat of its blast and the pressure wave which carried it, nearly singed the eyebrows of Jacques and his fellow conspirators.

Jacques watched in grim silence as the source of his childhood’s best memories burnt to ashes in front of him.

It was not the only explosion. At that precise second, several dozen buildings were engulfed in flames spread across the city. That, from an aerial perspective, formed a fleur-de-lis across the city.

And it was only after the sirens of police cars and fire trucks began to drown out his memories that Jacques realized the rest of his comrades had already run off...

He didn’t fight it.... After watching the price of his sins, he simply sat down and waited to be arrested. Whatever happened to him after this, he did not care in the slightest.

---

Philippe and the others had run off without even realizing that Jacques had been left behind. They ran through the streets, narrowly avoiding the police and fire departments. Scurrying like a bunch of roaches after the light had been shone upon them from above.

But the darkness was there ally. Or so they thought as they laughed down an alley. The sudden onset of the rain drowning out their cries of joy.

"That was incredible! We showed those German bustards that the spirit of true France still lives on!"

Phillippe chuckled upon hearing one of his comrades share his excitement. He looked over his shoulder at her and joined her in celebration.

"It was pretty amazing, wasn’t it? But this? This is only the beginning."

His laughter however stopped when he ran straight into what he thought was a brick wall. Falling over onto his ass, he gazed up and saw a man standing in front of him.

The man was covered from head to toe in an all-black three piece suit, with a leather trench coat. But that wasn’t what bothered him.

In the man’s hand was a canister, and there wasn’t an ounce of skin that was visible, because beneath the sinister attire was a CBRN suit, his face covered by a gas mask.

The man raised a single finger to where his lips would be, before pulling the pin on the gas cannister in his hand and tossing it between Philippe and his fellow conspirators. Swiftly running off into the wind while the neuro-toxin permeated through their flesh and suffocated them to death.

Within seconds the cloud was gone, and the terrorists lay dead in a puddle of rain that had collected upon the narrow and abandoned alleyway’s street.

Whatever thoughts they had were completely suffocated by the gas that snuffed the life from their bodies.

By the time Swiss police arrived, there were only bodies in the rain and no obvious cause of death.

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