The moon shone down onto the streets of Paris, darkening the back alleys and covering a young girl as she crept along the shadows.
Marinette really wished she had thought this through more. Her breath was hot, trapped against her face, and the humid air was thick and heavy. Not to mention the fact that she had no way of getting back inside. Jumping off the roof was fun and all until you got trapped outside in 70 degree weather with a hoodie.
A crash from a few streets over startled her out of her thoughts. Unless she heard shouting, the noise was likely someone taking out their trash.
Maybe I should head over anyways…
Right on cue, a man's voice cried out.
Marinette stopped herself before she could go anywhere, thinking. This was a turning point for her, a crossroads. There were two ways this could go. She could risk life and limb for her city every night, come home with bruises and scrapes and lies for anyone who noticed. Or she could stay...Marinette. The girl who talked to her hamster and had a crush on a model. The one that she knew. The one she was happy as.
But could she always be happy as Marinette?
Now that she'd stepped a toe over the line, her body longed for more. She longed to taste blood, to go under everyone's gaze as she became a hero and a legend. The bandana over her face compelled her to talk, to act as though she was someone else. She could do anything when no one knew it was her, good or bad.
Not to mention that someday, what nearly broke Ivan might become of her as well. She might see Nino, bleeding. Alya, broken. Adrien…no. She couldn't let that happen.
She turned around and pushed off the ground, running to the source of the sound. She knew how she would fight, how they would fall. She could practically hear the sound that the Akuma would make as they crashed to the ground. The click of handcuffs as the streets became safer.
Or she thought she could, until she crashed into a man in the dark. His shirt smelled like cigar smoke, fur, and something...something metallic. And there was a drip from somewhere, probably a gutter, that was landing on her hand. It was altogether unpleasant. But Marinette was kind enough to let someone who had done no harm go free. She backed up, apologizing the whole time.
"I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't looking where I was going. It's my fault realy, and- oh shit."
The man had stepped out of the shadow of the building, and now Marinette could understand the drip. The strange, metallic smell.
He was covered in blood. His shirt was almost wet with it, and it was falling from his sleeves, from his face, from his hands.
Marinette's own hands flew to her mouth, even though the man couldn't see it behind the bandana. She was shaking like a leaf, heroic fantasies out the window. Oh, why had she ever thought that this would be a good idea?
Jump. Do it for Nino. Do it for Alya. Do it for Adrien, do it for your parents, just do it!
Marinette was ashamed to say that she bolted.
Legs pumping, she dashed down the alley. There was a roar from the man as he saw her, then heavy footsteps, getting closer and closer and closer. She was breathing hard, never having run for more than a few minutes. As the man's footsteps grew closer, her feet slowed unconsciously, and she cursed having walked in gym.
Ahead of her, Marinette saw the end of the alley. She'd have to face him. But her legs were aching, her body tired, and he had a weapon. A knife, by the looks of it. So she ran headfirst at the bricks at the back and tried to think of a plan.
She chanced a look back to see that he was about six feet away, and he was waving his knife like no tomorrow. The knife had dried blood on it, and it suddenly dawned on Marinette that she could end up as the blood on the blade. Swallowing her nausea, she looked forward again to find that she was a few feet away from the wall. She had no plan.
Her body reacted without her thinking about it, feet sticking in the brick for just enough time to jump- one, two, three!- and push off, over the man. He turned around, obviously surprised, and just confused enough for Marinette to smack his hand, knife flying out of it. It hit the ground spinning, and the man followed it with his eyes.
He looked up to see Marinette flying at him, foot outstretched. The foot made contact- with the man's crotch, and he bent over in pain. She grabbed his arm and, leaping over him, pulled it behind him, forcing him to the ground to avoid dislocating his shoulder. She began heaving his other arm to where she could tie them together and when he began resisting, she punched him in the face.
Simple as that.
By the time she was done tying him up, he couldn't move his arms or his legs. But Marinette still needed to do something about the poor man. She couldn't pick him up.
"But I could drag him," she spoke aloud for the first time in nearly an hour. She looked around, and her eyes fell upon a board. "Hmm…"
Marinette had nearly reached the police station by the time the man finally spoke.
"Damn you," he spat. Marinette halted the board she had rigged the man to. She turned around, slowly, and it was all worth it to see the fear in his eyes.
"I'm sorry?" she inquired, head tilted.
The man seemed to gain more faith as he spoke. "I told you to go fuck yourself," he growled. Marinette walked over, twirling the knife in her fingers, gratified to see that he was at least a little bit afraid of her. "I'm afraid I just don't understand something. Could you help me to?"
He seemed cautious. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, how could a man like, well, like you be in a genius group like the Akumas?" The man stared at her, dumbfounded, until she spoke again. "Enlighten me."
"How dare you- the Boyles have been a part of the Akumas for generations!" He seemed to realize his mistake as Marinette smiled down at him.
The next day, the police were quite baffled to take out the trash to an enormous man handcuffed to the bin. The one policeman brave enough to take the bright pink sticky note off his chest read it out to the others, inside, the man in a cell.
Dear officers,
As you seem incapable of taking care of my city, I've decided to clean it up myself. The man's name is Mr. Boyle, as he told me. If you would take a look at the blood on his shirt, and on the knife in the board, as well as the knife's fingerprints, you will likely find the victim of his unfortunate crimes. Hopefully, the fingerprints will be enough to convict this man. God knows I worked hard enough to capture him.
Thank you for your cooperation,
-Ladybug
Back in her own home, safe and sound, Marinette pulled the bedcovers closer to her chest as she sighed in her sleep. Two red hair ties lay inside of her closet, underneath a freshly washed black hoodie and a bright red tank top. Not to forget, of course, a black-spotted bandana.
