To yellow 14: She knows him well enough to know he'll come around. Eventually. Probably.

To Butterfly: They are pretty amazing!

To armadas: Good guess! It gets clarified in this chapter. The "RooT"-verse is something of a worst-case scenario for everyone. A little more of the story behind Alex gets explored in the next couple chapters.

Alex stood still, just staring at the wooden box in his hand, examining the fine pattern carved into the top. He had never seen one of these before – Chloe had never had any of them for her rescued miraculous – but he could almost sense the power hidden inside of the box. The world around him was silent in Ladybug's absence. Finally Alex looked up when he noticed that the shadows had moved.

It was far too much to process, all at once.

Ana was Ladybug – that much alone had been a shock. But what she said… The war was over? They had won? How was that even possible? He had grown up in the Resistance – he and Ana had spent half their lives sneaking around, trying to find out what the grown-ups were doing. Once they had tried to tag along to watch while Queen Bee and a couple of her fighters attempted to capture one of CBN's lieutenants – "Impulse," they'd called him. Ana had almost made it out of the hideout after them; with his size, Alex had been spotted almost immediately. In the end, both of them had had to stay behind and wait at the hideout until Queen Bee returned. Aunt Sabrina had been disappointed with them. His mother had been out on a spy mission – she'd spent most of her time watching CBN's mansion, waiting for an opportunity. But that opportunity had cost his mother her life. And after all of that, here was the cause of all that misery and torment, sitting right here in the palm of his hand. Such a small thing.

Finally, he opened the box, just to make sure that it really contained the object he expected. The hinge creaked the slightest bit as it opened, revealing a dark red plush fabric, and a black ring in the center of it. The final proof: CBN really was gone. He couldn't stare at the miraculous for long, however, as the black of the ring collected together around the cat's paw on the ring's top and shot out of it in a beam of green light, coalescing into a black Kwami that hovered just above Alex's head.

"Who has disturbed my slumber?" the Kwami thundered, raising his arms in a grand gesture, slowly rotating in midair. Spotting Alex he paused, cocking his head in surprise. His arms dropped to his sides, and he stared intently at Alex. "Oh. I guess it's you. Hey there, big guy. What's happening?"

Alix stared at him. "You're the Cat Kwami?" he demanded.

"Name's 'Plagg', for your information," the Kwami replied, looking him up and down and folding his arms with a huff. "But I would have expected you to know that, kiddo. After all, you grew up with Kwamis around, right? You smell like you know a Kwami or two."

"You killed my parents," Alex interrupted him, a firm set to his jaw.

"I've killed a lot of people, kid," Plagg replied dismissively. "But I don't remember your parents."

"Really." Alex glared at him. "You don't remember my parents? You should remember them; Father was just about the first hero killed. I was two when you murdered my father; ten years later my mother was killed."

"Lotta mothers been killed in the last twelve years, you know," Plagg pointed out, arching an eyebrow. "None by me, though."

"I doubt that," Alex scoffed. "I don't know how it happened, but I know you were there when Mom died."

"Nope." Plagg shook his head. "Still not ringing any bells. Hey–" He dove into Alex's backpack "–you don't have any cheddar, do you?"

"Hey!" Alex grumbled and pulled the flap open, rummaging around for the Kwami. "Get out of there!"

He pulled Plagg out five seconds later, holding a piece of moldy cheese Alex had found in a dumpster behind a restaurant that morning. Plagg popped it in his mouth and groaned. "Ohh, that's the stuff. Normally I'm more of a camembert cat, but these days camembert leaves a bit of a bad aftertaste. So I'm trying something new for a change."

"I didn't realize you Kwamis were such food pits," Alex muttered under his breath as Plagg slipped out of his hand and dove back into his backpack, cackling.

"Really," Plagg deadpanned, popping out of the top flap and squishing a bunch of Gouda crumbs together into a small lump. "Are you telling me that after twelve years living with Mullo, you don't think Kwamis eat a lot? Because that fat Rat can pack more cheese than me, and that's saying something!"

Alex cocked his head in confusion, staring at the Kwami. "Wait…" His eyes widened. "So you do remember my Mom!"

Plagg sighed, his shoulders sagging. He looked down at his Gouda and frowned, tossing it over his shoulder onto the ground. "Fine. I remember the Mouse. Saw her and your old man – and you, for that matter, Alex – all the time in the good old days, before…" His voice trailed off. He let out a breath. "But I don't remember anything of their deaths."

Alex scowled. "I know CBN killed both of them. Mom told me about Dad every day, how he punched Dad so hard his neck snapped instantly. Then Mom went off and got killed on that raid – all Chloe said was that CBN was there at the end. So you were there. Both times, you were there. How can you say you don't remember their deaths!?"

"Do I look like 'Cat Bug Noir'?" demanded Plagg, placing his paws on his hips and glaring back at Alex, rising out of the backpack to hover level with his face. "I'm the Cat Miraculous Kwami; I'm not the Cat Miraculous user."

"Sounds like a distinction without a difference," Alex told him, glowering.

"Oh, there's a hell of a difference. When my holder transforms with me, he or she is in control," Plagg explained. "I'm not in charge; I'm just the tool they're using." Alex pursed his lips, glowering at the Kwami. "Well, you've got your old man's stare down at least," Plagg observed, raising an eyebrow. He sighed heavily. "Do you sleep?"

Alex blinked. "What?"

"Do you sleep?" repeated Plagg. "You know? Lie down in a bed, curl up, close your eyes, let your mind rest, maybe have dreams? Sleep?" He groaned, muttering, "Please tell me I don't have to teach another holder how the world works…"

Alex frowned. "I know what sleep is…"

Plagg folded his arms. "Well, that's what it's like for me when you transform. I'm not there – I hardly know what's going on. Sometimes I have images – like your dreams – but it's only snatches. Not always in order, not always clear, not always even complete. I can't always tell what they mean, or even how they connect." His ears drooped. "And for the last twelve years, all my dreams have been nothing but straight nightmares. He didn't de-transform once in that time. I felt when he unified with Tikki, sensed when he tried to use the Wish. But I didn't know why any of it was happening. My first real indication that something was truly wrong was when he used Cataclysm on Trixx's kit. I could feel Tikki's trauma as his miraculous – his connection to the material world – was destroyed. I caught glimpses of others. But your parents weren't ones I saw."

Alex scoffed. "You want me to believe that you aren't responsible for what he did?"

"I don't know what to tell you, kid," Plagg retorted. "I have as much control as that steel pipe you're lugging around does. All the power of Destruction rests in the tip of my whisker, and whatever chucklehead happens to have that ring on his finger is calling all the shots. I'm the tool; he's the one deciding how the tool gets used."

"And now Ana wants this tool out there again," Alex grumbled. "After all the trouble it's already caused."

"That's the idea," Plagg agreed, nodding.

Alex clenched his fist around the miraculous, squeezing so hard his knuckles turned white. "I should take this stupid thing and throw it in the Seine."

Plagg's jaw dropped, staring at him in horror. "Do you have any idea how terrible that would be? Not just for the Seine or for Paris or even for the world, but for the universe!?"

Alex raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Worse than a decade of CBN?"

Plagg grabbed his ears, tugging at them. "A thousand times worse!"

"I can't imagine that," Alex retorted. "So why? Why should this power be out there to cause so much destruction?"

Plagg groaned, rubbing his forehead. "It's always the same story…" he muttered. "Sure. Fine. Unrestrained destruction probably isn't all that great for the universe. I suppose we can agree on that," he conceded. "But do you have any idea what unrestrained creation is capable of doing?"

"You mean other than fixing all the stuff that CBN broke?"

"That's not where it would end!" Plagg insisted. "Without being balanced out by destruction, creation would overwhelm the universe and crowd out everything being created. Life would stagnate. Plagues would overwhelm all of life, but it would be unable to die, trapped in a cycle of constant suffering. Tikki needs me. And Ladybug needs her Cat Noir." Plagg poked him in the chest. "And apparently your friend needs you."

Alex looked down at the plain silver ring in his hand. "But is the world ready for another Cat Noir?"

"It doesn't matter," Plagg told him firmly. "It was a Cat Noir who saved this world from the last guy. Ready or not, the world needs another Cat Noir."

Alex's shoulders slumped. "But after the last twelve years…"

Plagg scoffed. "Well, look at it this way: there's a pretty low bar for you get over for you to turn out as a better Cat Noir than the last guy, huh?"