Reincarnated: Vive La France

The train made sharp noise as it rolled into Gare de Lyon.

Moreau stepped off with his long coat flapping with the wind.

He walked alone through the streets of Paris, ignoring the faces, the noises.

Under his arm were sealed folders, blank on the outside but full with names.

Plans.

And truth.

The café was old, shuttered to most.

A wartime relic hidden behind the opera house.

No one would look for revolution here.

Inside, it was dark wood and the smell of stale tobacco.

Two figures sat at the back table, facing each other across untouched coffee cups.

General Delon.

General Beauchamp.

They looked up as Moreau entered.

He didn't salute.

Neither did they.

War had already begun.

Delon gestured to the empty chair. "You made good time."

"I don't sleep much," Moreau said, pulling out the chair and sitting down. "Not lately."

Beauchamp slid a cup toward him. "Drink. It's the last one you'll have in peace."

Moreau looked at the coffee but didn't touch it.

His voice was even. "This meeting... it won't end in an archive, will it?"

Delon chuckled. "No. If this goes wrong, it'll end in a noose. Or a parade. Nothing in between."

Beauchamp rubbed his temples. "We weren't supposed to do this, Moreau. Not us. We're supposed to be guardians of the republic, not its undertakers. But…"

He stopped, his voice tight.

Delon finished for him. "But Paris is rotting. The worms wear medals now. And every time we bury one, another rises."

Moreau looked at them both, long and hard.

"I have people," he said at last.

"But not enough. If this breaks, we'll need more troops, more officers people who can control chaos."

Delon raised an eyebrow. "People?"

Moreau nodded. "Ten men. Each already moving. Quietly. Like fire under frost."

Beauchamp leaned forward, lips parted. "You don't understand your influence, do you?"

Moreau stared. "I should ask you both the same question. You've served longer than I've been alive. You have more influence, more power. So why me? Why must I lead this?"

For a moment, both generals were silent.

The café's only sound was the noise of a steaming pipe somewhere in the kitchen.

Then Delon spoke, not smiling. "What do you think happens, Moreau, when we take power?"

Moreau frowned. "We stabilize. We purge the corrupted. Rebuild..."

"No," Delon said sharply. "That's what happens at first. Then the rot comes back. Slowly. In suits and smiles. And men like us we get old. Comfortable. We start to compromise. One exception. One deal. And then we're part of it."

He sat back.

"We've seen it before. Empires. Regimes. Coups. Always the same arc. But you…"

Beauchamp picked up. "You're young. You're angry. And most dangerous of all you believe in something. You think this country can be better. We don't."

Moreau blinked.

That truth stung more than a bullet.

Delon leaned in. "That's why it has to be you. Not because we can't lead. But because we shouldn't."

Then Moreau stood and saluted both men.

"I will make sure this country becomes something worth dying for."

He sat again, eyes colder. "Tell me then. What do we have? What's the real number?"

Beauchamp tapped the table.

"You give us two weeks of silence. Two weeks without leaks, without alarms. Delon and I will move. Quietly."

Delon's continued.

"There's enough anger in the army to drown the government. If we pull our networks, our protégés, our regional commanders…"

Beauchamp finished, "We estimate 300,000 troops from across France. Combat ready. Loyal. High-level and mid-level officers included."

Moreau sat back, stunned.

Delon grinned. "What, did you think we became gods of war without building churches?"

Beauchamp sipped his coffee. "There's more. Among those officers? Division heads. Logistics. Internal command. The backbone of the armed forces."

"Jesus…" Moreau whispered.

Delon shrugged. "If I were twenty years younger, I'd have already marched on the palace. But I'm not. So I offer the army to you."

Moreau didn't speak for a long moment.

Beauchamp added, "We'll start with one hundred thousand. Take Paris. Fast. Bloodlessly if we can. But we need time. And while we do that you finish building your side."

Moreau nodded slowly. "And what about resistance? Gendarmerie? Foreign-aligned units?"

Delon didn't flinch. "There will be some. But Paris will fall within a day. Once that happens, confusion spreads. We'll have loyalists ready to move in every major prefecture."

Beauchamp leaned in. "The key is unity. No civil war. We control the announcement. The tone. You make your speech. We present it as national salvation. Stability. Not tyranny."

Moreau rubbed his chin. "And the top political leaders?"

Delon's smile was slow. "Tell me, Moreau. Have you ever heard how close I am to the president?"

Moreau stiffened. "Yes, I've heard… rumors."

Delon laughed quietly. "They're true. He's old. Tired. More than you know. And just as disgusted as we are."

Moreau blinked. "Wait… You mean…"

"Yes," Delon said. "When the time comes, he won't resist. In fact, he may endorse you."

Beauchamp nodded solemnly. "It's not just the military, Moreau. The disease has spread to the bureaucracy, the ministries. And some of them… want a cure."

Moreau exhaled hard. "Then the Republic was already on the edge."

"It was," Beauchamp said. "Our job is to make sure it doesn't fall into the abyss."

He stood slowly, resting a hand on Moreau's shoulder.

"And when it's done," he added, "Delon and I will step down. Publicly. We give up all military power. Permanently."

Moreau looked at them both.

Slowly, solemnly, he rose and saluted again.

"History will remember your sacrifice."

Delon lit a cigarette, inhaled deep. "History forgets fast, kid. Just don't let it forget you."

They left the café without a word.

Outside, Paris moved on as if nothing had happened.

Couples laughed.

Children kicked footballs.

Men smoked.

Politicians lied.

But unknown to anyone Paris was about to change.

Not only Paris but the whole world.

Moreau after two years of being in this world, he will soon have the power to alter the history of this country.