An explosion shakes the Agreste mansion to it's very foundation. The view of the grand entrance hall becomes a clutter of dust and debris ripped apart by a cataclysm, unearthing an abyss that only ended deep, deep under Paris itself. But eventually, the dust did settle, the view was clear; and there they were. Monarch and Bugnoir, slumped over the catwalk, breathing their death bed gasps as they glared at each other from across the battlefield.
The Tsuguri camera had been damaged in the fall, landing on a slump that could just barely make up the action, it's audio receiver too damaged to make out any noise but blaring beeps and buzzing. Even with a year of piecing it together, the footage was rough, constantly stuttering and jumping frames ahead like a clunky animatic.
Bugnoir found herself trapped, posted up against the railing, the only escape route at her back blocked by rubble. She was winded and still trying to get her bearings, they both were, but it seemed clear that Monarch was recovering faster.
Monarch begins spouting off something passionately, ranting and raving while Bugnoir's eye catch something hidden under the rubble pile in front of her. She scrambles forward, diving for whatever she saw as her hope, only for the frame to jump ahead to Monarch intercepting her with his cane, raising her up high and smacking her across the room.
Next jump, she was crumbled at the base of a tube sheltered by cloth. Dazed and confused. Then the cloth was gone, and there she was; Emilie Agreste, looking just as alive as she did the day she died, pristine, graceful and nothing to indicate that she wasn't just sleeping in her gilded coffin.
This made Monarch ecstatic it seemed, his monologuing ramping up, gesturing wildly to the sky as he made a gleeful, mad proclamation that left Bugnoir crinkling with shocked confusion.
The two threw themselves back into the fray with reckless abandon, the narrow space of the catwalk leaving them with no way forward but through the other. It was a hectic blur of a fight that the camera could barely keep up with, their forms moving with such speed that they easily disappeared from view in between frame, fighting with such force that every hit that connected caused the camera to shake.
It was a feral, violent affair, somehow feeling so much more brutal and desperate than any akuma fight. Bugnoir had the speed and dexterity to whip around the battlefield, turning the air into her domain, but Monarch was a wall of pure, undeterred force. Everything she spat at him, he ate with gusto and hit her back twice as hard, every counter like the girl slamming into a brick wall.
Eventually, seemingly growing frustrated with her lack of progress, Bugnoir made a desperate move. Launching a lucky charm, not at Monarch, but at Emilie's coffin. Emile Agreste, the clear centre piece of Monarch's obsession, and now Bugnoir had seemingly decided that if she couldn't hurt Monarch, she could hurt the defenceless woman in the cage.
Monarch's face turns to horror as he desperately jumps through a portal to intercept the attack. Jump to Bugnoir using her cataclysm on the elevator shafter. Jump to Monarch struggling to hold the crumbling shaft up before it crushes Emilie. Jump to the butterfly miraculous dropping into the abyss.
Monarch was defeated. Monarch was gone. In his place, there was only the man who had supposedly died defeating him; Gabriel Agreste, the hero of Paris.
The next frame had Bugnoir advance upon the man, not to continue her assault, not to take him into custody, not to take back the miraculous. Bugnoir looked at the monster before her and took his hand in hers, guided them to the ground where she sat before Gabriel and talked.
The conversation couldn't be made out, all that could be seen was the reaction. How heartfelt and tenderly she seemed to regard the man before her, how her fingers grazed the rings, the source of his power and the prison of the kwamis, but made no effort to remove them.
Bugnoir melted into Marinette, opening herself to the villain while her kwami looked at her uncertainly. In the next frame, the two were standing again. Marinette was mostly obscured by a loose piece of rock. Gabriel was turning away from her – and he had the ladybug and cat miraculous in hand.
Gabriel got his wish. Gabriel won. And Marinette stood there, letting it happen.
How Gabriel got the miraculous was left to speculation, all that was known for certain is that whatever he had done didn't stop Marinette emerging from this experience telling the world that he was a hero.
Adrien drowned out the sound of the newscasters reacting to the footage, just playing it over and over in his head.
The pieces of the puzzle kept forcing themselves into place, but Adrien refused to look at the whole picture. He couldn't.
"It's fake," Adrien muttered, his voice low and shaky as he stared at the TV. His hands gripped the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. "It's all fake. The footage is a lie."
He shook his head violently as though trying to dislodge the idea from his brain. His jaw clenched, and his chest heaved with laboured breaths. "Father… he couldn't have been Hawkmoth. I live in the same damn house as him!" His voice shook, rising to a desperate pitch. "I would've noticed. I would've known."
Rocking back and forth, he just couldn't sooth the itch in his bones. "He's not capable of Monarch's terrible deeds. He would never…" His fingers found themselves lost in his hair, pulling himself ragged. "He would have figured out who Chat Noir was and stopped, because he loves me. He's my father… He loves me…"
"Marinette wouldn't lie to me," he whispered. His voice cracked, the name trembling on his lips. "She… she didn't lie. She must've been tricked, too. Maybe she doesn't know the truth either. That's it, right? She just—she got caught up in someone else's lies."
But the words didn't feel right. Marinette didn't lie, not about something this big. She was too honest, too good. And if she did, she probably did it for a good reason. Yes, that's right, there was a perfectly good reason to lie to Adrien, to trick him, to make him look like such an idiot. He couldn't think of them right now, but he knew Marinette would never- She'd… She always knew what she was doing.
Adrien gritted his teeth, the conflict in his head threatening to rip him apart. His father wasn't evil. He wasn't a villain. He wasn't Monarch. He couldn't be. But… what if he was?
"No," Adrien said firmly, shaking his head, his hands balling into fists. "He's a hero. He's a hero who was just misunderstood. That's all. Father did what he had to do—for her. For Mother. Of course, it would be mother, what else would he want the wish for? If he… If he made mistakes, it's because he loved her. He loved us."
Adrien's breath hitched as a wave of doubt crashed over him. "But Monarch hurt people," he whispered, his voice breaking. "He… Father… used their emotions, their pain. That's not love. That's…"
His mind scrambled for excuses, clawing desperately for a reason to believe Gabriel was still the man Adrien had admired all his life. "Maybe… maybe he didn't have a choice," Adrien whispered. "Maybe Monarch wasn't so bad. If it wasn't for Ladybug and me getting in his way, he could've—he could've saved her. Saved everyone." His voice rose, growing frantic. "Maybe if I'd just let him win, none of this would've happened. Maybe it's my fault."
He buried his face in his hands, his body trembling as the words tore themselves out of him. "It's my fault," he choked. "I didn't see it. I didn't stop him. I wasn't good enough—not as Chat Noir, not as his son."
It has to be his fault, who else could be to blame? Shame on him for even thinking of questioning them, of the two people who've done so much for him. Of the two people who loved him so dearly despite all the ways he failed them.
Adrien's mind spiralled deeper, looping through guilt and denial. Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he deserved the lies, the betrayal, the pain. If he'd been better, none of this would've happened. If he'd been smarter, stronger, he would've seen the truth. He would've fixed it.
"I'm so stupid," he whispered bitterly. "How could I not see it? How could I be so blind?"
He pressed his palms against his temples, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might block out the storm raging in his head. His chest heaved with uneven breaths, and he curled in on himself, trying to disappear into the chair. The silence in the room was deafening, suffocating.
Nathalie stood frozen, unsure whether to speak or leave him to his thoughts. She took a hesitant step forward, her heart breaking at the sight of him. But Adrien didn't acknowledge her. He didn't even glance in her direction. It was as if she wasn't there—just another part of the silence.
In his mind, Adrien clung desperately to the fraying threads of denial, trying to weave them into something solid. Something he could believe in. Something that wouldn't hurt so much.
"It's not true," he whispered one last time, his voice barely audible. "It can't be true. Because if it is… Then Marinette lied to me… And Father lied to me… And then that would mean…"
The studio buzzed with low chatter as the camera panned across a glossy set featuring the logo for Nadia Chamack's prime-time special: The Mask Beneath the Mask: Heroes or Villains? The backdrop displayed a collage of Ladybug and Hawkmoth's iconic symbols, their once-clear meanings now tarnished in the public eye.
Nadia adjusted her notes, her face calm but serious, the weight of the topic clear in her demeanour. Across from her sat Alec, a carefully constructed smirk forced onto his lips, though even he seemed less cavalier than usual.
"Don't be bemused, it's just the news." She couldn't summon the energy for her catchphrase anymore, leaving a strained sigh. "A shocking revelation has taken the city by storm. Gabriel Agreste, world-renowned fashion designer, the man behind the Gabriel brand and hero of Paris, has been exposed as the infamous supervillain Hawkmoth."
The strain tugged at Alec's lips as his eyes found comfort in the ceiling, how voice low. "With our very own Ladybug leading a cover up."
An awkward silence followed, just the reminder of the topic was enough to make the air insufferable. They'd covered so many terrible topics over the course of their career, but none of the reports had ever felt as personal and close to home as this one.
Regaining her footing, Nadia's eyes drifted to the teleprompter behind the camera, stumbling over her words. "Mayor Bustier has scheduled a press conference shortly to give her official statement on the crisis." With a little more energy she unfurled her arm to gesture to Alec. "But until them I am here in the studio with my colleague, Alec Cataldi, to discuss the immediate fall out."
Alec lunged forward just long enough to snatch his coffee mug off the table and bring it to his lips. "It's great to be back in your studio. Even if the reason could be better." He said, his voice as empty as the cup. There was nothing to drink, not with so much unpleasantness settling in their stomachs, he just held the cup for the sake of having something in his hand. "Your show has so much better seats than mine."
For the most part, Nadia tried to smile at him, and some of it was genuine optimism. "Thanks for coming by, with such heavy news on our shoulders, there's no one else I'd rather share the load with." It wasn't untrue, reporting on the news hadn't been the same since Alec left for his own show.
Usually, they bounced off of each other like rubber, able to drag any conversation out with all the quips and jabs in the world for the sake of meeting the run time. Today, they couldn't stomach the small talk, it was just delaying the inevitable.
"Well, enough stalling…"
Nadia straightened in her chair, her eyes scanning a stack of printed tweets and viewer responses. "We've entered an unprecedented moment in Paris's history. The revelation of Gabriel Agreste's dual identity as Hawkmoth has sent shockwaves across the world. And alongside it, the implication that Ladybug—our symbol of justice—may have played a role in concealing this truth. The questions pouring in are relentless."
"And they all include the word 'why?'." Alec spread his arms out, resting his elbows on the sofa arm and cushion. It was meant to look casual, but it just ended up looking limp, like there was too much weight for him to hold himself up enough to lean forward. "Why did Ladybug lie to us? Why did she help her arch nemesis? And, if she lied about this, what else has she not been telling us?"
These were questions she never wanted to ask. Her interviews with super heroes were always upbeat, hopeful messages asking Ladybug for advice, or congratulating the duo on their success; at worst she'd rope them into shipping debates.
She should be on the other side of the world right now, hugging her daughter and thanking God that it was some other sucker's job to talk about this. But she was trapped here, in this moment, in this studio, in this city by the unwanted truth.
"That's right, Alec." She cleared her throat, adjusting her position on the seat and ushering the viewers' attention the screen behind them. "Not even a day has passed since this bombshell dropped, and rampant speculation has been going wild."
The screen flashed, switching to a collage of social media posts shuffling to the forefront.
ParisTruthSeeker: "How long has Ladybug been lying to us? Is she even a ladybug? I bet this is just the first of many dirty secrets she's been hiding. #LadybugExposed"
TasteTheApple: "Paris won't be free until these fake heroes are brought to justice. I just want to see my family again!"
LB4Life: "This is OBVIOUSLY fake. Gabriel Agreste was framed, and Ladybug's covering for someone. Chat Noir's the real traitor—he's always been jealous! #SupportLadybug"
RevolutionaryNow: "Chat Noir gets caught lacking, again, and now suddenly Ladybug's dirty laundry is coming out? Yeah, that isn't suspicious at all. I'm sure a certain fleabag isn't trying to make a scapegoat."
BrightWatch: "Okay, but tinfoil hat time: What if Ladybug was a sentifreak?"
TinkerSwell: "The whole team is sus, someone really needs to take away their powers. Wasn't the sentimonster guy already apart of the team before her death?"
RexRager: "Guys? Are we forgetting what Chrysalis said? This is Monarch's doing. How do we even know he and Ladybug are dead anymore?"
SupeFan981: "This wouldn't have happened if Multimouse was still around."
Wipeout64: Image of Gabriel Agreste with a caption - "When you thought you were slaying fashion, but you were just slaying the city."
By the time she'd finished reading them off, Alec had managed to cross his legs, still gesturing with his cup like it had anything in it. "Where do you stand on the issue, Nadia?" He asked. "Is this the beginning or end of Ladybug's secrets?"
Nadia froze for a moment, her hands clasping the edges of her notes tighter than she intended. The pointed question hung in the air, daring her to answer, daring her to take a side in a debate that had already consumed the city. She glanced at Alec, who, despite his casual posture, watched her closely, as if gauging her response for any trace of bias.
Taking a deep breath, Nadia leaned back in her chair, her expression carefully neutral. "I think that we have enough paranoia on our hands with the sentimonster infestation and the quarantine."
Alec tilted his head, his smirk returning but still lacking its usual edge. "Sure, clarity is great in theory," he said, swirling his empty coffee cup again. "But with the sentimonster infestation still wreaking havoc, the ongoing quarantine, and the chaos Gabriel Agreste left behind, paranoia is the new normal. And, to be fair, it's only paranoia if the fear is unfounded."
Nadia straightened, her brows knitting together. "What are you implying? Are you suggesting that Ladybug's actions justify this level of public suspicion?"
Alec leaned forward, his smirk fading as he locked eyes with her. "Let's call it what it is: Ladybug handed the most powerful magical items in existence over to Monarch. Monarch! And she lied to us about it. If she was willing to do that, what else was she willing to do? What else has she already done?"
Nadia frowned, her grip on her notes tightening. "What are you saying, Alec?"
"I'm saying," Alec began, his tone sharpening, "that a lot of people are starting to ask the same question: Were Ladybug and Hawkmoth ever really enemies? Think about it. She garnered a lot of fame, a lot of glory—and, let's not kid ourselves, probably a nice chunk of merchandising profit—from playing the hero. And how easy is it to play hero when you've got the villain in your pocket?"
Nadia's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's a dangerous leap to make. Ladybug was our hero, Alec. She gave everything to protect us. To save us."
"She gave everything to protect the status quo," Alec shot back. "Think about it. How many close calls did we see? How many times were they one move away from stealing each other's miraculous, from ending this whole thing right there and then? And yet, time and time again, they stepped back, hesitated, let the other slip away. Doesn't that seem a little too… convenient?"
The studio fell silent, the weight of Alec's words sinking in like stones. Nadia opened her mouth to argue, to defend the legacy of the girl who had carried the weight of Paris on her shoulders—but no words came. Because deep down, she knew Alec wasn't the only one thinking it. She'd seen the same whispers in the comments, in the news feeds, in the faces of her neighbors.
She took a shaky breath, composing herself. "Speculation like that only fuels the division we're seeing, Alec. We need facts, not conspiracy theories."
"Facts are great, Nadia," Alec replied with a shrug. "But until Ladybug—or anyone else—steps up to explain what really happened, speculation is all we've got." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "And let's be honest. If Ladybug were sitting in this chair right now, could you look her in the eye and trust her answer?"
Nadia's silence spoke volumes.
It drew on until someone spoke through her earpiece, directing her attention back to the screen. She adjusted her collar again, tongue desperately lashing out at her dry lips. "We've got an alert from a reporter down by the hero memorial where protests are taking place." Shakily, she nodded. "Over to you, Jolene."
The scene before them was a woman peering into the camera through a mop of brown hair, turning her shoulder to the camera to give a better view of the background. The visages of Gabriel Agreste and Ladybug immortalized in recycled metals dominated the area, somehow managing to make the people crowding around the statues look like specs even this close to them.
Jolene gripped her microphone tightly as she wove her way through the dense crowd, the camera operator struggling to keep up. The cacophony of chants, shouts, and occasional scuffles formed a deafening backdrop as she maneuvered closer to the memorial. Her words barely carried over the noise as she tried to provide commentary.
"I'm here at the site of the memorial statues built to honor our city's greatest heroes—Gabriel Agreste and Ladybug," she said, her voice tense but steady. "In light of the recent revelations, the area finds itself packed with passionate, angry Parisians."
The camera panned to capture the scene: protesters jostling for space, their faces contorted with anger or fear. To one side, a smaller group of people stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their arms linked as they formed a protective barrier around the base of the statues. They wore homemade T-shirts with Ladybug's emblem emblazoned across the chest, holding up signs that read, "Innocent Until Proven Guilty!" and "Ladybug Saved Us!"
Signs waved in the air, bearing slogans like "Ladybug Lied to Us," "Gabriel the Monster," and "No More False Idols!" A few placards, however, stood in stark contrast: "Ladybug Forever," "Justice for Our Hero," and even "Trust in the Bug."
"As we speak, there is one group of Ladybug defenders forming a shield around the statues," Jolene continued, gesturing toward them. "They're trying to hold their ground against the larger crowd, but—"
Suddenly, a roar erupted from the mob, and the camera jerked toward the commotion. One of the Ladybug defenders had been dragged through the crowd by an angry group of protesters. Their desperate cries were drowned out by the shouting and jeering around them. The camera captured the moment they were violently thrown to the ground, their body hitting the pavement with a sickening thud.
Jolene gasped, her voice trembling as she narrated the scene. "Oh, oh! I think the crowd has broken through. Fighting is breaking out! I repeat, fighting is breaking out!"
The camera zoomed in on the chaos. Bodies swarmed around the fallen defender, obscuring them from view. Fists flew, and screams echoed as more people surged toward the statues. "Some people are climbing the memorial!" Jolene cried, backing away instinctively as the crowd grew more frenzied.
The feed shifted to a man and a woman climbing the statues. The man, his face partially obscured by a scarf, waved a can of spray paint as he scaled Gabriel's statue. The woman, dressed in red with a crudely made antenna headband, climbed Ladybug's statue, seemingly trying to drape a banner over it. The banner unfurled briefly before the wind caught it, revealing bold black letters: "TRAITORS."
Panning sharply to the right, the feed captured a figure in a hoodie and mask hurling a can of red paint toward Gabriel Agreste's statue. The paint splattered across the pristine metal, streaking down Gabriel's likeness like blood. A gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by jeers and cheers, as if the act had divided the protesters even further.
"The police are moving in, but—oh no, it looks like they're being overwhelmed!"
The camera caught glimpses of officers trying to push through the throng, their shields raised as they attempted to form a barrier. But the sheer number of protesters made it nearly impossible.
Jolene's voice grew more panicked. "It's absolute chaos here at the hero memorial. The crowd's anger is palpable, and it's spilling over into violence. The Ladybug defenders are being overrun—"
Her words were cut off as a sudden, deafening crack echoed through the square. The camera whipped around just in time to catch the base of the Ladybug statue shuddering. Someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and the sound of metal groaning under stress was unmistakable.
"Stop this!" a voice screamed, barely audible over the uproar. "This isn't what she would have wanted!"
But the plea was lost in the chaos. Another crack followed, and the statue tilted precariously to one side. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and screams, the tension reaching a fever pitch as the monument threatened to collapse.
The camera feed faltered for a moment as someone bumped into the operator, the view tilting wildly before steadying again. Behind Jolene, the police had begun deploying tear gas, the canisters hissing as they released thick clouds that billowed into the crowd. People scattered, coughing and shielding their faces, but the chaos only seemed to spread further.
"I—I have to get to safety," Jolene stammered, her composure finally breaking. "We'll continue to report as best we can, but the situation here is… it's completely out of control."
The feed abruptly cut back to the studio, where Nadia and Alec sat in stunned silence. The chaotic sounds from the memorial still echoed faintly through the speakers, a haunting reminder of the turmoil unfolding just miles away. Nadia's hand trembled as she reached for her notes, her face pale as she struggled to find the words. "Sounds like quite the mess brewing. We'll… We're sure that Jolene will be safe."
Alec picked up the slack for her, dropping the mug back onto the table and 'enthusiastically' banging on his knees. It hadn't even been a day, and everything was already going to shit. "Next up, we've managed to send some of our crew down to the Agreste Mannor where everyone's clamouring for answers."
The screen transitioned to a camera man being led through a line of task force troopers lined up around the street, barely beating back a sea of raised fists and flashing cameras. Eventually, Nadia found her voice. "I'm afraid that the area is cordoned off by the Miraculous Task Force, so no interviews with anyone inside the mansion just yet." She focused on straightening out her skirt. "However, we have managed to get the current head of the Task Force, Chalot F. Moth, for comment on the ordeal."
It took a minute for the man to give them his attention, they caught him at the front of a transport 'buggy' dishing out orders to his men. When everyone split to scatter across the area, he turned to the camera and accepted the earphone from the crew.
Nadia wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold it together without looking out of the ordinary. "Hello there, Mr. Moth."
He pressed two fingers to his temple and flicked them in a casual salute. "I'd like to say it's a pleasure, Nadia, but the day's bad enough and I don't see it getting any better."
Nadia nodded, "I understand, Sir, we know that this mass panic can't be easy for your men. Any akuma scares yet?"
"Not yet, but it's inevitable at this point." He fought a sigh, shaking his head. "I have my men spread throughout the city, ready to close in on the first sight of a butterfly. With any luck, we'll be able to evacuate any area at a moment's notice and stop the akuma from claiming any casualties."
For the first time, Alec's gaze broke away from the strain, it found something to focus on in the midst of uncertainty and terror; barely withheld anger. "I can't help but notice that you're giving more attention to the Agreste house than anywhere else."
Everyone knew what he was really saying. It looks like you're protecting the rich kid more than the actual victims.
Chalot pulled his arms behind his back, and somehow his glare found Alec easy. "Adrien is as big a victim of this revelation as anyone else, and our character analysis shows him as one of the most likely flight risks in this situation." One hand broke away, holding up an inquisitive finger. "Above all, I maintain that this boy has been through enough this year and should be afforded protection from the mob currently beating at our barricades."
"Victim, or accomplice?" Alec couldn't help but sneer.
"Alec-"
"They lived in the same house, Nadia!" Alec growled, his venom giving him the strength to fight against the weight, to sit up straight and talk directly. "Hell, people are already speculating that Mayura is his assistant who also lives there. You can't tell me that the kid didn't know what was going on."
Fingers curled into a fist, a bitter, sarcastic smile reaching his lips. "And is it any coincidence that he was dating Hawkmoth's lead conspirator?" Arms came apart, reaching wide and far. "I'm seeing a pattern here is all. Multiple people, all have golden reputations that hide how rotten they are underneath."
Chalot didn't flinch, though his measured finger tapping betrayed a simmering frustration. He raised a hand, palm out, signalling for patience. "I can assure you, Mr. Cataldi, the case isn't that cut and dry."
Alec scoffed, opening his mouth to interject, but Chalot didn't give him the chance. His voice remained calm but firm, like steel under velvet. "Gabriel Agreste was a wealthy man who owned numerous facilities across the city and held a job that rarely required his physical presence. Everything he did could easily be managed remotely, through video calls or his vast network of employees. It would have been foolish of him to conduct his operation inside his own home, where evidence could be found. No intelligent criminal would take such a risk. He'd have carried out his villainy off-site."
He paused to let the words sink in before continuing, his tone unyielding. "I understand the public's need for answers," he said, his eyes now locked on the camera. "But speculation and mob mentality help no one. My men are here to ensure order and to protect everyone involved, Adrien included. Because let me remind you—he has suffered a personal loss. Whatever Gabriel Agreste was to the world, he was still Adrien's father."
"Let me make this clear: There is no evidence that points to Adrien Agreste being involved in this tragic miscarriage of justice. He deserves our sympathy, not our scorn." In that moment, the way his two-finger gestured reached out towards the camera, it almost looked like he was mimicking a gun, pressing both barrels to Alec and everyone behind him. "And until evidence comes forward, Adrian Agreste is under my protection."
Enough silence fell over the studio to hear Alec audibly gulp. It almost sounded like a threat hanging in the air, a weight that no one dared to address. The tension was thick, and Nadia scrambled to pick up the thread, her professionalism clashing with the unease spreading through the room.
She cleared her throat, desperate to steer the conversation forward. "Does the Task Force have any mission statement for the other heroes?"
Chalot adjusted his earpiece, his gaze steady but tinged with weariness. "At this time, we are still getting appraised of the situation. Until we receive formal word from the mayor on how she wants us to proceed, all we can do is stay vigilant and remain on guard."
Nadia nodded, her pen tapping lightly against her papers. "Do you think any of them were involved in Ladybug's alleged crimes?"
Chalot hesitated for the briefest of moments before responding, his tone cautious. "It's hard to say. Without knowing the woman behind the mask personally, we can only speculate. The question is whether she trusted any of them enough to bring them in on something of this magnitude."
"Understood," Nadia said, her words clipped but courteous. "Is there anything else you'd like the public to know?"
"There is a bright spot here," he said, his voice steadying. "We're confident enough to announce that our prototype for a device capable of detecting and identifying sentimonsters is entering its final phases of testing. If everything goes as planned, we expect to deploy it in the field by the end of the month."
The announcement sent a ripple through the studio, Nadia's brows raising slightly. "That's… certainly promising news. Many people will be relieved to hear that. Thank you for sharing."
Chalot gave a curt nod, his professionalism unwavering. "Thank you for your time, Nadia. And to the people of Paris, please know that we are doing everything in our power to bring clarity and safety back to this city."
Nadia offered a tight smile, though her grip on her papers suggested she was still reeling from the weight of the conversation. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Moth. Stay safe out there."
The screen transitioned back to the studio, where the hosts sat in palpable silence. Alec folded his arms, his jaw tight, but he refrained from pushing further. The tension wasn't gone—it had merely been shelved for now.
At the very least, it allowed Nadia to turn back in her seat with more confidence, drawing the camera to her as she went through the last of her notes. "The final topic up for discussion: Chrysalis. Villain or anti-hero?"
Behind her, footage played of Chrysalis' fight with the strange creature that took on the visage of Monarch. "Her claims of corruption and deceit in the ranks of our heroes have been substantiated, but does this make her a hero in disguise or an opportunist? Some have been re-evaluating her actions."
"Can you blame them?" Alec interjected. "She's been out there saying the heroes have been lying to us, hiding things. And now—bam!" He slammed his hands together. "She's got the receipts. People are starting to see her less like a terrorist and more like a revolutionary."
Nadia's voice grew sharper. "Let's not forget that Chrysalis has committed acts of terror. No amount of public disillusionment can excuse that." She shook her head, exhaling heavily. "This whole situation is a mess. The city feels like it's on the brink. And with Chat Noir's recent… incident—"
"Rampage," Alec corrected bluntly. "Let's call it what it was. Surface Pressure and Chat Noir would have destroyed half a district in a murderous rage if it wasn't for Chrysalis. We still don't know why, but you can bet people are already linking it to this whole scandal."
"Alec, Chrysalis has endangered lives. She's not a hero."
"Maybe not," Alec replied with a shrug. "But neither, apparently, is Ladybug."
Nadia glanced down at her notes, her expression conflicted. "Whatever the truth is, one thing is clear: Paris—and the world—will never see the Miraculous Heroes the same way again."
Present
Alec remembered that broadcast in bursts. The details were foggy, but he could never forget just how scared he was, sinking in that sofa, watching the world fall apart while the people behind the camera expected him to just continue on as usual.
But then, speaking about it had come naturally to him, especially when he had a target. That was the worst part about Chrysalis' little sentimonster scheme and whatever was going on with the Monarch monster goo after the reveal; there was no bad guy. There were bad things happening, but there was never a concrete figurehead to direct all your hatred and indignation towards. It denied the people the catharsis and hating someone.
That was the rancid truth you learned from working in the news: People like a hero fine, but they love a villain above all. Villains were justifications, villains were excuses, villains were monsters you didn't have to justify your actions for. And a hero that fell and became a villain? Pure power fantasy unmatched.
Marinette and Gabriel were dead. There was no satisfaction in piling the bile on two corpses, people needed a target that could react, that they could see die inside with shame and suffer for what they've done. The mob was as smart as it's dumbest member and as hungry as the glutton. And when the mob was scared, nothing cured fear more than the assurance that you were the good guy.
Marinette and Gabriel were dead. Which meant that they weren't around to soften the blow, to give any context, to defend themselves. And Adrien was right there, the perfect target ripe for taking a shot at. The perfect rich kid who refused to sink any of his money into countering the current crisis, crying into his money bags and watching the world burn from his ivory tower?
If Alec was honest, he'd bet that many people already hated Adrien Agreste, they just didn't have a good reason to until that day.
No one knows what happened to Chat Noir after the final battle, but if Adrien just decided to leave them to their fate after how everyone treated him? Alec wouldn't blame him.
The silence of his own thoughts was shattered by the screech of a metal door. Alec recognised the slow and heavy footsteps that made their way to him, the old owl himself slumping down beside Alec, but no attempt at talk was made.
After Alec helped Marinette and Jagged Stone escape he'd been expecting some more rough treatment, there was no way he was going to hide it after failing to knock out that one guard. But the worst he got was being tossed in locked room and left to wait for a decision to be made. They didn't even handcuff him, but in that respect maybe they just knew that there was nothing Alec was getting down with his twig arms.
He didn't recognise the room, nor did he care about memorizing the details, it was just a dark place with a bench. It was about all of his world that he had left now.
It was a long time before Damocles spoke. For a moment there, Alec started believing that the man entering had just been a figment of his imagination, only disproved by the rise and fall of the man's shoulders brushing with his own every time he breathed. Alec glanced over his shoulder.
"I'm not apathetic, you know?" Damocles said, leaning forward with a mournful gaze shot at the floor. "I don't try to look like I don't care, but I'm afraid that it's the only thing keeping me together."
Alec sighed. "I know."
It was the same thing Alec used to do, wasn't it? Pretend not to care, that nothing could get to you, that you were above everybody else's pain and desires. Of course, Alec added being an insulting jackass who kept running his mouth on top of it.
He knew Damocles wasn't an evil man, or even a cowardly man. He was a broken man who'd lost everything to this madness. It was his school that was the first shelter, and it was his student akumatized into Rena Renegade that took most of the people he tried to keep safe. This entire operation was a settlement for what the resistance failed to achieve.
Damocles fiddled with his hands, pushing them back and forth like he was playing catch with an invisible ball. "If it was just us, some guys with nothing left to lose but hopes and dreams; I'd go with her and Jagged." There's a bitter laugh. He'd go, but he also knows he'd probably get himself killed before he could help the situation; but he'd go. "But it's not. We have more than ourselves to think about, Alec. Our people, our friends, our children."
Alec turned in his seat. He imagined he'd face Damocles with anger or indignation, but all he could muster was exhaustion. Alec was tired, physically, mentally, in every damn way he was tired of all of it. "And what are we teaching them?" He asked weakly, yet his words struck Damocles with enough force to make the man flinch. "That nothing is worth fighting for? That we should just accept our situation and live with it?"
"There's nothing we can do." Damocles said back, his voice hoarse and heavy. "I was the headmaster of one of the most prestigious schools in the country, and I could never do anything to help my students."
His face drew back into a wince that transformed into a bitter, painful grin. "The only time I've ever accomplished anything was when Hawkmoth akumatized me." He snorted, tense fingers squeezing each other until his fist became red. "The best I can do is give in to the worst of me."
Alec thought back to Gabriel's demotivational speech to them, to the bitter resentment and anger that bubbled under Gabriel's attempt to retain his control. That's all Gabriel saw them as, the worst of them. That's all Gabriel saw period. Long ago that man had accepted the worst as the standard, drawn so easily to the darkness in everyone's hearts that he couldn't see the light even if it was shining in his face.
Gabriel only saw what he decided he could only ever see.
"The only one stopping you from doing anything is you." Alec shuffled around until their knees were knocking together. "I've seen you during heroes' day, and Monarch's invasion, when you weren't akumatized or pinned down you fought."
Damocles shook his head in synch with his arms, riding out the vibrations. "That was with Ladybu-"
Alec lay a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing Damocles down tight until he simply couldn't' shake anymore. He steadied the man, grounded him. "We still have Ladybug." He assured Damocles. "What makes Marinette a hero isn't the fancy powers, it's that she doesn't need those powers to want to help people."
She saved his life. Hell, even Gabriel saved his life. She was nothing. A little girl with not much muscle, not much height and not much anything to bring to a fight. But that didn't stop her, it never stopped her even when she was at her most hopeless; she would take on Mad Moth with a wooden board with a nail in it if she had to.
That was another thing you learned in the news; power doesn't make you better or worse, it just enables you to be true to yourself.
"The suit doesn't make her Ladybug, just like the suit didn't make you the Owl." Alec riffled through his pockets, ripping out a worn photo of him on the set of 'Live Your Childhood Dream', helping a woman adjust her new prosthetic leg.
"Just look at me, I thought I needed Shadowmoth to make people's dreams come true, but I didn't. I just needed to be willing to take that leap of faith."
Past
"That scrawny, bald little fuck!"
An angry Lila in the midst of a tantrum was a sight to behold. Watching her heave the television over her head while screaming bloody murder into the screen, her pitch reaching that screeching shrieking octave that made your ears bleed, Felix could only sigh.
"Lila, put the tv down." He called over to her, rolling his eyes.
She froze, a deer caught in headlights, before slowly turning to peer at the audience she didn't know she had. Felix held his judgemental stare for two minutes, widdling her down until she huffed like a child and slowly put the tv back in it's proper place. Without the television to abuse Lila reverted to wrapping her arms around herself and storming through the room.
"Where does he get off?! Accusing Adrien of all sorts of stupid crap." She hissed so sharply Felix could genuinely find steam leaving her. "They should be focusing on the bug and the deadbeat, not him!"
As calmly as he could when dealing with the walking aggravation that was the witch and her obsession with his cousin, Felix made his way over to the kitchen counter and popped the kettle on. "Marinette and Gabriel aren't here to distract anybody's attention, what did you think was going to happen?"
The exasperated sigh that followed told Felix that she knew he was dead on, but she'd never say it out loud. "I thought they'd go after the rest of the heroes at least." Her fingers found the butterfly broach, squeezing it tight as her eyes twitched. "Why I outta sick an akuma on the news outlets one of these days…"
He wondered how she was feeling before Alec shot his mouth off. Hundreds of potential akuma victims now all united in the echoes of betrayal, there had to be hundreds, thousands of hearts reaching out for her right now. Was it comforting? Like arms moving in to embrace you? Or was it constant noise screaming in her ear and wrapping around her throat? Was it like being dropped into a raging river?
His questions were cut short watching her throw herself into the sofa, burying her face into the cushions to growl. "This is a disaster! What if Adrien gets hurt?"
There was a swear passing under his breath as he filled up his cup, letting the faint aroma of his honeyed herbal brew cloud his mind with relief. Tea was simple, functional and made sense. It did not give him headaches and ask dumb questions like Lila. "That's why Father is watching the mansion."
"What if he thinks I did this just to hurt him?" She elected to ignore him, sniffling and moaning as she tossed and turned. "I-I need to get a message to him, reassure him."
Felix found it in himself to snort at the audacity of the suggestion. "Yeah, because nothing will make him feel more safe during the worst day of his life than a butterfly coming through his window to capitalize on it."
Her sad groan was muffled by the cushions, and he could see her fists pathetically and limply beating the sofa. "I wasn't going to akumatize him!" Her demeanour shifted, still worried, still grim, but more shy and bashful as she swept her hair over her blushing cheeks. "Just… You know, put the butterfly there in case he wanted to talk or just wanted to know I was there for him."
"You're really fucked in the head, you know that?"
It was the most simple, straight up fact in the universe.
She wasn't offended, just bothered by the repetition. "We've already been over this."
"And yet the lesson never seems to sink in for you." Felix sighed before daring to take his treasured beverage closer to the mad woman.
She didn't move, just scowling up at him with her cheeks puffed out. "You're awfully calm about this."
"I'm always calm." Felix shot back smoothly. "I'm not going to get emotional in front of you of all people."
Of course he was worried about Adrien. Of course, he wished he could make it all go away. But they had a plan, and they had a duty to see it through; and that plan inevitably included exposing the fraudulent heroes. There would always be collateral damage, it was unavoidable. He wasn't at peace with that, but he knew how to hide it well.
He brought the mug to his lips, taking a satisfied sip that ended with him slapping his lips together. "And like I said, this was inevitable; I've had all the prep time I need to grit my teeth and bare it."
"Geez, you're so cold." Lila whined. "It's a wonder you can use the peacock at all."
"I'm a miracle worker, I know."
"He probably feels like complete shit right now. All these people being so horrible to him." She turned on her side, curling up into a ball with her eyes drawn together like she was going to cry. It was a pathetic sight for the great terror/revolutionary of Paris. "I just wish I could hug him and tell him everything's gonna blow over… And if it doesn't, I'll stop anyone from mistreating him ever again…"
She was staring into space as she made her swears, that mad glint returning to her eyes that she had whenever Adrien was involved. Felix didn't understand her obsession with Adrien at all. The boy was the most unassuming, milk-toast nobody with a pretty face you could find. The man was almost a literal ken doll. Yet his cousin was the one constant she wouldn't let slide, that constantly brought complication to ever step she took.
Her outbursts regarding Adrien were a constant tonal whiplash, changing from insanely dorky sighs of dreamy affection to spiteful diatribes of the mentally insane on a dime. The only thing stopping Felix from intervening was that, by this point, he was pretty sure he knew that Lila would sooner slit her own throat than harm Adrien, even with her antics.
Suddenly, she shot up with a grin, which was probably the worst case scenario. "Ooo, I have an idea!"
Before a word could be said, she scrambled out of the room.
With a heavy sigh, Felix placed his tea down and, as calmly as he could, retrieved his phone. He shouldn't be expected to do this, but somehow he'd found himself as the unofficial Lila watcher. A few beeps past and a nasally, greasy voice reached his ears.
"Hey, Weevil?" Felix nodded along with Weevil's reply. "Yeah, it's Argos, tell Chalot that Chrysalis is probably going to do something stupid soon."
A beat passed. Weevil had a query.
"Yes, probably stupider than vaguely threatening the population over the tv."
His head snapped to Nathalie, sweat trickling down his nose and giving way to desperate eyes. "You didn't know, right?" He slapped his hand over his head, laughing as if the very idea was ridiculous. "You were his assistant, you were with him every minute of the day, you'd… You'd have to have noticed something, wouldn't you? The only person who'd have seen him more would be Mayura."
A beat passed and his shoulders dropped, and suddenly Nathalie with blue skin and a matching dress looked so perfectly fitting he didn't know how he couldn't have seen it before.
Adrien slipped off his seat, falling into a wobbly and uneven stance. "He forced you, right?" His voice was so quiet, so weak as he stepped towards her. The light of the window perfectly framing his desperate eyes. "He used an akuma to mess with your mind, right? He manipulated you into doing his dirty work, right?"
Adrien's voice cracked, each word laced with desperation as he stared at Nathalie. His entire being screamed for her to fix it, to make the pieces of his shattered world fit back together. He needed her to say it wasn't true, to tell him the nightmare wasn't real.
"You couldn't have known all this time and kept it from me," Adrien pleaded, his breath hitching. "You couldn't have seen him unleash all this horror and stood by him." His voice quavered, and he ran a trembling hand through his hair, his golden locks falling messily into his face. "It… it just doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense."
"Nathalie... Answer me... Please..." He waited there, frozen in denial and fear, hanging onto her answer. And he would wait for an eternity for her to explain it away. She could tell him to close his eyes to reality, to deny everything around him, she could just tell him 'magic' and he'd believe her without a second thought. All she had to do was tell him it was all wrong, that his world wasn't crumbling before his eyes.
And maybe she had an excuse ready and equipped. She had to have been planning for this day for years, had to have imagined this scene and how it would play out. But whatever answer she held on her lips, whatever desire to protect herself, it died, swallowed whole by a truth too overwhelming to be put back to bed after being woken up.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
The words were so quiet, so fragile, yet they echoed in Adrien's ears like the toll of a funeral bell. His heart stopped for a beat, then sank, dragging him down with it. Those three simple words shattered the fragile hope he had clung to, leaving nothing but the cold, unrelenting truth in its place.
Adrien staggered backward, his chest heaving as the room spun around him. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "No… no, you don't mean that. You can't mean that."
But Nathalie didn't deny it. She didn't offer him a lie, or even a hollow reassurance. She just stood there, silent, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Adrien's breathing quickened as he stumbled back another step, his hands shaking uncontrollably. His mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn't control. His gaze darted from Nathalie's face to the floor, to the window, anywhere but her eyes, as if avoiding her could somehow change what she had said. But her words—I'm sorry, Sir—replayed in his head, louder each time, echoing and taunting him.
"This team… this mission… this identity…" Adrien's voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand emotions. His fists clenched at his sides as he stared at the ground, his words tumbling out like a confession he hadn't prepared to make. "Everything I built, I did it for them. For you. To make you all proud, to prove that I was more than just a burden."
But he never did, did he? Adrien was never enough for Gabriel. Chat Noir was never enough for Ladybug. For a time he allowed himself to believe that the guy in between was enough for Marinette, but he wasn't. He wasn't good enough for her trust. He was an idiot, he was a bastard, he was so worthless that she probably thought he couldn't handle the truth without screwing everything up.
Adrien. Chat Noir. Catwalker. It didn't matter what identity he took up, he was only good for being a sidekick.
He looked up, his eyes glistening with tears that threatened to spill over but didn't. "I did this because they were everything that was right with the world," he continued, his voice cracking under the strain. "And I wanted to follow their example. To make sure no other innocent needed to sacrifice themselves like Marinette and Father did."
Adrien's chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, but his legs felt weak, his knees threatening to give out. His voice rose, trembling with anger and despair, as his gaze finally locked on Nathalie. "If you knew all this time, then what the hell was all this for?"
The room fell into a suffocating silence. The sunlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the floor, but Adrien felt as though the walls were closing in on him. Every second that passed without an answer felt like another betrayal, another blow to the fragile foundation he had built his life on.
He took a step toward her, his face a portrait of raw vulnerability. "Why did you let me believe in him?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. "Why did you let me look up to him? To think he was a hero? Why didn't you stop him?"
Adrien's voice broke on the last word, and he stopped, his hands falling limply to his sides. He didn't know if he wanted an explanation, an apology, or even just an acknowledgment that she had made a mistake. He didn't know what he wanted anymore—except, perhaps, to wake up and find that this was all some terrible dream.
Nathalie didn't answer immediately. She just stood there, silent, her expression a mixture of guilt, regret, and something else Adrien couldn't quite place. Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but no words came out.
"For… For you." Nathalie admitted in an ashamed whisper. "You already lost your mother, if I took away your father, you'd have no one left."
"I would have had you!" He cried out, spit and tears flying off into the wall. "I would have had someone who loved me, and trusted me, and respected me. Someone who didn't hate me so much they'd keep this from me."
Adrien turned his back to her, running his hands through his hair as if trying to physically keep himself together. "I thought… I thought I was doing something good," he said, his voice barely audible. "I thought I was protecting people, making the world better. But now I don't even know who I am anymore."
He paused, his shoulders slumping, his head hanging low. "How can I be a hero," he whispered, "if the people I trusted to teach me what that means were never heroes themselves?"
"Marinette was a hero." Tikki pipped up, her and Plagg hovering in the corner of the room. "One mistake doesn't change that."
"Mistake!?" Adrien never thought there'd be a moment in his life as low as lashing out at a kwami. "Is that what I am now? Or, or, or is the mistake just getting caught?"
Tikki floated closer, her tiny hands raised as if she could somehow physically piece Adrien back together. "Adrien, please, you have to understand," she said, her voice gentle but trembling. "Marinette loved you. She only kept the truth from you because she thought it was best for you—"
Adrien's head snapped up, his eyes blazing with anger. "That wasn't her fucking decision to make!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the room like a thunderclap. Tikki recoiled, her expression twisting with hurt and regret, but Adrien didn't stop. His chest heaved; his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. "F-F-Funny how everyone's so interested in what's best for me but never wants to actually include me in it. What, so I'm just some… Some thing to be handled? A problem to be solved?"
Tikki opened her mouth to respond, but Plagg darted in front of her, holding out a paw. "Tikki, that's enough," he said sharply, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "You're not helping."
"But Plagg—" Tikki protested, her voice pleading, only to be silenced by a stern look from the black kwami.
"Tikki, stop." Plagg said, quieter this time. "You're making it worse."
Plagg floated closer to Adrien, his green eyes softening. "Kid…" he started, his tone low and cautious.
Adrien laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Don't. Don't call me that. Don't pretend like you care." He gestured wildly, his movements erratic, barely controlled. "You knew, didn't you? You all knew. Who else did? Can't forget that Lila and her cronies know."
"Felix and Kagami knew." Plagg admitted, much to Tikki's displeasure. "They were the ones who told Pigtails during the Nighttormentor attack."
It was just blow after blow. He didn't have any expectations of Felix left, but damn did it still sting. And how could Kagami do this to him too? "Marinette knew who Monarch was before the final fight." He meant it as a question, but it slipped out as a cold statement. "She didn't tell me. She didn't call for back-up."
The silent implication hung in the air, an anchor bound to his waist to make sure he properly drowns. Before Monarch's final akuma, Marinette had already decided that she was going to cover everything up. Regardless of what Gabriel did in the chamber, she'd already made her choice to throw Chat and Adrien to the wayside.
Adrien spun around, his face twisted with a mix of fury and anguish. "Did Nino know? Oh, I bet Marinette had no problem telling Alya, did she? Oooo, ooo, fucking Luka probably knows. He knows everything." His voice cracked, but the raw emotion in his words was unmistakable. "Everyone around me knew who my father really was. What Marinette was hiding. And not one of them thought I deserved to know."
"Adrien, it's not like that," Tikki tried again, her voice cracking. "They… They didn't want to hurt you."
Adrien let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Hurt me? Hurt me?" He gestured to himself, his face flushed and his eyes wet with unshed tears. "What the hell do you think this is?!"
Nathalie took a hesitant step forward, her voice soft but trembling. "Adrien… please, I need you to listen. I—"
"No." Adrien's voice was sharp and cold, cutting through her words like a knife. He lifted his head to glare at her, his eyes red and brimming with fury. "I've heard enough. I don't want to hear another excuse, another apology, or another explanation. Not from you."
"Adrien, I only ever—" she began, desperation lacing her tone.
"Stop!" he barked, standing abruptly, his voice booming in the quiet room. "Just stop. You don't get to justify this. You don't get to spin this into some noble sacrifice or 'for my own good' bullshit. You helped him. You stood by while he destroyed people's lives, while he tore apart everything I thought I could believe in. You turned around and told me he was a hero with a fucking smile on your face. And you expect me to what? Forgive you? Understand?"
Nathalie froze, her lips parted, but no words came out. She looked at him with wide, stricken eyes, her usually composed demeanour crumbling under the weight of his accusations.
"You're scum," Adrien said, his voice low and venomous, each word hitting like a blow. "I can't even look at you without feeling sick."
"Adrien—"
"Get out," he said, cutting her off again, his voice trembling now but still firm. "You're fired. I don't care what you do, where you go, or what happens to you. Just get out of my house. Get out of my life. I never want to see your face again."
Her breath hitched, and she took a step back as if his words had physically struck her. "I—"
"I said leave!" Adrien roared, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His entire body shook with rage and pain, his voice cracking under the sheer force of his emotions. "Get out before I do what Ladybug should have done!"
Nathalie's shoulders slumped, her gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, she lingered, as if hoping he might relent, might give her some small shred of forgiveness. But the look in his eyes told her there was nothing left to salvage.
Without another word, she turned and walked toward the door. Each step felt like an eternity, the sound of her heels against the floor echoing in the oppressive silence. At the threshold, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder, her expression a mix of regret and sorrow.
Adrien didn't even look at her. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched, his entire body rigid with the effort of holding himself together. It was only Tikki who went after her, leaving Plagg and Adrien to their devices.
When the door finally clicked shut behind her, he let out a shuddering breath and sank back onto the couch. His hands covered his face, his fingers digging into his skin as if he could claw away the emotions threatening to drown him.
Plagg floated cautiously closer, his tiny form uncharacteristically still. "Kid," he said softly, his voice tinged with a rare note of sympathy. "I… I swear I told her it was wrong. I fought for you as hard as a kwami could. If it wasn't for that stupid command, no one would have been able to stop me from spilling all over you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I just…" He seemed to hesitate, tensing up as if waiting for a punch, before continuing. "There's some answers I can't give you. I just want to make sure you know that, if I'm holding out on you, it's under some serious protest.
Plagg offered him a little smile, the sadness in his gaze barely hidden. "I've always got your back, kid. No matter what."
Adrien's breath hitched and, wordlessly, he reached for the little furry gremlin, bringing Plagg to his cheek to embrace him. Plagg was in his corner no matter what, and no amount of lies could change that.
"Is there anything else that Marinette forbid you from telling me?"
Plagg let out a heavy sigh and Adrien could already feel his insides shrivelling at the prospect that it could get worse. "Just one thing, Kid."
"I guess I'll be finding that out at the worst time too."
"And I'll be by your side when you do." Plagg stated firmly. "You and me, we're stuck together; until the end."
Official statement from the office of Mayor Caline Bustier:
In a few months it will have been a year since Ladybug's death. She was lured into a cruel execution by the cries of a child in need.
Since that day the sun has yet to rise on Paris without violent weather strangling out any of its light. Our people have been kidnapped and replaced with monsters, our heroes have attacked the very people they were supposed to protect, Monarch's malevolence now poisons our city's soil and rises up to attack us… And that brings us to today.
In life, I had the privilege of knowing both Ladybug and Marinette Dupain Cheng. I have so many memories of the ways this girl would help the people around her both in and out of costume, how she drew people to her, inspired people, even with her clumsy antics and obsessive tendencies. It was easy to accept that Marinette was the girl behind Ladybug's mask.
But now, those memories have been tainted, and I'm not sure if they can be trusted.
Ladybug… Marinette… She lied to us all. She willingly allied herself with the man who terrorized us all for four years, and not only covered up his crimes, but tricked us into celebrating him as a hero. It is corruption, plain and simple.
This is not the girl I knew, not the girl I taught and not the girl who saved me countless times and championed truth and justice. But… Perhaps that was just another mask we all fell for.
Masks are such a romantic thing, the staple of all superheroes. They make us feel safe, make us feel that hero could be any one of us. However, masks are what allowed all of this to happen. We don't know for sure what Marinette intended when she committed these deeds, whether it be selfish or noble intent, but one thing is clear…
For too long we have been forced to allow teenage vigilantes with unfathomable power to run wild without oversight. Yesterday we paid for it when countless people faced the potential destruction of a Chat Noir with no control.
With the creation of the Miraculous Task Force, we no longer have any excuse to continue tolerating this flagrant breech of justice and ever-present danger.
Which is why, in my hand, I hold a signed warrant for the arrest of every miraculous holder in Paris.
Whether you knew of Ladybug's deception or not, we request that you turn yourselves and your miraculous in. You will only be held for a brief investigation, but so long as you cooperate you will be allowed to leave without a charge.
Those of you who do not comply will be considered armed and dangerous in the eyes of the law.
I know that this is difficult, but we are all neighbours here, and together we can overcome any crisis.
Next Time: Breaking Point
It was almost comical, the way Chalot had to stretch out across the seats of the transport to stop himself from banging his head against the roof. Made him look like an adult trying to ride one of those coin-activated kids rides you'd find in a mall. Adrien liked focusing on that detail, it amused him, distracted him for a short while. He knew he wouldn't like any of the answers he was going to get, and just asking the questions themselves were going to leave a void in his chest.
But he had to bite the bullet some time.
"My father did that to you, didn't he?" Adrien gestured to Chalot's whole being. Of course, Adrien could directly say that he was referring to Colt's transformation into the corpse of Defect, but he thought the faked injuries could be an easy substitute.
"Yes." Chalot answered simply. He made an effort to meet Adrien's gaze instead of trying to avoid it. Adrien really wished he wouldn't.
Adrien breathed in and out, trying to steady himself against the raging waves of emotions within. "All this time... You knew all this time."
"It took us this long to repair the footage." The answer was instant, direct and concise. It was weird not to have the man dance around it. Adrien had come to expect everyone to layer their responses in distractions these days. "We would have been laughed off as conspiracy theorists without it."
"And it just so conveintly lined up with your marketing campaign." Adrien spat out bitterly.
"It would line up no matter the time, but yes, it does immensly help getting the public on our side." Again, direct response, no trying to deny the grime staining him. "Would you have preferred it if we kept it a secret?"
"No." Adrien's resposne was quicker than intended. "I... I just wish someone would have prepared me for it."
Chalot brushed his thumb over his forehead. "Yeah, it's a shitty day to be you. Sorry about that."
"May I ask why my father did this to you?"
A bitter laugh that made the mechanical undertone all the more obvious. "I'd like to know that myself, Kid."