I'm BACK! I'm really excited to show you guys this chapter, hope you like it! (she says while writing a chapter full of pain). Comments and kudos are always appreciated :3

WARNING: This chapter may disturb some readers, caution is advised.
Content: police brutality, graphic descriptions of violence, ACAB discourse, mentions of racism, death threats, injuries, misuse of power.

Chapter 16:

"There is no greater tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of the law and in the name of justice. (Cambridge University Press, September 29, 1989)"

― Charles-Louis de Secondat, baron de la Brède et de Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws

Flickering lights of red and blue filled the screen, unsteady camera movements, people running and screaming. News reporters, civilians, cops. An ambulance. Chat Noir rushed to turn the volume up.

Breaking news titles filled the lower portion of the screen.

'Minor hospitalized due to adverse effect of police arrest.'

'Police arrest minor who suffers injury while resisting arrest.'

'Six police officers surround violent criminal, criminal wounds himself during arrest.'

When desperate clicks on the remote finally revealed the sounds accompanying the chaos on TV, even the officers at the table stood up to witness the unfolding scenes.

A group of no less than six men in dark blue police uniforms, their badges displayed proudly on their breast pockets, their body cameras perched on their shoulders. And right there beneath their feet, a person.

No, not a person.

A child.

The unknown child, a still growing teenager, pinned by the cops reminded Chat Noir of Nino, the baseball cap turned in the wrong way, sitting low on his face, or the side of his face that was shown.

Chat Noir could hear his screams through the TV. "Stop! STOP! I-I'm unarmed! Stop! I-argh!" One police officer's knee pushed down harder on the boy's shoulder blade, cutting his words off.

"We told you to keep quiet, boy! You're under arrest!"

"I- huff – I said I won't resist! Get- get off me! Please! Get off! Get OFF!" the teen struggled visibly, but the six cops surrounding him were too strong. It wasn't until he heaved himself upwards that the camera managed to capture a clearer shot of his face.

He wasn't a kitten, he wasn't Chat Noirs kitten, but he was still a child.

Chat Noir dug his fingers into the soft texture of the couch, the furniture creaking in protest at the harsh treatment. His other hand held onto the remote for dear life.

The civilians circling the fray like a pack of cautious deer all had their phones out, recording the forceful arrest and sharing it on social media.

Chat Noir gripped the remote harder, the screws and hard plastic squeaking against each-other. He shot upwards like an arrow, moving to stand in front of the TV, both officers behind him on edge at his sudden movements.

"No." Chat Noir's voice came out broken, eyes glued to the screen, to the beaten-up teenager. A cop kicked at his head while another one held his thrashing body down. Screams of profanities were thrown around, their voices so loud it distorted their words.

Chat's heaving was loud in the living room, the stillness in the air only making his nerves light on fire that much more. His body reacted to it, to the boy getting beaten by the police like he had been beaten. To the crowd only able to watch in horror and disgust at what was happening before their eyes.

Chat gripped his chest, nails digging into his shirt, his heart thumping so loudly against his ribcage he could feel it in his throat.

Just who the hell did those cops think they arrested? He was nothing but a child! Why couldn't they have given him a slap on the wrist for whatever shit he pulled?!

More shouting. The news anchor tried to vocally overpower the loud chaos.

"It seems like this latest arrest was approved by Col. Couffaine of the Dupont Police Force in Bourgeoise Street. Either the Colonel or the precinct have yet to offer an official statement regarding the details of this arrest, follow us for the rest of the recorded footage. Viewer discretion is advised for depictions of violence against a minor."

Chat Noir's eyes widened when he saw one of the cops obviously losing his patience. If the footage hadn't been slowed, he could've missed it. The cop had been fingering the handle of his baton while the boy struggled against the man that had previously kicked his head, until he finally grabbed it and swung at the teenager's head.

A loud whack, a shrill, painful cry released from the depths of boy's stomach.

And then, silence.

"He killed him!"

"A cop killed a kid!"

"That guy was innocent! What do you think you're doing?!"

"We're recording all of this!"

"Hey, hey, he's still moving! Hey you ambulance guys, grab him quick before the cops kill him! Hey!"

When the camera moved to the paramedics called on the scene, for what reason Chat Noir couldn't know, they visibly hesitated approaching the still volatile situation. One senior paramedic approached the officer in charge and stated they had to treat the victim immediately for fear of a cerebral concussion and internal bleeding.

The officer in charge hesitated, before waving his men off in the same minute the boy beneath them ceased to struggle.

Ceased to move at all.

Chat Noir shivered at the icy hot pin prick of needles shooting up and down his arms and legs. His stomach felt like it was eating itself alive, the acid burning away all his organs to nothing, but even that fabricated pain was nothing in comparison to the hole in his chest when the boy stopped breathing.

"No…" nails dug deeply into his palms, fire burned through his body, but Chat didn't care, he cared about the boy brutally arrested, now unmoving on the dirty street, hundreds of phones and cameras surrounding him and nobody to call for help, for protection.

Finally, the paramedics rushed towards him, two checking his vital signs and trying to stabilize him with another one wheeled out the collapsible bed.

The officers which had previously beaten on him stood off to the side, two obviously fighting off smiles while their superior scanned the crowd to determine the mood.

It had gotten quiet, too quiet.

If it weren't for the police sirens and the sounds of paramedics shouting instructions, one might've heard a pin drop.

Then, one of the police officers spoke. "Can't blame us, if the kid hadn't been under the influence, none of this would've happened. His parents should've taught him better than that."

A scream.

A phone thrown into the officer's face.

Chaos.

Chat Noir briefly registered officer Tweedledee and Tweedledum standing now next to him, both sporting very grim and visibly disgusted expressions on their faces.

In some small part inside of him, a coherent part of him, Chat felt slightly comforted by the fact that these guys didn't seem to approve or like the actions of their fellow policemen, but a much bigger part of himself told him how little that mattered.

How little the opinions of the few mattered in the control of the many.

The crowd had erupted, almost like somebody had lighted them on fire. The person that had thrown the phone at one of the officer's heads was the first to physically close the distance between himself and the officer before getting tased and thrown to the ground.

The people that followed all tried to physically stop the policemen from harming the civilian, some were throwing food or pieces of trash at them and Chat Noir couldn't help but briefly admire the symbolism.

Throwing trash at trash.

Reinforcements had arrived to seal off the perimeter and control the wayward crowd, the reporters and media had frantically tried to capture the moments with dramatic, purposefully provocative commentary.

Chat Noir felt his own ire rise even further and he couldn't help but poise the question he had been biting his tongue on ever since he got here: "Tell me officers, is this the police force you envisioned to protect innocent people from bad guys like me?"

For once, neither Kim nor Ivan had an answer.

"Mr. Couffaine!"

"Colonel!"

"Is it true you approved the arrest of 15-year-old Lebrone Kent?"

"Lebron is currently in the hospital due to the actions of your police officers, h

"Col. Couffaine, we're from the Daily News, when will you issue your statement?!"

The precinct was in uproar, the once spacious halls and office rooms filled with reporters and cops trying to control the media. Even Alya looked overwhelmed as her colleagues and rivals from other news outlets strong armed their way to the front.

Luka was still in his office behind closed doors and shut blinds, Marinette stared at his back as her dear friend and superior fixed his uniform.

The air was suffocating.

"Luka." Her voice was quiet, her emotions still running high. "Did you approve the arrest for that boy? Is it true what the media said?"

When he didn't answer, Marinette's fear shifted into ire. "Well? How can you authorize the arrest without knowing for certain the boy was guilty? His mother is crying on the street because she doesn't know if he'll make it! Why did Carlson and Frederique have to be so rough on him? Was any of that necessary? Answer me, Luka!"

By the sudden rigidness of his shoulders, Marinette knew she'd stepped over a line.

A line she would cross again if it meant getting coherent answers.

Luka turned slowly, dressed in his formal uniform, his badges and medals of honor displayed proudly, his hat gripped in his hands at his sides.

The gaze he fixed her with could've set fire to the rain. "Let me make one thing clear, Lieut. Dupain-Cheng." He took two long strides to stand directly in front of her, his normally kind blue eyes colder than ice. "I do not have to answer to you. Whether authorizing the arrest was my decision or not doesn't concern you, I don't have to run by every decision I make for this precinct by you. I expect you to behave according to your rank and your duties."

His words were like a poison-dipped dagger slicing through her heart, a deep throbbing pain that constricted her breathing for a moment.

Until Marinette schooled her features into something she was familiar with: professional detachment. "Colonel Couffaine," her friend and superior turned his head to glance at her, "If I were to behave according to my rank and duties, I would be the first one to get notified of Chat Noir's abuse while he was held captive."

She took one step closer to him so they were almost chest to chest, her gaze never once straying from his cool blue eyes. "And I would've reported you for severe misconduct due to the physical mistreatment of a prisoner in my care."

Luka's shoulders visibly rose in ill-concealed anger and he angled his head down closer. "I acted in your best interest, Marinette."

"So am I, colonel." Marinette spat out his rank like a curse, to forever have the look of resentment she had on her face burned into his memory to haunt him at night.

Luka didn't answer, he broke off their staring contest and turned his back, clutching at his hat tightly. With a deep breath, he finally spoke. "Tell them I'll be out in two minutes."

Marinette didn't reply, only left his office with the door audibly closing shut behind her.

Luka exhaled loudly once the door shut, his white knuckled grip caused his hat to tremble.

After a heartbeat, Luka fixed his hat and turned to open the door.

Immediately, flashing lights assaulted him, hundreds of mics thrown into his face and notepads held in the air.

There was one sentence Luka spoke that pacified the ravenous crowd of reporters. "I'll answer all your questions."

"Marinette!" Alya spotted her friend rushing with impressive speed towards the backroom of the squadron, she knew there were bunk beds there for when the nights grew long in the precinct. It was away from the press.

Away from people.

Marinette didn't stop, almost like she didn't hear Alya at all, but Alya followed her, fighting her way through the torrent of reporters waiting to hear Colonel Couffaine's press release.

Marinette had left the door slightly ajar, and when Alya fully opened it, a sight greeted her that broke her heart.

Her best friend's uniform lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, Marinette herself was kneeling on the ground, her head in her hands.

Quiet sniffling filled the room and Alya immediately closed the door and dropped to her knees on the floor, pulling Marinette into a bone-crushing hug.

The two women held each other tightly, Alya whispering soothing words into Marinette's ear and letting her cry, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

"Why….why, why, why!" Marinette cried into Alya's shoulder, the fabric dampening rapidly.

Alya blinked, trying not to let the tears fall. "I…I don't know…I wish I knew Marinette…". She ran a hand along Marinette's hair. "I'm so sorry…"

The sound of Marinette's cries got drowned out by the ruckus of reporters trying to get their story, but as if Luka heard her amidst the commotion, he couldn't help but glance at the closed door in guilt.

"Marinette is in bad shape." Tikki spoke quietly into the room, far away from the bloodthirsty pack of reporters recording Luka's statement.

Plagg hummed thoughtfully beside her. "Not just her, our pretty boy marine has to hold his neck out for those vultures."

Tikki rose an eyebrow. "You think this was a set-up to sabotage him?"

It wouldn't have been the first time, Luka's predecessor had resigned for that very reason after all. It was no secret that different police departments were unwilling to cooperate or share information with each-other, so sabotaging unit captains or colonels wasn't uncommon practice.

Especially if said colonel used to be a marine, not one of real blue blood.

Plagg scrunched his nose, fingers digging into his inner jacket pocket and plopping a slice of camembert into his mouth. "I think a lot of things when the day is long, sugar cube," At Tikki's steady glare, Plagg caved. "Things look just a little too convenient; the slander against the police, the growing protests, Luka ordering to lock up some innocent kid for possessing some weed? It doesn't make sense, the guy rescued fucking war orphans during his service. Do you see him ordering a hit on that kid?"

Tikki frowned, watching the colonel adjust his uniform on the stage. "Weed? I thought the official statement was the boy got caught breaking into an old lady's house."

Plagg turned his head down to look at his longtime partner. "You believe that?"

Tikki allowed a small smile to grace her features. "Not a lick, but the weed story doesn't check out either, Plagg."

The man crossed his arms, still chewing on the soft stinky texture of his cheese. "Exactly, none of it makes sense."

Tikki mirrored his stance, eyes zeroing in on Luka and the way his dress shirt darkened at the back of his neck with sweat. "What did the higher-ups threaten Luka with to take this risk? And who's pulling the strings behind this puppet show?"

A moment of silence was all that passed before both Tikki and Plagg's two-way radios buzzed with life.

"Come in….C&C…C&C….do you copy?"

Plagg lazily pressed the button on his walkie-talkie. "Cheese of C&C here, copy. What's up?"

"Request-request for 129… we…we have a 135 and 123." Ivan's exhausted voice rumbled through the comms.

Tikki's eyes widened and she quickly responded into Plagg's walkie-talkie. "Cookie here, copy. Ivan, repeat the first thing you said."

"135. We have a 135."

Plagg and Tikki stared at their radios.

A 135 meant escape.

"135 means…" Plagg trailed off, his body moving on autopilot to elbow his way through the sea of reporters to get to Luka, whose gaze was already fixated on Plagg's oddly pale face and his growing panic.

"…Chat Noir escaped…" Tikki finished the sentence for him and like a bad movie coming to its cinematic climax, the door to the backroom opened and Marinette slowly walked out, catching Tikki's gaze.

"Tikki, what's wrong?"

Thanks for reading! Hope to see you guys soon. :) And yes, Plagg and Tikkis team name is Cookie&Cheese. :D

Police codes:

129 = Request back up

123 = sick or injured person (In this case both Ivan and Kim got injured)

135 = escape