In the chiaroscuro of a disused warehouse, a human shadow, motionless, lies on the ground. She rests at the foot of a monolithic mirror, and we can see on her face an anti-face recognition make-up. The video-surveillance system bugs, her silhouette is infinitely reflected in the giant screen, in a mise en abîme. The echo creates a ballet directed by the dancer, who dictates each movement to his virtual clones.
