To Lyger 0: That does seem like a bit much. But, then, he's the entire reason that Paris put in the super-villain wing at La Santé in the first place!
Late that night, a dark figure stole across Paris, flying just above the rooftops, scanning in all directions for signs of the looters that had plagued Paris for weeks – ever since the Tarasque had smashed through the Heroes of Paris, setting all of the Heroes to flight. The physical destruction to the city had been enormous; he had calculated the damages at a minimum of €100 billion, should Ladybug be unable to repair it all with Miraculous Ladybug. But that monetary cost did not account for the countless deaths and injuries, the refugees scattered around Europe and Africa, the people – civilians and heroes alike – who had suffered mental and psychological trauma as a result of the Tarasque's rampage. Nor did it include the destruction caused before and after the Tarasque's rampage through Paris. The rest of Europe, Africa, Asia, America… the whole world had been affected by the Tarasque and its constituent Beasts before they had reached Paris, and the toll in lives and resources defied all calculation.
Frankly, after everything Paris and the world had been through, they might never be the same again.
But there was nothing he could do about the Tarasque now. They had no idea where it had gone after leaving Paris, and all communication was spotty at best. Even on a good day, there was a 75% chance that he would lose communication with at least one of his drones. And with all of the communication disruptions, none of their attempts to contact the Heroes of Paris had proven successful. They were safe – they had to be safe. But they could not communicate.
Barring communication from the Heroes of Paris, all he had left was Paris – Paris, and the people of Paris.
Turning with the breeze, he flew over Collège François Dupont, looking down at the Dupain-Chengs' bakery. A small pinprick of light hovering above the balcony blinked at him several times on the infrared spectrum in acknowledgment of his presence. Barely visible in his night vision, he could see what appeared to be a cat sitting on the lounger atop the bakery, curled up but with its ears twitching. Satisfied, he turned his jets to point himself upward, ascending another dozen meters and spinning slowly to look over the city in all directions, scanning for alerts from the drones. The city was almost entirely dark, and had been so for the last two weeks – the Tarasque's passage had damaged so many electrical grids that power had been shut off to most of the city, leaving very few lights to illuminate the night outside of the four arrondissements whose power had been turned back on at full strength. Quickly he scanned up and down the streets, alert for signs of danger. A restriction of movement order had been issued within the first day after the Tarasque left, and the streets remained deserted, beyond a trio of stragglers north of the bakery. As he was turning to move in that direction, however, he froze. From two blocks south of the bakery came the tinkling of shattering glass falling to the ground, and he spun around to fly in that direction. Quickly he found the building in question, his gaze settling on the small group gathered around it. Three people stood just outside a small apartment building, of whom one man was in the middle of climbing through a broken first-floor window. A quick scan did not reveal any weapons, and he twisted around to aim his feet at the ground. He landed with a crashing thud, just in front of the three looters. In unison, all three turned to stare at him in shock.
"Even after recent events, looting is still illegal," he announced, raising one arm to point at them.
One of the looters started, blinking dumbly. "And who the hell are you?" he demanded, flexing one arm and clenching his fist, eyes flashing.
"The Heroes of Paris." He clenched his own fist, deploying a narrow barrel.
"Bullshit!"
"They Heroes of Paris are gone," another looter retorted.
"Not all of them." Even as he spoke, a tranquilizer dart struck the first looter. Before the others could react, two more darts had fired, and all three lay on the ground unconscious. With the tap of a button, he sent his location to the SLD's evening dispatcher, Bloch. Then, without waiting for the acknowledgment, he kicked off into the air, activating his jetpack as he did so, pausing to hover a dozen meters above the three unconscious looters and staring down at them. He frowned. This was the fifth group he had stopped this week, but that hardly seemed to make a difference in the long ron. No matter how many looters he stopped, more continued to attempt the same crime, and some of those had also proven themselves to be successful. And while he could stop or deter those looters he found and summon the police to arrest those he subdued, the numbers were rapidly exceeding their capacity, to say nothing of his own. The police simply did not have the space to hold all of the looters – not long-term. But unfortunately, they had yet to come up with an alternative.
And without a better option, all he could do was continue along the same course
"Alert! Alert!" A drone's mechanical voice suddenly rang out in his ears.
He cocked his head, searching for the infrared signature of the drone. A speck of light blinked urgently to the north, and he kicked off immediately, accelerating rapidly in that direction. "What is the situation?"
"Injured civilian located. Seventeenth Arrondissement, Rue de Maubeuge and Rue Ambroise Paré."
He veered sharply to the right, angling between two damaged buildings, and dropped to the ground just in front of the indicated intersection. He could see the drone hovering just above, and followed its infrared laser to a building that had shifted slightly in place. Striding over to the collapsed brick wall, he found a man lying on the ground, his leg trapped beneath the bricks. The man's breathing was shallow, and he looked up at him weakly.
"P–please," the man whimpered, clutching his injured leg with shaking hands and tugging at it feebly. "Help me."
"What happened?" he asked, hitting the debris with a low-level energy beam to break it up before carefully pushing it aside. Becoming visible as the debris fell aside, the man's leg was twisted to one side, and blood was starting to flow freely from a laceration – clearly the pressure of the debris itself had been holding the injury closed. He slowly ran his energy beam over the injury, cauterizing the wound, and the man hissed in pain.
"I–I was on my way home," the man panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. "The building shifted, and it collapsed on me!"
With a frown, he carefully examined the man's leg. "It appears to be fractured," he told the man. "I cannot set it, and without proper treatment your chances of infection are extremely elevated. I will bring you to a doctor who can treat you." Gently, he picked the man up, grunting from the exertion, and took off into the air, flying in the direction of the 18th Arrondissement, one of the many sections of the city where the power remained spotty. The arrondissement was largely deserted at this time of night, but he could see a lone figure just in the process of exiting an apartment building and looking up to scan the sky. Moving toward him, by the time he landed in front of the apartment building in question, Dr. Ouazani was already standing outside with his arms folded, waiting on the sidewalk. The doctor eyed him carefully as he landed, before looping the injured man's arm over his shoulder.
Dr. Ouazani cocked his head. "You look different–"
"Call me 'Chrysaor,'" he told him, glancing quickly up and down the street.
"Seems appropriate," Dr. Ouazani observed, humming. "I thank you for bringing this man to me – I will be sure to get him patched up and send him on his way."
"Thank you. And you have been well?" Chrysaor asked.
He nodded. "We've seen your drones around – a little more frequently lately. Thanks for that, by the way. Yamina appreciates it."
"You are a vital part of the team – small as it is," Chrysaor pointed out. "If we are to keep Paris functional in the interim, we need all the help available."
"Interim before what, exactly?"
"Before everyone returns. Before normalcy resumes."
Dr. Ouazani hummed. "I have prayed for that outcome every night since the Tarasque appeared. I will say it again tonight for you." He shifted the injured man's arm over his shoulder. "But in the meantime, I will tend to this man."
"I cannot ask for any more than that, Doctor." Chrysaor scanned the street once again and tasked a drone to a regular patrol pattern along that block before taking off again, turning west to continue his patrol circuit around the city. Only select patches of the city had any lights on; entire arrondissements had been abandoned due to the need to conserve electricity. A few sets of headlights were visible: police cars patrolling the streets, on the hunt for more looters and other criminals. Quickly he scanned the cityscape for the infrared lights to indicate his drones' locations. Running through a quick inventory, all of the drones remained accounted for and functioning properly, scattered all across the city from one end to the other. However, as Chrysaor turned to continue his patrol route and looked directly south, one of the drones started blinking rapidly in a warning. Even before the alert siren had reached him, Chrysaor had already shot straight in that direction, activating the emergency beacon to alert the SLD.
As he flew toward it, La Santé prison loomed out of the darkness below him. Having been partially affected by the rolling brownouts on the city, only a few of the prison's lights were lit – even less than under ordinary circumstances. However, a brilliant spotlight mounted near the center of the compound shone on a spot along the outside wall on the eastern side of the prison yard. Scanning the spot closely, Chrysaor detected movement, a large number of people pushing through what appeared to be a semi-permeable membrane which had replaced a section of the wall. As Chrysaor came within a block of the prison and dropped lower to observe, a guard standing in the closest guard tower along the prison wall raised his energy rifle and fired a quick pulse of energy at him. Chrysaor swung around in midair, narrowly avoided the energy beam, and dropped to the ground a half-block from the prison, placing the bulk of the prison between himself and the guard. Several voices shouted indistinctly just outside the prison as Chrysaor raced down the street toward them. He had crossed half the distance when two of the escapees turned to face him, and one tapped the other on the shoulder before running off after the other escapees. The other let out a feral snarl, bared his teeth, and charged.
Bracing himself and dropping into a defensive stance with moments to spare, Chysaor activated his wrist launcher. "Surrender now, and you will come to no harm!"
"You're not stopping us, hero!" Sauvage bellowed, jumping at Chrysaor, driving his feet into Chrysaor's chest, and springing off of him into a back-flip. Chrysaor stumbled backward a pace and caught himself, just as Sauvage landed and lunged forward, tackling him around the middle. Chrysaor fell backward, landed, and brought his legs together, kicking Sauvage off of his chest. Sauvage flew off and contorted around in midair as Chrysaor pushed himself to his feet. The rest of the escapees were far out of sight, the street illuminated from the side by the flashing lights of the prison. Sauvage landed catlike, dragging one clawed hand along the pavement, and glared at Chrysaor, his eyes flashing in the reflected light. He tensed and charged, both arms bared. "I'm gonna rip–"
Chrysaor shot backward into the air on his jets and simultaneously struck Sauvage in the chest with a tranquilizer. Sauvage fell to the ground with a look of surprise on his face, letting out a weak groan. Chrysaor's mouth set in a thin line, and he rose a little further off the ground, searching his surroundings. A glint caught his attention from the guard tower, where the guard who had fired on him before still stood, rubbing his forehead with his rifle turned down toward the ground. Chrysaor quickly scanned through his drones' feeds for any sign of the escapees. But they were nowhere to be seen.