I don't own Miraculous Ladybug, Lady Bug, LadyBug, Miraculous, Coccinelle Miraculeuse, Miraculous: The Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir, or whatever this show is now being called. If I did own it, however, we'd probably have an official title by now.

Marinette rolled her eyes. These guys were seriously trying to mug her? True, she wasn't transformed, but still. At least Tikki or her luck could've warned her of the danger approaching. Then again, she couldn't sense anything supernatural about them – they were just normal human beings, scumbags who had picked the wrong girl to mess with.

"I'm giving you five seconds to back off before I hurt you," she cautioned, ashamed of the sadistic glint that shone in her eyes and her slight sneer. Did she like fighting? Did she enjoy hurting people? These questions, which usually were only threads at the edges of her mind, were now creeping towards her much way faster than these idiots were. She forced them back to the edges as she crouched into her fighting stance; she'd have to keep her mind clear in case one of them pulled a knife or a gun in the middle of the fight. Even if she could probably beat them up in her sleep, she'd still have to be alert.

"Ooh, she's a feisty one, she is! Wonder how feisty she'll be when we're done with her," said a thug with a zit-covered face. As Marinette forced her gorge back down, she sized up her opponents. Zit-Face was short and muscular, with the most musculature in his legs - he was more than likely quite speedy, or perhaps he was well-versed in kicking people. Leering-Grin was tall and seemed to limp slightly, so he'd have an unstable center of balance. And Eyebrow-Piercing had the muscle structure of a professional weight-lifter. He was more than likely horrible at landing punches, but he might still be good at wrestling.

"Time's up," she muttered as she launched herself at the guffawing trio. This would be good practice. She swung her fist at Zit-Face and, as he attempted to dodge, she leaped into the air, beginning her signature volley of kicks. It was nice, not having to worry that her opponent would mime a gun or something. On the other hand, she heard a terrified yelp and then felt a grimy hand grab her ankle, attempting to toss her to the ground.

She allowed this movement to land on one hand and then launch her feet towards her attacker - it had been Leering-Grin. He fell to the ground as her kick connected with his stomach. He moaned as she ground her heel into his chest prior to kicking him in the mouth with her other foot.

"How the hell did sh-?" Zit-Face asked before her fist connected with his left collarbone and her knee with his groin. The luck-wielding girl rolled her eyes as he fell to his knees.

"Idiot," she said prior to kicking him in the face. That was when she felt a burly arm sling itself around her neck. Shit.

"You're really gonna pay now, pretty," said what she assumed to be Leering-Grin's voice. "Mind if I take your earrings? They're gonna sell well." An elbow to the shoulder coupled to a bite to the arm and a kick to the abdomen were his answer.

She spat the blood out of her mouth. "No, you're going to pay for all of your crimes," Marinette said as she began a volley of kicks and punches that were more than likely overkill, but she had a hard time stopping herself. This piece of trash deserved it, and besides, he was still awake. She had never seen him before, but she had seen plenty of his likes. She took more pity upon her akuma-infested foes; they couldn't truly help themselves. And even then, she still fought them viciously, especially if they made any comments suggesting that they had reasons for their actions other than being possessed. But these three? They were the scum of the earth, people who had nothing better to do than to torment others. More than likely for the fun of it. They had picked the wrong girl to torment.

Once she had knocked the last of her assailants out, she heard familiar footsteps and a long, slow clap. She spun around, annoyance in her eyes. "A teenager such as yourself really shouldn't be alone in a dark alley at night," said her cat-eared boyfriend, a slight smirk forming on his face contrasting the concern in his eyes as he looked her over to make sure that she wasn't injured, that the blood that she would have to later wash out of her clothes was the blood of her enemies rather than her own.

"I'm a month older than you, and I managed just fine, so don't even try to pull that," she huffed. "And besides. When did you get here?"

"Sometime while you were beating up the final of your attackers."

"You could've helped!"

"Oh, really? I'm pretty sure your exact words were 'I managed just fine'. I have to admit, though, I am a bit surprised to see you fighting when untransformed."

"Hey, if I can take down a bunch of thugs-"

"Three is not 'a bunch."

"You know what I mean! But anyways, if I can take down three thugs without using my powers or weapons and you imply that you'd use yours, then which of us is better at fighting?" Even after finding out each other's identities, it was still the same song and dance. They'd still spar with words, although the blows were much softer. Especially from her end; they were no longer designed to crush his feelings for her but rather as a way of playful flirtation.

"You use your luck without knowing it." His tone softened as he walked towards her.

She scoffed. "So do you. Mine just happens to benefit me," she said, about to flick an earring to trigger her transformation when he darted forward and grabbed her hand.

"Wait," he said, grabbing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from what she guessed was a first aide kit stored in some pocket dimension and pouring it onto her hand. She winced as it began to bubble. "You're bleeding. Who knows what kind of diseases these assholes may have."

"Yeah, do you have any mouthwash on you? One of them tried to choke me and I ended up resorting to biting his arm." Without saying a word, he grabbed a bottle of mouthwash and a cup from the same pocket dimension and handed it to her. Marinette knew that a couple of months ago, she wouldn't be taking the cup as readily since there was the distinct possibility that his lips had touched it. And a couple months before that, she would have been too prideful (and too fearful of his more-than-likely attempts if kissing her) to have let him bandage her hand like he was doing now. Now that the danger had passed, however, her thoughts came back to her. Do I enjoy hurting people? Am I any better than them?

Have I become a monster?