Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug or any of its elements. I do, however, own the story.
CHAPTER SUMMARY: In which there is no moon
With a deep breath, Marinette closed the damaged wooden door to the three-story apartment complex and pulled the collar of her leather jacket up on her neck. The night was a deep, icy black. Glancing up with worried blue-bell eyes, she looked for the moon through the draping trees.
It was absent.
A new moon.
She was thankful there wasn't a race tonight. Tikki always said a race with no moon meant bad luck.
The cold wind tossed her black fringe from her forehead, and made the trees dance with a chilling whistling song. Suddenly, a different type of song burst from her bag.
"I LOVE UNICORNS! I LOVE UNICORNS!"
Smiling absentmindedly at her awful ringtone, Marinette skipped off the dangerously crumbling steps and swung her pink satchel around her front. Fishing out her cellphone, she flipped in her password and saw the caller's name.
Speaking of trouble... She thought grimly before answering the call.
"Yes, Fu?"
"Where are you? Are you near the city?"
A drop of nervousness instantly hit her stomach at his tense voice. Something was wrong.
"I'm leaving the apartment. I was about to get my bike and meet up with Rose and Juleka at the Orphanage. Why?"
"As always, fortune has smile upon us," the old man's cryptic words just made Marinette roll her eyes to the cloudy sky.
"May I ask why we are so fortunate, Fu?"
"Hawkmoth announced a race! You have only a few minutes to join the akuma!"
Marinette almost dropped the phone. "What? But there was one last weekend! When? Where?"
"The start line is on the corner of Rue d'Alesia and des Plantes in 14th arrondissement! Do you have the Ladybug collar?"
"Yeah, in my bag. You don't think he's making the stakes higher because there's less competition now, do you? Making the Masters work for the goal?"
"We can discuss all that later! Make sure to signal Wayzz's group!"
"I'm on it, Fu!" She shouted and hung up quickly as her adrenaline started pumping. Plunging her phone into the satchel, she fished what looked like a thick, leather collar with long black wires and buckled it around her thin neck. Tucking the wires down her shirt, she pressed a small button on the buckle and raced off the jagged sidewalk towards her parked motorcycle. She unlocked the back and plopped her heavy bag into the back compartment. Securing a black helmet over her pig-tails, she kicked her racing bike alive and swiveled out onto the black streets.
She hoped Wayzz would make it on time.
Fu swallowed down the growl that was rising in his throat and tucked the small burner phone in his pocket. Glancing in the mirror of the rundown bathroom, he straightened the dark wig that was flopping in an odd direction on his head. Pushing up the thin framed glasses on the bridge of his small nose, he made sure his fake controller was perfectly visible on his thin arm. It was an uncomfortable contraption that latched onto his forearm and stuck out like a painter's palette. It consisted of four metal switches on a top row and ten red buttons. The number 28 was branded into the handle. That was his Master's number.
Only, he wasn't an actual Master.
A real Master was a slave-owner. A slave with no freewill. Who only served to do his Master's bidding. Mindless and powerless.
That was the horrific reality for the akuma.
He checked his watch and scowled. Hawkmoth had dropped this surprise on all the Masters. It was only pure luck that he happened to be in the area where the summons was made. He hoped the Ladybug made it in time.
Keeping his head high and an air of self-importance on his face, he strolled out of the bathroom door and exited the old building. Crossing the dark unoccupied street with his cane tapping the concrete, he entered through fancy swinging doors and traversed the marble tiled floors towards a small hallway to the left. Stepping onto the red carpeted floor with his sparkling leather shoes, he tried look as stoic as possible as he joined the small line of Masters waiting to sign in with their akuma. He studied the backs of their heads with his sharp, dark eyes.
Fu wasn't surprised to see the line so small. This was the first time Hawkmoth had made such a bold move against the Masters. If you didn't sign up your akuma in time for the competition, it was practically a disqualification. Most of the time, all Masters had at least a two-week notice.
This was unexpected.
It made Fu both uneasy and strangely excited.
Would Hawkmoth finally declare a winner to the game now that the Masters' pot was getting smaller? Was this the opening Fu had been waiting for all these years? Posing as the Ambassador from Hong Kong had proven much easier than expected – especially for a city riddled with kidnapping and crime. Fu had Wayzz simply forge documents and a clearance and he was in.
Standing in line, he recognized two of the men waiting in front of him. There was Roger Raincomprix - the Leader of Investigations and Police Commissioner in Paris and the old Mayor before Gabriel Agreste had taken over: Andre Bourgeois.
Fu inwardly sighed at the sight of these prestigious men. The people of this city had wondered for years why the police department hadn't made any headway into stopping this sick game. The Commissioner was two people in front of him. He'd always wondered what kind of person it took to actually participate in this horror. Using real human beings and twisting them into mindless robots for a dangerous race all for what? Power?
Majority of the Masters had been specifically chosen because of their high positons within the city. Just another way for Hawkmoth to further his control in the underworld.
When Marinette had heard rumors of akuma getting killed by their Masters, it had only strengthened their resolve. It was time to free this city from Hawkmoth's corruption. It was time to take back the lives he had stolen and brainwashed.
But first – they had to win the game.
There was almost a deafening silence in the hallway. The old man had an urge to hold his breath in case he exhaled too loudly. That was one thing about the Masters. They were a quiet lot. It had become practically an unspoken rule: don't talk to each other until the game was done. And even then, just congratulate the victor and be on your way.
"Master 23, please step forward," a young woman's voice spoke in monotone from the front of the line. Noticing the small flashing light at the end of the hallway, Fu already knew that the attendant had an akuma collar on. They always did. They were Hawkmoth's personal bodyguards.
"Thank you, Master 23. Your akuma has been registered. Please take your place upstairs. Master 12, please step forward." Master 23 turned, the ten buttons of his controller now blinking beautifully on his arm. He was connected to his akuma now. Somewhere near Rue d'Alesia, a mindless human was obediently kicking their bike alive and riding to the starting line.
The Master turned down the hallway and disappeared around the corner. Fu kept his eyes straight to the front and moved up in the line.
"Thank you, Master 12. Your akuma has been registered. Please take your place upstairs. Master 44, please step forward."
Fu was after Bourgeois. He could see the woman now. She was a very small thing with short cropped hair and a thin mouth. Her small hands moved expertly over the Raincomprix's controls, and within seconds, the Police Commissioner was lighting up like a Christmas tree.
"Thank you, Master 44. Your akuma has been registered. Please take your place upstairs. Master 60, please step forward." Raincomprix turned, headed down the hall, and up the stairs like the rest. Fu tried not to, but he couldn't help staring at the woman's collar. From what he'd seen with Nathaniel before they freed him, he knew how they functioned. Eight wires in all. Four wires traveled around the back of her slender neck and snaked beneath the bottom of her skull inside her brain. Wayzz was the expert in how exactly the collars made the victim a mindless slave. The old man knew the other four black wires were attached to the left valve of her heart. They twisted down her slightly revealing blouse and burrowed disgustingly inside her chest. If her heart ever stopped beating, the collar would act like a bomb and explode instantly.
That was how Hawkmoth destroyed his evidence.
"Thank you, Master 60. Your akuma has been registered."
The old man got his hidden signal ready. Once the attendant 'connected' his controller, he would immediately signal to Ladybug to light up her 'collar'.
"Master 28, please step forward."
He mentally took a deep breath and walked towards her.
The night was dark and full. Marinette's heart hammered in her chest. With every flash from passing billboard signs, she felt the rush of panic. What if she didn't make it? She prayed inwardly that the familiar beep wouldn't sound.
Just a little further… just a little further… she repeated, speeding wildly over the limit and brushing past cars. She took a hard left; practically leaning off her bike to make the turn. Entering a quiet street, she immediately slammed the brake and skidded to a halt in front of Vogue Optique. Warm relief rocked into her heart.
There they were. Motionless and silent. Waiting like lambs for the slaughter.
The akuma.
She breathed deeply to steady her fast heart beat. No one watched her. All helmeted heads faced forward staring straight ahead. Waiting. Her blue eyes searched beyond her dark helmet without turning her head. No guards stationed this time as well.
Was Hawkmoth so comfortable that he truly believed no one would try to stop him?
Colors of red and blue suddenly burst from the collar of a still figure three people ahead of her. She tried not to look as the stranger kicked their bike alive and went to line up at the starting line.
Within minutes, a small beep sounded in her right ear and she immediately reached up to pull the far right wire at her neck. Her collar lit up in an array of colors. With another quick check to make sure all the wires were in place, she pulled the bike off the side and headed down the litter-filled street to the starting line.
Here we go, she thought with grim determination. Another small beep in her left ear signaled that the GPS was up and working. Wayzz was ready and waiting with the cavalry.
Time to fly.
The next day - afternoon
Adrien Agreste sighed as he slid onto the familiar wooden stool and placed a rough hand on the smooth polished surface of the bar counter. Swallowing down another sigh, he raked a hand through his messy blond locks and slightly pulled on the strands on the back of his head. He felt his stomach tense once more with the strange foreboding feeling that had loomed over his mind like a black cloud all day. Adrien hadn't felt this type of anxiety in years. He was used to trusting his instincts, but what good were his instincts in the real world? What were they trying to tell him?
"Had a rough day, bud?" the barkeeper's smooth voice cut in and the green-eyed man smiled gratefully at his best friend. Nino Lahiffe pushed a coaster and a tall pilsner full of dark beer in front of him. Strapped in his usual white apron and t-shirt, Nino leaned on the counter with a laid-back grin.
"How could you tell?"
"You're a little later than usual, dude. I thought you might actually be on a date and cheating on me."
"I finished the foundation project a bit late today. Besides, you know I only have you in my heart."
"Ha!" Nino barked a laugh, "I figured you were always the first one off the site with 'project complete' stamped on your impeccable forehead."
"Haven't been myself today. Keep remembering things and having this weird feeling."
"Remembering things, dude?" His friend asked. Nino reached over to grab a towel to begin wiping an already spotless counter-top. He caught the quiet haunted look in Adrien's green eyes and nodded with his smile dropping. "I get it, man. I was there, too. Alya as well. We all were there. You need a woman to pull you out of the funk. That or another job. It's the only way out."
Adrien shook his head and took a gulp of beer. The cold liquid warmed his belly and calmed him slightly. "I don't need a woman. I just need a distraction."
Nino snorted. "Trust me, bro. There is no better distraction than a woman. Alya is my heart and soul, but damn is she annoying. But enough about me. We were talking about you and your lack of distractions." He tossed the cloth over his shoulder and peered at Adrien from under his red cap.
The blond took another swig of beer. "Maybe distraction isn't the best word, Nino. Purpose, maybe? It's… something to be proud of."
"Construction isn't everything you've dreamed of and more?"
"It's a lackluster mistress."
Nino exhaled from his nose and leaned his tan elbows on the counter. "Look, dude. You need to move on. This is just unrest. Everyone needs stimulation in their lives. How many years has it been? Four? Five?"
"About that, yeah."
"What about getting back into modeling?"
Now it was Adrien's turn to laugh. "A wash-up with PTSD? What a thought..."
"You never know, dude. You still got the looks. That tragic past in your eye might be your ticket to restarting your career."
His mind already rejecting the idea, Adrien picked up his glass and drank another mouthful. "Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and realize everything was a dream and I'm a black cat with an overactive imagination."
"Despite your old nickname, a black cat can't pull off flannel as well as you can, bud," Nino batted his eyelashes jokingly. "Though I do miss the leather."
"I don't!" Adrien laughed, glancing down at his dirty red-checkered shirt. Watching his friend get called by the table behind him, he picked up the tall glass by the rim and rotated the bottom of the pilsner on top of the coaster.
"…In other news, yet another underground motorcycle race was held last night despite the Paris Police Department's desperate attempt to stop them. Nadja Chamack has more on the story…"
Adrien immediately looked up to watch the large television mounded at the back of the bar. Black and white photos of familiar crash scenes began to flash across the crystal clear screen. Melancholy music played in the background with the pictures. Some of the photos Adrien remembered were from several years ago.
The news must have run out of important things to talk about, he mused silently. Still, he was grateful for its interference from his troubles. Even if it was something they reported about almost every night.
"The pictures we are showing to you are from the numerous devastating tragedies the motorcycle races have brought to our once fair city over the past three years. Last night's race was another prime example. A massive accident involving two motorcyclists became the forefront of one of the biggest collisions to date. (A video of a huge pile up of motorcycles popped on the screen. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the brick walls while uniformed men held flashlights to inspect the enormous pile of twisted metal and wheels. Another shot of the camera showed a haphazardly drawn Ladybug graffiti on the wall near the bikes.) From what investigators have gathered, two cyclists, one confirming to be the illustrious Ladybug, collided together in a small alleyway near Avenue Montaigne. The wreck caused a massive pileup of bikes; however, none of the bodies were discovered in the wreckage. Police assume – from the number of bikes – this was yet another attempt from Ladybug to save those forced to participate in this deadly game. Could this be more proof that these motorcyclists are the missing young adults from three years ago? Where could these bikers possibly go after disappearing? And, the most important question of all, who is Ladybug?
There was a hitch in his stomach as his father's face appeared on the screen.
"During the press meeting with Mayor Gabriel Agreste this morning, he is quoted saying, 'This abomination has become a black suffocating cloud for the streets and for the innocent people caught in the crossfire. It is time to put an end to this once and for all.' When asked what that could possibly mean, Monsieur Agreste replied with 'no comment'. The Mayor is scheduled to give another speech tomorrow at 14:00 in front of the Paris most famous museum Le Louvre.
Adrien swallowed the thickness in his throat and tried to keep the distaste from twisting on his lips. His father. Gabriel Agreste. Someone who Adrien had once tried so tirelessly to impress in his youth, but learned the hard way he never would. No one could match Gabriel Agreste's expectations – especially his disgraceful, runaway son.
(A dark-haired woman with it cropped short at her ears appeared on the screen standing in front of a downtown Paris Police station.) "We have asked the private investigators of the Parisian Police Department why it is taking so long to find the leader of this dangerous game. So far, there have been no leads. We were informed a long debate was held between the Mayor and the Head of Representatives to decide if the Commandement des Opérations Spéciales should be involved in the investigation. The Mayor stated he was doing everything he could to get to the bottom of this and government involvement might further escalate the criminal organization to higher extremes. But the questions remain: where are these missing people? Why are they forced into this hazardous lifestyle? Again if anyone knows anything with the situation behind these races, Ladybug, or the kidnapped, the Parisian Police Department encourages you to call-"
Adrien was jerked away from the television as a stranger joined the stool right beside him. He was an odd-looking man, older than Adrien. A very tall and thin frame, a black bowler hat perched lopsided on his head. Despite his suit and tie, he looked like someone who had just run four miles and wasn't used to the exercise. He was panting and sweating. Adrien had decided to ignore the stranger, until…
"You're early," the man whispered in an unreasonably tense voice. Adrien quirked an eyebrow and glanced around. He saw no one else except for the couple at the table behind him. "I expected you to be bigger."
"Bigger?" he answered, his green eyes zipping towards Nino. His friend was busy typing in an order on the computer.
"I was kind of hoping you wouldn't be here to be honest."
Adrien really didn't know how to reply to that.
"I guess I'm always here," he said with a shrug, "where else would I be?"
"I'm so sweaty and nervous. I'll never understand people like you." The stranger glanced at Adrien's face and shook his head. "You look so calm."
"It's the low blood pressure." Is this man drunk? Adrien wondered briefly. Studying the man, he noticed the sharp flick of the stranger's eyes, the way he twitched slightly every time the commercials from the television made a loud noise, the straightness of his back as if he was hunted by a prowling lion. Not drunk, but probably on drugs, he confirmed. Should I try to help him?
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Adrien asked politely. The man blinked.
"Oh, right. The stuff." The man reached for a leather folding briefcase that was sitting innocently beside his stool leg and fished out a closed manila package. Placing it on the counter between the two of them with a shaky hand, the man said, "This is half. The rest once the job is complete."
Trying to keep the utterly lost expression off his face, Adrien brushed a blond hair out of his eye before swallowing the growing lump in his throat. Reaching hesitantly, he pulled the small, thick package slowly towards him with apprehensive fingers. The sweaty stranger nodded and bent to pick up his briefcase. "Your agency knows the number. My contractors will be waiting for the call once it's finished." With a slight trip on his own two feet, the man ungracefully bowed to Adrien and practically ran out of the bar.
Needless to say, Adrien's stomach was in knots as his green eyes swiveled back to the package under his fingers. Nino was nowhere to be seen.
Inhaling through his mouth, Adrien broke the seal on the package and looked inside. He felt like he was kicked in the stomach. Ten large bundles of hundreds were rubber-banded together. He calculated instantly. One hundred thousand euros. Reaching swiftly, the blond took a long drink from his beer before reaching in and pulling out a small envelope that was tucked next to the money.
Placing the package on the counter, he flipped open the envelope and reached inside. He blinked. It was a picture of a young woman. She wasn't looking at the camera – which suggested the shot was taken without her knowing. She was standing right outside what appeared to be a small, old apartment complex. Adrien's green eyes narrowed as he studied the picture. She must have been thinking about something amusing because she had a very small smile on her face, almost carefree. She had black hair which was pulled into twin pigtails at her neck. A black fringe draped prettily above her clear, blue bell eyes. She was thin, but shapely – dressed in tight, dark red leather pants and a deep raven crop top. Coupled with a short leather jacket, she looked almost like a criminal. He drew the photo closer to his face, his green eyes studying her in fascination. The more he looked at her, the more he realized how pretty she was. She had certain elegance to her that he couldn't describe. Turning the photo over, he read a scrawled print:
"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Boulangerie Patisserie. No evidence."
Slipping the photo into the front pocket of his flannel shirt, Adrien wrinkled the envelope in his shaking fist. Closing up the manila package with the money, he saw Nino appear from the back carrying plates of food. He wondered if he should say anything to his friend. What should he do? Call the police? What exactly was going on here? Did someone want this woman dead? Who was that tall, sweaty guy? Did he mistake Adrien for someone else? Some kind of hit-man of sorts?
He was so distracted, he hardly noticed another man come to sit beside him.
"You're early," the man said in a low voice and turned to him with a wide smile gracing his thin lips.
Adrien jumped and glanced over at the newcomer. This new guy immediately set Adrien's danger instincts on overdrive. His dark hair slicked into a tight bun at the back of his head, his amber eyes twinkled with an overlying good-nature. Adrien read behind it. He saw what was beyond the eyes. The man's soul was black. Evil.
"You're thinner than I imagined. And…" he glanced at Adrien's flannel shirt, "…more blue-collar."
His heart pounded with fear. His stomach churned with the anxiety he'd felt all day. Picking up his beer, Adrien drained it. He felt the man's amber eyes watching his every movement. How can someone's eyes be so violent? He thought with a shiver.
"I'm sorry," Adrien said once he'd swallowed the last drop. "I've been sent here to inform you that the contract has been terminated." He pushed the manila package towards the man. "This is half the payment just for the trouble. That should be more than enough to please your employers. The deal is off."
He tried to keep his face calm and prayed that his bullshit story was acceptable. It had been a long time since Adrien had had to use his old charm and tricks.
"Oh?" The stranger's eyebrows rose and his smile grew wider. "I didn't think that the contract could be broken."
"Yes, I thought so, too, but I just got the call from my superiors." Adrien made sure his breathing was slow. Adrenaline pulsed through his body and he willed his muscles to stay relaxed. "They've targeted the wrong person."
The man laughed happily and shook his head. "That's no matter to me. I'll do my job with or without upfront payment. I'm sure my agency would have informed me if there were any changes."
Adrien tried to keep the frustration off his face. "There isn't any reason to kill her. I'm paying you off with one hundred thousand. Half of what was promised for not doing anything."
The man leaned his cheek on his palm and his grin lowered slightly. Adrien immediately wondered what happened to people when the smile was gone. With an inner shudder, he realized he didn't want to know.
"Unfortunately, middleman, I have the information on the target already sent from your corporation. I only need to meet you for the money and the target's current location. Interesting that you want this contracted terminated. Never had that happen before. Usually the middleman is someone of few words. Are you new to this?"
Adrien remained silent. He didn't know how to reply. The man smirked and got up from his stool. "Tell your employers that they can call my agency and cancel anytime they wish. In the meantime, I have a job to do and I intend to see it through." With a happy amber-eyed wink, he turned and practically glided out the door like a silent wind.
Adrien sat quietly looking at the glass window of Nino's bar. Slowly, he retrieved his phone from his pocket. He was just about to dial the two on 1-1-2 when he saw the man pull out into the street in a police car.
The man was a damn cop.
With a fist clenching in his lap, Adrien put his phone back into his pocket and reached into his shirt for the picture of the woman. Whoever this Marinette Dupain-Cheng was, she was not going to be around much longer. With a deep breath, Adrien felt a strange strength replace his anxiety and run a course through his muscles.
"Not if Chat Noir has anything to say about it." His green eyes studied her beautiful, smiling face.
At last, he found his purpose.
HIYA! I'm actually Bluetreeleaves on Ao3 if there's any confusion. This story is further along over there, but I decided to post it here as well! I'm also Bluetreeleaves on here as well! So reddish-ninja is mostly going to be for my Ao3 work. If you have any questions I tried to answer it properly on my profile here, but trust me, I knows what I'm doing.
Anyways, I'll be posting a new chapter pretty often considering this story is more than halfway done. I hope you enjoy this roller coaster of a ride because this story is crazy in such a good way.
Thank you so much for clicking on it and getting this far!
Next chapter: IN WHICH LADYBUG MEETS HER BLACK CAT
R-N