Humanity

This is the story of a simple man. Young and unassuming. He believes in every one of us.
He is police lieutenant Pharaon De Winter. This is the story of his naive existence. A sober and humble man burdened with the wrongdoing of others. He suffers endlessly from this empathy. This is his sacrifice.

Pharaon has few people he can talk to. So he mostly keeps to himself. Single and 30-something, he lives with his mother in Bailleul, a town in the Flanders region of northeastern France. On a street which bears his name, the same as an artist.

Pharaon De Winter cries sometimes. A tendency to cry at the sight of inhuman images on television. And also when the misery confronted on his job is such that ... Evil ... He just doesn't know anymore.
Pharaon is in love with his neighbor, Domino, a 23-year-old factory worker. She's his friend. And so is her boy-friend Joseph, sort of. He's a schoolbus driver. They go out often as a trio. Fridays, Saturdays.
Domino is genuinely fond of Pharaon. He, in turn, is con-sumed by his love for her. It's his cancer. Only his eyes will teil of his melancholy; his mug won't flinch when she and Joseph touch each other in front of him.

So Pharaon's going to beat himself up on his bike. He's going to tear it up on the "Mont des Cats." People see him every Sunday making life count in cycling gear. He also cultivates colorful dahlias in the communal gardens of the "cite du Nouveau Monde."

Pharaon's work on a sordid investigation slowly divulges his despair and the dread of his own guilt. A universal guilt, that of our very own monstrous nature.