What Newspapers Say: An Origins Tail

-London

-Prague

-Milan

-Amsterdam

Adrien tapped the end of his pencil on his bottom lip. He stared at the small list he scrawled on a scratch sheet of loose-leaf notebook paper, too distracted to pay adequate attention in the middle of class. Note taking was the duty of the hour, and in a sense he was taking notes. Notes of where these mysterious figures kept popping up all across Europe.

So far, the security cameras on street corners and at the pinnacle of rooftops were only able to capture glimpses. Hazy humanoid shadows. Pixilated indications o something big and interesting. Something regular everyday folks like himself did not fully understand yet—and the possibilities of it all is what made it exciting to stay up long past his self-inflicted bedtime, investing interminable hours and about eighty euros worth on caffeinated drinks into his collection of half-baked news articles and black and less black silhouetted photographs. It was exciting to formulate theories and chase after answers—Who are they? What are their intentions? Where did they come from? Do they have something to hide? Is that why they don't come forward to be recognized as the budding celebrities they've become?

Then there were the other questions scooping Adrien's brains up into a mixer bowl. Are all four of these cities connected somehow? Or were these cities just lucky? But the biggest question that Adrien begged an answer for was: Why no other cities, like his very own Paris?

With all these unanswered questions and the mystery shrouding them, Adrien was well at work with his newfound hobby. He was content researching and connecting one thumbtack to another with string; following his web of leads like a detective on a case. It would be more than interesting to know what all the talk meant—and furthermore, if his hunch was right.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, much less how much time and effort he put into this presumption, but he believed with every atom of his being that these "suspicious", "extremely versatile and strong", and otherwise "anonymous" people were superheroes. Maybe not your comic-book-code, wears tighty whities and shoots laser beams out of their eyes kind, but the unassuming type of person who decides to do something more for their beloved city. Either way, it would be comforting to know your home was safeguarded by someone so spectacular.

But the list…He stared at it intently.

The dismissal bell rang, jarring Adrien from his thoughts. He slid his books and papers off his desk (not bothering to sort them) into his open bookbag, zipped it closed, and slung it over his shoulder. His mind lingering still on the bullet points, Adrien failed to see and subsequently move out of his classmate's path.

She and Adrien collided and the unforeseen force sent them both back—her excessively more so. If Adrien's arm hadn't reactively shot out to catch her arm, she'd probably be in a flustered little pile on the ground.

"S-sorry!" she stammered, regaining her balance, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going!" She nervously laughed, hugging her books close to her chest.

"Oh no, Rose, completely my fault. I'm sorry, my head must've been somewhere else." Adrien rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed.

"Wow, looks like someone's got two left feet! What a lumbering—"

"Oh can it, Chloe, they both admitted it was a little bit of the both of them," Alya butted in, arms crossed and hip bucked into her no-nonsense stance. She glared at Chloe Bourgeois, egging her to continue her bullying.

Chloe made a noise of snobby superiority and with a flick of her platinum blonde ponytail, she and Sabrina walked out the door.

A moment later, Nino was walking in-step next to Adrien. The hall was mostly deserted—all students and faculty had gone their separate ways after a long day of academia. So the boys pretty much had the hall to themselves.

Nino looked at his best friend. "So where was it?" he asked casually, unwrapping a new canister of blowing bubbles. The packaging plastic made a loud noise that echoed out into the school's courtyard, which the pair passed through now.

Adrien looked confused. His eyebrow dipped in question. "What?"

"Your head. When you bumped into Rose you said your head was somewhere else and during class you definitely weren't all there, man."

"Oh that?" he came up with something believable, "I was just thinking about how hard I have to work for this fencing tournament I have coming up. Mr. D'argencourt is going to push me extra hard these next few weeks." Which wasn't untrue. He did have a tournament on the fast approach. But perhaps it was because Adrien did not have conclusive evidence to prove himself either right or wrong about these "probable vigilantes" that he didn't share his recent uptake in the hobby department. Blowing bubbles was a much more socially acceptable pastime than slaving over a desk in the dead of night with newspaper cutouts and their adjoining photographs (that were questionable at best) covered in vibrant neon sticky notes. Yeah, it's probably best not to say anything yet.

Nino brushed off Adrien's insufficient reply. "If you say so. Hey, you wanna come over to my place and play some video games to get your mind of it?"

Nino's suggestion was a temptation worth giving into and Adrien wanted to accept the offer but…

"If it weren't for a photoshoot my dad scheduled for me today, I'd take you up on that, Nino. Can I take a rain check?" Adrien and Nino stopped at the top of the steps in front of the school.

"Sure thing, man. Catch you later," Nino said just as Adrien's ride pulled to the side of the curb.

Adrien waved goodbye and ran down to his car.

Nino blew bubbles all the way home.


The photoshoot was nothing special. It was routine—not unfamiliar. A rack of Gabriel Agreste's new line of apparel for the season was at the ready when he arrived. On standby was a team of makeup artists, a team of hairstylists, and an entire crew at the photographer's every beck and call. Blinding lights and stiff props. Words of empty encouragement. A giant fan, for whatever reason.

Three hours of moving around and not moving at all, or smiling and pretending to not notice the camera and it was all over. He collected his things and was ushered out by Natalie to the next activity scrupulously printed into his never-ending schedule. Up next: Dinner with Gabriel.

It would be the first time he would see his father in over two weeks for more than five consecutive minutes. Gabriel would want updates on his studies. Straight A's, Adrien. That was the agreement. He would want to hear about his improvements with Mr. D'argencourt. I want nothing less than the best, son. He would need to hear absolutely no second of his son's time was wasted on trivial things and that all of his time was spent being as perfect as his magazine covers. Any indication of inferiority would be disastrous.

What was worse, his father would need to see proof. That required Adrien to produce tangible evidence and…oh God! My geography homework!

Adrien froze midstep. He panicked and mentally calculated a way to fix his mistake.

"Adrien?" Natalie paused and turned, surprised when she noticed he was no longer beside her.

Struck with an idea, Adrien knocked his knees together and did a sort of clumsy half-hop. He asked, "Can I use the restroom before we leave? I drank a lot of water on set and I'm not sure I can make the drive home."

Natalie stared a moment as if the process what she was seeing. Typically, she was not privy to Adrien's intimate essentials—essentials yes, they were choreographed personally into his weekly planner—but she could never plan on urgencies such as this.

Collected once more, Natalie checked her wristwatch for the time. She said, "You have three minutes. Hurry along, please."

Adrien attempted a smile but it only manifested as a couple of pristine white teeth sighted in the corner of his mouth. He sidestepped and shirked his way to the nearest company restroom and locked himself in the middle stall.

Three minutes. He could get it done in three minutes…if some miracle rained down from the sky in a miraculous downpour of mercy from the heavens!

Adrien stared at the unfinished assignment on the bag in his lap. He exhaled, "I can't show him this." He closed his eyes, resigning himself to the consequences that would come later.

At least, in here he could allow the dread to consume him in peace.

Suddenly, it was as if the building was split asunder. A terrifying eruption like a thunder crack right on your front step sent Adrien catapulting sideways into the stall wall. Alarm breached Adrien's facial features just as quickly as it reached his heart. And for a moment it was hard to discern how he'd ended up in a compressed tangle between the latrine and stall divider.

An unexpected quell immediately followed the frightening sound, giving rise to the rapid stillness unlike anything he had ever witnessed. His brain stalled. There was a brief moment where his limbs and brain disconnected from each other.

Then, blinking his way into solid comprehension, Adrien picked himself up from the cold tile and slowly brushed himself off. Billows of curious dust had begun to seep underneath the stall door from the outside, moving like waves of dry ice over his toes. The silence in the room spurned a creeping feeling crawling up Adrien's spine.

Whatever happened outside his chosen stall was either gone or waiting for him to join the scene.

Adrien unbolted the lock and pulled. The door swung inward, only making a noise when its edge hit the toilet paper dispenser. Adrien blinked—reaction to the noise—gaping, eyes wide, and hesitantly stepped forward.