The pale light of the metro station was all the less pleasant for Simon as it was 6 AM and he wasn't a morning person... 6 AM stings, especially when you spend your night going through every nook and cranny of articles press...
That's why he always preferred to carry out his little investigations at night, because at night, humans are asleep and no longer run in all directions after money or power like frightened ants. At night, there is no more noise, but above all, it's at night that the energy falls and gives way to this tranquility, this appeasement which gives you the impression that there is nothing at stake, nothing that matters anymore, not even your little person... You lose yourself in the voluptuous meanders of this mysterious silence and in silence, you let yourself be guided by your intuition, your inspiration.
It's simple, it was always during the night that Simon used to make the most surprising discoveries: Scouring the dark-net, he had already tracked down the most original pedophiles and the most eccentric scammers... So much so that he was now collecting specimens of all kinds and could boast of a certain track record. He was quite proud of his findings, which he always reported to the Police anonymously in arm-length emails, sparing no morbid details, which he secretly resented. Not only he was going on the dark-net illegal, but he didn't want to reveal his IP address with which he was also illegally downloading a whole bunch of expensive computer softwares.
Yet that morning, when entering the metro train, something escaped the implacable logic of Simon, our nocturnal vigilante... He distinctly recognized the face of Guy Georges, this rapist and serial killer who had nevertheless been convicted to life imprisonment on April 5, 2001. He actually knew the file of this individual by heart, who collected, so to speak, all the imaginable defects: born of an unknown father, rejection of the mother and his grandparents, and the icing on the cake, mixed skin in a racist environment. In short, the complete range which would soon send him to the forefront of the courts, with more than seven murders to his credit.
Simon knew his face well and that's why, unlike the other passengers on the train, focused on their smartphones, he flinched. He trembled with fear, but let us also admit, with joy. Guy Georges, here in this metro train, when he was supposed to rot in jail ? How could this be possible?
He had many times imagined scenes of encounters with criminals that he had been able to discover or even hear about, and these scenes, in his imagination, were more than just settling scores. During these interviews, in fact, he spoke with criminals, rapists and other sadists about a whole bunch of things: politics, spirituality, arts... Anything possible, provided that these subjects could give him the opportunity to probe the hidden corners of the human psyche and human nature in general in all its most primitive, monstrous and sordid aspects. For once, nothing would be taboo, and everything would be debated. And now that moment arrived.
The man had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up and probably believed that this way he would go unnoticed and blend in with the mass of ordinary mortals. Fatal error ! Simon pretended to also tap his phone, but in reality he couldn't take his eyes off him, his face with its unshaven beard glistening with sweat under the neon lights of the train. So much so that the man, an observer, suddenly left the train at the next stop...