World On Fire: No More Heroes

by DrTwit

Marinette never thought there'd come a time where her only ally was Hawkmoth, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Three years after his death, Gabriel Agreste awakens to a Paris ruled by akumas and no heroes left to defend it. To save his son, and perhaps even his soul, he must team up with his arch nemesis, Ladybug, to save a future built by their mistakes.

46. Smile For The Camera

Present

Gabriel was no stranger to a cell.

His first state of confinement was the old cupboard in the kitchen. In their house, his father didn't want to waste money or a chair on a naughty chair, so they decided to stuff Gabbi in the back with the pasta and bread when he needed to think about why he acted out that day. It was a small space that smelled of damp mould, and it became particularly uncomfortable when Gabbi shot up in height at an early age.

The second memory was a proper holding cell he'd been thrown in for defacing public property. As a young punk, he thought himself clever and figured that the most anti-establishment gesture he could perform was dump a bucket of mouldy cheese on whoever was the mayor at the time from atop city hall. The building was being rebuilt at the time.

He would have been a hero if it wasn't for him slipping on that one tiny patch of ice, plunged over the side of the roof, got stuck on one of the construction workers' pullies, brought the rest of the scaffolding down and, to cap it off, got splashed with cheese. Honestly, for that humiliation alone he thought he shouldn't have gotten charged; it wasn't like he successfully cheese'd the mayor anyway.

The third one he remembered clearly was the old De Vile prison – an abandoned property that became the subject of many elaborate legends and ghost stories in Gabriel's neighbourhood. He'd entered at the behest of a group of upper-class delinquents; of which one of them was Emilie. In Gabriel's mind, he didn't consider this as meeting or knowing Emilie before that encounter at 18 years of age.

Yes, whenever her family visited Paris for the summer, she frequented the neighbourhood with her friends, but he never talked to her directly, he never knew her. His closest interactions with her usually consisted of her friends playing rotten pranks on him and the rest of the 'peasants'.

Now, you might wonder then why Gabriel would be dumb enough to let them lead him into the haunted prison. It was… A time where Gabriel really needed any money he could get his hands on, even the pitiful amount of euros the group of snobs bet on him being unable to last ten minutes in the haunted prison. Naturally, the moment he stepped foot inside, they locked him in and left him there to rot until a police officer found him the next morning, investigating a noise complaint.

Honestly, compared to the other cells he'd been in, the prison hadn't been as uncomfortable. It had ample room, nobody to bother him and, at the time, he didn't put enough stock in ghost stories to let the atmosphere stop him from curling up and drawing the various outfits he'd wear as the king of Paris in his head.

Bob Roth's prison facilities were quaint. They weren't lavish by any means, but it felt more like someone just put a couple of bars to break up a normal room instead of an actual cell. He'd awoken to the freezing cold, staring up into a torrent of water streaming down on him from a pipe positioned just above his head. Under him was a thin mattress, around him were posters of Bob Roth in an old school police outfit telling him that 'Winners Don't End Up In The Clink'.

The water stopped after a minute, so he assumed that it was an intentional wake up call. And his first thought was that he didn't want to think about where that water was coming from, so instead he battled a moaning headache to think back to his last memory.

It was a blur as he watched Marinette disappear out the door, most of Roth's forces taking off after her while a select few stayed behind to grab him. He wasn't given a chance to do any thing but gasp before he was slammed to the floor, listening to Juleka's screams before a cloth came over his mouth and, with one sniff, he was out cold.

He pressed himself flat against the bars, trying to gleam all he could from his limited position. The outside looked like the backroom of an underserviced nightclub, a boxy room with only on exit up a set of stairs that ran too far for Gabriel to see the end. A moody pink giant lava lamp from above was the primary light source in the room, hanging over a lush, furry carpet that joined their cell to the set of cages on the other side of the room.

Other than that, there was a terminal on the nearest wall that connected to multiple cables that ducked into the cells, and two tables set up; one with boxes of equipment and the other with some empty glasses and discarded playing cards. Gabriel assumed that this was where their guards were supposed to sit. Not much information for him to use there.

Free from his more distracting thoughts, Gabriel could finally open his ears and listen, finding the most prominent sound in the room to be sobbing. Sobbing coming from right beside him to be specific.

Juleka was, in the politest way possible, a complete mess. She'd pressed herself into the farthest corner she could find, her knees pulled up to her chest and most of her front sheltered by her wild, mishandled hair. The only movement was jittering shudders of pain with every loud sob and sniffle she made.

"How long have you been up?" Gabriel asked curiously, as if the girl wasn't falling to pieces before his very eyes. "Did the guards say anything when they threw us in here?"

She visibly stiffened at his voice, which told Gabriel that she probably hadn't noticed him up and about. One hand came up to part her fringe, revealing dull, red-rimmed eyes staring up at him. "They didn't knock me out…" She murmured, so quiet Gabriel had to lean over to hear her. "Not a threat."

Ah, he thought, that's a start.

He pushed off the bars, dropping down low to crouch in front of her, much to the girl's surprise and dismay. "Good." His hands came together eagerly. "What did you see?"

She seemed so taken aback by his sudden interest that, temporarily, he knocked away her stream of tears. "Huh?"

His brows furrowed. What was there to be confused about? "It's a simple question." He told her, bearing a deflated 'are you kidding me?' look. When she only silently stared back at him in confused, he groaned and, in his most 'polite' voice, slowly continued. "What did you see on our way here? Guard placements? Exits? Security? How far from each room to the exit? Details, details."

Red-Rimmed eyes flickered over him for a moment, as if looking for a joke in his honest questioning. "I wasn't looking at anything" She spluttered. "I was thinking that I was about to be killed!"

Gabriel's eyes became downcast, his lips making a disappointed 'tch' sound. "If they were going to kill you, they would have executed you at the tower." He said way to casually, like one would correct someone on misunderstanding their homework. "There's no value to making an event out of your death."

Juleka stared at him, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. Her back pressed harder into the corner, as if she could somehow will herself through the walls and away from the man crouched in front of her. "What is wrong with you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, his face a mask of detached irritation. "What is wrong wi—Hello?" He gestured around the cell dramatically. "We're imprisoned by a mad tyrant, and god knows what torture awaits us. I'm trying to plot an escape. Or is that too much of a stretch for your limited imagination?"

Juleka's hands balled into fists at her sides. "I-I'm not stupid…"

"Oh, please," Gabriel sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "You lack so much creativity that the only akuma I could make out of you was a villain who gave people ugly makeovers. Ugly makeovers, Juleka. That's how uninspired you are. And even then, I had to give you sentimonsters to make you remotely effective."

"S-Shut up!" Juleka's voice cracked as she shot him a look of wounded disbelief. "You don't get to say that to me. You don't know anything about me!"

Gabriel let out a long, exaggerated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was dealing with a particularly difficult child. "I know enough to see that you'll be useless to me, and any further conversation is just a distraction. So unless you plan on contributing, I'd suggest you save your breath."

Juleka recoiled like he'd slapped her, her face contorting with anger and despair. "God, you don't have an empathetic bone in your body, do you?"

Gabriel's gaze flicked back to her, cool and unaffected. "Oh, I assure you," he said with an icy smirk, "I'm the most empathetic person in the world. And all your emotions do is vex me."

Juleka's voice rose in desperation, cracking as she spoke. "Marinette and Alec could be dead! The resistance could be—could be gone! And pretty soon, we're gonna be dead, or abandoned, or tortured, or—or chopped up into a million little pieces!" Her breaths were laboured, haggard and filled with sniffling. "Don't you get that? This—this is all a little overwhelming for me, and most of the human race. So why don't you show a little fucking compassion?"

"Oh, is that what you want, hmm?" Gabriel's lip curled into a disdainful sneer, crouching down before her so she could feel the disgust radiating from his eyes up close and person. "You want a pat on the head? Want me to tell you that you're a good girl who can do anything? Want me to cozy up to you and regurgitate some brainless platitudes about how 'valid' your feelings are until we can all have a nice little cry together?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Or should we just cut out all the formalities and skip straight to snivelling in the corner for the next few days while our jailer comes up with delightful new ways to make us scream?"

Juleka's mouth opened, but no words came out. Which was almost the same as her speaking, the girl had devolved into such rapid murmuring that Gabriel couldn't glimpse her voice even if she actually had something to say.

"Compassion," Gabriel continued, his voice cold and sharp, "isn't going to serve us a damn thing. Placating your emotions is a luxury we cannot afford. Every second wasted on indulging your panic is a second we lose to plan an escape. So no, I'm not going to hold your hand or validate your breakdown. Get it together or stay out of my way."

Juleka's wide, alarmed eyes stared back at him, her body trembling as if the temperature in the room had dropped to freezing. For a moment, Gabriel felt the tiniest flicker of regret—barely even a spark—but he quickly buried it under the weight of his own logic.

In his head, however, he couldn't help but lament, Marinette would've been much more productive to talk to. She wouldn't waste time crying in a corner or complaining about his lack of tact. She would've been cataloguing every detail, running through escape plans, already halfway to a solution. She'd have drawn a damn map by now.

Alas, he had to accept that he was on his own in this.

Gabriel sighed heavily, rising to his feet. "Stay there if you want. But if you're not going to help, at least have the decency to stay out of my way." He turned his attention back to the terminal, tuning out the soft, broken sobs coming from the corner.

Juleka's disgusted whisper cut through the air like a knife. "I don't know how Marinette vouches for you, you're every bit the monster everyone knows you are."

Gabriel's smirk returned, colder and sharper than ever. "Damn right I am," he said, his voice almost daring her to challenge him further. "You know what being a 'decent' human being got me? It got me beatings. It got me spat on. It got me curled up in the corner of a muddy street under the rain, fighting off tears and hypothermia." His voice grew sharper, his words cutting with the bitterness of old wounds.

"You know what being a monster got me?" He stood up straighter, his presence looming. "It got me a life. It got me respect. It got me a wife, a son, a purpose. And all the power in the world to keep them safe."

Juleka's lips trembled, but her voice came out steady, laced with contempt. "Yeah? And where's that family now? And all that power and respect?" She glared at him, her voice growing louder, bolder. "Because it looks to me like you lost all that because you're a monster."

Gabriel's jaw clenched, the faintest flicker of something—pain, regret, rage—flashing in his eyes before he buried it beneath his usual cold composure. "I lost everything because I wasn't good enough."

Juleka's expression darkened, her voice dropping to a quiet, venomous tone. "You say it like that's a different thing."

The words landed with precision, cutting deeper than either of them wanted to admit. Gabriel's face remained unreadable, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. "I'm done with this conversation," he said, his tone low and final. "Either make yourself useful or make yourself quiet." He turned away from her, focusing his attention back on the problem at hand.

He paused for a moment, his voice dropping to an icy whisper as if to himself. "I'll bust us out of here on my own if I need to, and I won't even ask for your gratitude."

Juleka let out a low rasp, shielding her eyes from him, the mere sight making her too frustrated to breathe. "You're not going to do anything. Don't you get it? We're trapped."

Gabriel's head lolled back, mimicking a choking noise in favour of a simple groan. "With that winning attitude of yours it's a wonder that you haven't gotten any further in life."

"Our only hope is waiting for the resistance to spring us."

Oh. Hand on heart Gabriel had to hold himself steady, grit his teeth and stop himself from bursting out laughing. This girl really was just too stupid.

"The resistance?" Lips trembled and a howl escaped despite his best efforts. "They're not coming."

"You don't know that!" She cried out.

Fist met the bars, bringing a metallic reverb into the cell that roared like an industrial hell beast. Ah, loud noises seemed to drown out her empty chatter, he'd have to use that more often.

Turning towards her, the creak of Gabriel's bones was almost audible, making every motion profoundly stiffer. The smile he offered her was anything but kind, there was only bile and irritation painted over with manners. "Assume that our escapees managed to make it back to them, I assure you that your people's first response was to run."

He leaned back on his hips, gripping his chin as he squinted at his own words. "I don't mean that as an insult, really. It's only pragmatic. How could you justify sacrificing your men and risking all the people in your community to rescue two random people?"

Juleka's lip curled, and her fists tightened at her sides. "We're not random. They wouldn't abandon us," she spat, though her voice betrayed her flicker of doubt.

Gabriel's smirk widened, and his eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. "Oh, you're not random?" he repeated mockingly. "Then tell me, what makes you so special? What makes you worth killing your loved ones for?" He leaned closer, his words barely above a whisper now. "Because from where I'm standing, I see very little."

Juleka's voice trembled with indignation as she snapped, "I'm Jagged Stone's daughter."

Gabriel paused, raising an eyebrow, his expression frozen for a moment before it twisted into a smirk. "Oh, so that makes you more valuable than everyone else?" he drawled, his voice laced with biting sarcasm. "What am I saying? You're absolutely right. Little Suzy and her family—who might have their only home raided, their lives upended, and a bullet waiting for them in some ditch—don't matter. Because you're related to someone important, so naturally, your life holds infinitely more weight."

"That's not what I meant!" Juleka protested, her voice rising with frustration and shame.

Gabriel snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "Face it: I'm the most killable man in the world, and you're just some gloomy grunt. Neither of us is worth anyone's neck on the chopping block." He gestured dramatically. "They're not risking their lives for us. Not for me. Not for you."

Juleka's eyes narrowed, and she squared her shoulders. "What about Marinette?"

The name hit Gabriel like a jolt of electricity. His smirk faltered, replaced by a moment of quiet contemplation. Finally, he exhaled, the sound long and weary. "Marinette is an idiot," he said plainly, the words tumbling out with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Of course, she'll come. She'll get it into her head to save us on her own. Probably drag Jagged along, too. And they'll enact some harebrained scheme to break in here."

He tilted his head, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Which is why it is so vital that we escape first," he added, his voice carrying an urgent edge. "Because if we don't, those two will waltz right into the lion's den and get themselves killed."

Juleka hesitated, studying him with wary eyes. "You actually sound like you care," she muttered, though disbelief coloured her tone.

Gabriel scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I care about results," he shot back. "And Marinette is… useful. A rarity among you sentimental fools." He turned away, muttering more to himself than to her. "If I have to play the role of the hero just to keep her alive, so be it. At least she's not dead weight."

Juleka stared at him, her mind reeling from the whiplash of his words. She couldn't decide if his motivations disgusted her more or if the faint trace of concern hidden beneath his pragmatism unsettled her the most. Either way, she clutched her arms tightly and rolled back into the shade of the corner, blocking herself off from the man.

The silence was welcome. Gave time for his brain to breathe and let him sink into the comfortable distractions of queries and theories, ideas streaming in like water and then sticking to his fingers in clumps of mishappen sand. Though, hesitantly, he would admit that he didn't enjoy the sound of his own voice enough for the isolation of thought to be preferable.

Contrary to what he'd have people believed; he did prefer to have someone to talk to. It's just that most of the population were worthless speakers, only able to spew empty words and contractual niceties. He wouldn't get anything productive from the likes of Juleka, at the very best he'd get her just shutting him down, both because they were incompatible and because she didn't want to talk so much as vent, and she was too cowardly to stand against him in any substantial way.

As much as he hated to say it, his arch nemesis was an adequate speaking partner. The bug knew how to take both his points and his attacks and hold steady, whether it be beating him back with snark or drawing from his thoughts to create a discussion (under protest). It was… Comfortable to have someone to bounce ideas with, someone he didn't have to dumb down his speech or filter through sensitivity to keep the conversation going.

Back in the day, he and Emilie didn't really talk much. Not to each other. Emilie would say a lot, but the only input she'd want from him is encouragement. He was fine with that, he loved listening to her talk, but it was never a conversation, a discussion, it was a one-sided trade. The only person he truly allowed himself to stretch his social muscles with, who could engage with him in a way he could be comfortable with was-

"That's an interesting look, Sir." Her voice was so close, so accurate to his mind that he could almost trick himself into believing she was standing right there. "Though I do believe the fashion industry would consider it a crime."

Releasing his breath, he let himself be tricked by his mind. Nathalie was there, on the other side of the bars, a figment of his mind, but still as beautiful as the day he left her behind. She looked towards him curiously, her eyes undecided. What would Nathalie see when she looked at him now? Would she still see Monarch? Or just the pathetic shell left behind?

Her head cocked to the side, a disapproving gaze sweeping over the direction of Juleka. "I see that your manners are still abysmal. Did making the girl cry really serve any purpose other than making you feel superior?"

"You think I care if she's hurt?" He snarled, and he assumed he only did that in his head, otherwise Juleka was going to be very confused.

"If you didn't, you wouldn't have me comment on it." Even under the influence of his desperation, she remained behind the bars, out of reach, staring him down with a slight wrinkle to indicate a frown in her stoic mask. "Even in your own mind, you can't help but have me point it out. Interesting."

Gabriel's hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He wanted to snarl at her, to banish the illusion. But he couldn't. He didn't want to. Even as his mind betrayed him, conjuring this spectre to twist the knife, it was still Nathalie.

Still, her gaze remained steady, the faint trace of a frown softening her usual stoicism. For a moment, neither spoke, and Gabriel let the silence linger, holding onto the illusion for just a little longer. He hated this version of her glasses, they were incomplete, with the lens so dark that he could not see her eyes. He couldn't see what was going on behind it all, only his reflection in her glasses.

Her head turned in synch with the sound of footsteps reaching his ears. A group of men who wasted their money on expensive suits, playing wannabe gangsters that clashed with their mad biker haircuts. The lead two already looked like the most annoying, one rocking the plush red suit and colour-coordinated mohawk, the other left with a white striped suit and completely bereft of hair. It was like someone looked at a mafia movie and decided the Godfather needed to look more like a punk rock band.

Gabriel didn't care what their names were, he was calling them Thing #1 and Thing #2.

Thing #1 came in skating, stopping a little way away just to hop in front of the cell, and letting out an agonizing wolf howl. Because despite obviously being close to Gabriel in age, the man really had to be one those assholes. "Gabriel Agreste, the big celebrity himself." And his voice was just a nasally as Gabriel expected.

Thing 2 slipped by, catching himself on the bars and looking Gabriel over with a cheeky laugh. "I'd ask for an autograph, but I didn't bring a pen."

1 bared his crooked teeth, the entire bottom row replaced with golden molars, and cast a glance over at Juleka. Nathalie gave Gabriel a pointed look over the thug's shoulders and Gabriel instinctively moved to block Juleka from view. "I see you're already making friends with your cell mate." The man's hand shot through the gap, grabbing Gabriel by the arm. "But I'm afraid we have to break it up."

Gabriel kept his face blank, feeling tired just looking at this motley crew of twitchy, energetic jackasses. "Is that so?"

A metal screech announced the cell door being slid open, Thing 2 standing by to usher Gabriel through. "Yeah, man, the big boss wants to see you personally." His voice was rougher than 1's, sounding more like he was still recovering from someone punching him in the throat.

The gang behind them erupted into dramatic 'oooo's, 1 capping it off with an impressed whistle as he yanked Gabriel on through. "Big opportunity for you, big G." Gabriel was flung and spun around until he ended up sandwiched between the two, both sets of hands digging their fingers into his collar. "I'm jealous."

"But the Big Man likes to keep things classy." Thing 2's hand drew down Gabriel's front, tugging on the dirty remains of Marinette's modified elf costume. "So, we gotta clean you off first and get you a suit."

Gabriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the two buffoons manhandled him through the narrow corridor. The sheer absurdity of these cartoonish criminals was almost enough to distract him from the dire situation at hand. Almost.

Thing #1's gold teeth gleamed under the dim lights, and his mohawk swayed like a ridiculous beacon of poor life choices. Thing #2, meanwhile, had a grin so wide and greasy that Gabriel wondered if he'd mistaken his face for a carnival attraction.

As they dragged him up the steps, Gabriel caught sight of his reflection in the polished steel lining the walls. His hair was dishevelled, his face gaunt, and the remnants of Marinette's handiwork barely held together on his frame. Behind him, Juleka's pale face peeked through the bars of their shared cell, her lips pressed tightly together in a mix of fear and anger.

Nathalie's imagined presence lingered over his shoulders, her glasses catching the light in a way that once again obscured her eyes. "Don't let them make a fool of you," the phantom Nathalie murmured, her voice clipped and precise. "You've survived worse than these clowns."

Gabriel's jaw tightened. He didn't need her—real or imagined—reminding him of that.

The stairs led into an open lobby where the rest of the thugs sat around smoking and drinking, the latter half opened into a pit where a few of the men gathered around an unfortunate victim that was bloodied and beaten on the floor. Either it was the end of a 'friendly' brawl, or an abused prisoner; Gabriel didn't dedicate time to finding out.

Gabriel's mind shifted gears as soon as the cell door had slammed shut behind him. The corridor stretched ahead, lined with flickering lights and grimy concrete walls. His lips pressed into a firm line as he forced his body to stumble forward at the pace Thing #1 and Thing #2 dictated, but his eyes darted over every detail. He wasn't going to be stuck here any longer than necessary.

The floor was a patchwork of cracked tiles, and water dripped steadily from somewhere above, pooling near the edge of the hallway where the grout was eroded. It wasn't just wear and tear—it was neglect. That detail alone told him volumes about these thugs: unpolished, unprofessional, and likely overconfident. The perfect storm of ineptitude.

The faint buzz of conversation reached his ears as they approached a sharp turn. The air carried the acrid smell of smoke and alcohol—cheap whiskey, from the burn it left on the back of his throat. His pulse quickened slightly. The louder the noise, the closer they were to the common area, and common areas meant exits. He wouldn't be able to make it out on this attempt—not yet—but his mental map would be flawless.

They came to a set of stairs leading downward. Gabriel stole a glance over his shoulder as they descended. A faint scuff mark on the railing caught his eye—it seemed recent, suggesting this staircase was frequently used. He made a mental note of that.

The stairs led into an open lobby, where the real chaos began. The room reeked of stale cigarettes and sweat. Men lounged around mismatched couches and rickety tables, laughing and jeering at each other. Most had drinks in hand, and a few were tossing cards onto a table, their faces flushed from either the alcohol or their poorly concealed tempers.

Gabriel's gaze flicked to the pit in the center of the room. It was sunken just a foot or two below the rest of the floor, with chipped railings surrounding it. Several men stood there, circling a bloodied figure crumpled on the ground. A fight. Whether it was a sanctioned bout for their entertainment or the brutalization of a prisoner, he didn't bother guessing.

He forced his attention forward as they cut through the room. The men paid him little attention at first, though a few snickered and made mocking remarks about his state. Gabriel offered no reaction, focusing instead on the doors. Two of them. One reinforced with steel and marked with scratches, the other wooden, almost decorative, with ornate carvings. Escape route, maybe?

As they approached a narrow hallway branching off to the side, Thing #1 and Thing #2 began to pick up the pace. Gabriel barely had time to note the slight tilt of the floor as the hallway sloped downward. The air grew colder, and the dim light gave way to flickering bulbs hanging precariously from loose wires.

And then, without warning, his footing was gone.

"Oops!" Thing #1 cackled as Gabriel felt himself being shoved forward. Thing #2 tugged sharply at his arm, throwing his balance completely off.

His body hit the ground hard, the cold concrete slamming into his knees and elbows. A sharp jolt of pain shot through his shoulder as his palms hit next, barely saving his face from the same fate.

"Sorry about that, bud!" Thing #2 sneered, though his tone made it clear he was anything but.

Gabriel groaned as he forced himself onto his knees, his teeth grinding together. He shot a venomous glare at the two thugs, who were now doubled over in laughter like schoolyard bullies reveling in their juvenile prank.

Thing #1 clicked his tongue, making a show of pulling Gabriel to his feet, only to keep on 'accidentally' dropping him. "Guess we're just a little clumsy."

Eventually, Gabriel found his body yanked up and falling limp and unsteady on Thing #2's shoulder. "See, we've never handled a celebrity before."

"Well, I have." Thing #1 chirped.

His partner paused, narrowing his eyes. "Since when?"

"I was there when we took in the other Couffaine." Thing #1 slapped the man on the back, taking a few tries to remember the name. "The blue one."

Thing #2 blinked. "Did you get his autograph?"

"Nah, but he generously gave me his tooth after he fell over for the sixth time."

Thing #2 rolled his eyes, readjusting Gabriel's weight as they turned down another hallway. "That's cool and all, but Viperion ain't nothing compared to Hawkmoth. Is he?"

The two men exchanged a smirk before declaring in unison, "We're fans. Big fans."

"Yeah, so don't you worry your pretty little head, Sir." Their voices melded together by point, both hissing and slobbering in his ear. "We're gonna give you the star treatment."

Gabriel let out a derisive snort, though he saved his energy for what lay ahead. He could already hear the echo of their footsteps bouncing off stone walls, the air around them growing damper and colder. The hallway opened up into what seemed to be an abandoned shower room, its cracked stone walls and rusted pipes giving off an overwhelming stench of mildew.

Thing #1 tilted his head, giving Gabriel a slow, predatory grin as he cracked his knuckles. "You know, these ugly rags of yours have really got to go."

Gabriel barely had time to process the words before Thing #2 yanked at the collar of his tattered outfit, the seams giving way with a sharp rip. Gabriel stumbled back, his hands instinctively clutching at the fabric, but Thing #1 darted in from the side, tearing away another section of cloth with cruel precision. They moved with a synchronized, brutish efficiency, pulling at the remains of the elf costume as though it were some kind of grotesque sport.

Gabriel snarled, his hands curling into fists, but the two thugs only laughed harder, shoving him between them like a toy. "Easy, big guy," Thing #1 said, yanking off the last shred of the green fabric and tossing it aside like garbage. "Don't want you pulling a muscle."

The cold stone of the shower room floor met him with a jarring thud as they finally threw him down, leaving him sprawled and humiliated, stripped bare. Gabriel's fingers found the remnants of the costume, clutching them as though they were some kind of lifeline. The fabric was soft, even in its ruined state, and as his grip tightened, a strange weight settled in his chest—a loss that was deeper, sharper than the indignity of his situation.

In his mind's eye, Nathalie stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "You hated that outfit," she said, her voice calm, analytical. "Why are you getting sentimental over it now?"

Gabriel didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the scraps of green fabric in his hands, the memory of Marinette's focused expression as she worked on the costume surfacing unbidden. "It was her creation," he said finally, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Marinette's."

Nathalie's brow furrowed, and for a moment, her phantom form seemed to waver. "And that matters because…?"

"It matters because—" Gabriel cut himself off as the two thugs leaned in, their laughter cutting through his thoughts.

A foot kicked him over, letting the two look down his front while his arms were pinned down. Someone wolf whistled. "Well, well," Thing #1 drawled, his gaze roaming over Gabriel with an unsettling leer. "I can see how you managed to keep a gal like Emilie around for so long."

Thing #2 snorted, circling around Gabriel like a vulture. "Yeah, you've still got some mileage left in you. Too bad you're not exactly in high demand these days."

They closed in, their mocking laughter echoing off the stone walls. One of them gave Gabriel a hard yank, forcing him to stumble to his feet, only for the other to grab him by the shoulders and shove him back down.

"You're not gonna cry, are you?" Thing #1 teased, crouching down just enough to meet Gabriel's glare. "C'mon, don't make this awkward. We're just having some fun."

Gabriel clenched his jaw, his shoulders stiff as he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.

In the corner of his mind, Nathalie moved to block his line of sight, her arms crossed as she stared him down. "Don't look at them," she said firmly, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "You're better than them, are you not? You've taken worse violations from Salvadore."

They slink away, Thing 2 fiddling with the shower head while Thing 1 leaned back, periodically checking his watch. "Come on, come on, we don't got all day; get up."

Staggering to his feet was a wonky affair. His limbs were numbed from all the rough handling, and a lack of sleep dulled his the edge of his vision. Briefly, he thought to try and cover himself, preserve some dignity. But there was no point in dignity in here, was there? They could already see everything. Trying to cover himself up, showing his fear of their gaze, would only encourage them to move back in and start groping.

Even though he knew that the Nathalie watching over him was a figment of his desperation for companionship, he still felt shame well up knowing that 'she' was seeing him in this state, so weak, so powerless, so vulnerable. At least this version of Nathalie held some pity for his situation, the real Nathalie, the one he abandoned, that he hurt and almost dragged to an early grave, she'd have every reason to look on this as him getting just what he deserves. The be toyed with, violated, physically the way he toyed with innocent people emotionally.

No sooner had he straightened to his full height than a jet of icy water slammed into his chest with the force of a freight train, knocking him back against the cold, unforgiving wall. His breath hitched as the water pounded against him, soaking him to the bone and sending fresh waves of pain shooting through his already bruised body.

"Actually," Thing #2 mused, holding the hose steady, "now that I think about it… we do have all day."

Thing #1 let out a barking laugh, clapping his hands in mock applause. "Come on, Gabriel, you're leaving me high and dry here! Where's Hawkmoth? Where's your cuddly little akumas?" He grinned, leaning closer as if taunting a caged animal. "What's the line again? Oh, yeah—'Give me your magic jewels' or some crap like that."

Gabriel flinched at the words, not from their mockery but from the memories they unearthed. The countless times he had uttered those very words, so confident, so commanding, as if the world were his chessboard and everyone else merely pawns. Now, he was the one being played with, his power stripped away, his grand plans reduced to dust. The irony would have been laughable if it weren't so excruciating.

Thing #2 adjusted the hose, angling the water to hit Gabriel's face. "Come on, Big G," he jeered, his grin widening. "Say it for us. Just once. You know you wanna."

Gabriel closed his eyes, the water stinging as it cascaded over him. His jaw tightened, the phantom voice of Nathalie whispering in the back of his mind. "Don't give them the satisfaction, or they win. Or you fail." she urged, her tone firm but laced with a faint hint of pity.

Breathlessly, he spoke. "Does this make you feel better about yourself?"

"Buddy, it makes me feel great." Thing #1 sighed, a wave of nostalgia washing over. "I used to work up in the super criminal max prison up in New York, and let me tell you, there ain't a better feeling than beating down on scum."

Thing #2 strolled up to Gabriel, admiring the man on his knees before resting his boot on Gabriel's head. "Though, I gotta admit, after all the hype people gave to Hawkmoth, I never expected you to be so… Pathetic."

His partner sniggered. "He spent his entire career chasing around teenagers; of course he's pathetic."

Gabriel dares to shift his head under the boot, adjusting himself to stare right up, directly into the bastard's eyes with an intensity that held them there for a moment. He studied them, got a good look at their faces, all in silence that they provided for him.

And then, he spoke. "Vincent and Sherman, correct?"

They'd have never imagined that hearing their own names spoke so deeply could make them suddenly feel squeamish. "Huh?"

"Your names." Gabriel explained pointedly, "Some of the men drunkenly called out for you as we passed; and you, quite rudely, ignored them." He rested his hand on the side of the boot, covering his face except for his eye. "I just want to make sure I memorize those names, and your faces. It would be a damn shame if I slit the wrong throats later."

When Gabriel was suddenly kicked away, he knew the pain was worth it, because even wet, naked and bruised, he still found a way to make them flinch.

"Alright, I think he's had enough washing now." Thing #1 breathed out. "Let's get him dressed."

---

Past

News Report: World Reacts to Paris Crisis

"Good evening, I'm Danielle Moreau reporting live from GNN. Tonight, we bring you breaking news on the escalating crisis in Paris. Amid the chaos caused by rampant sentimonsters, the sighting of what appears to be the thought-dead supervillain Monarch, and recent attacks by Chat Noir—formerly a symbol of hope for the city—the international community has taken unprecedented action."

A video clip played, showing the virtual meeting of global leaders, their faces grim as they addressed the situation. The screen shifted to Olympia Hill, Majestia herself, standing at a podium adorned with both the American flag and the United Nations emblem.

"As President of the United States and as Majestia, I cannot stand idly by while this chaos continues to spiral out of control, or support the reckless actions of Team Miraculous, intentional or not." Olympia Hill began, her powerful voice cutting through the murmurs of the room. "The escalating destruction in Paris is not just a French problem—it is a global threat."

Hill's expression was firm as she continued. "Reports of a creature resembling Monarch, the devastation caused by uncontrolled sentimonsters, and the rampage of Chat Noir—whose actions have been described as demonically influenced by some and as deliberate by others—have left us no choice but to act swiftly. Effective immediately, Paris is to be placed under an international quarantine."

The camera cut to images of military vehicles and personnel mobilizing along France's borders, as Hill's words continued in voiceover. "In collaboration with the French government, heroes from around the globe are being enlisted to raise a magical barrier around Paris, ensuring that no one gets in or out. This barrier will be supported by international military forces stationed along its perimeter to enforce the quarantine."

The report returned to the newsroom, where Danielle Moreau explained further.

"President Hill emphasized that this decision was not made lightly. However, with the rest of the world concerned about the spread of the sentimonster phenomenon or the influence of whatever has corrupted Chat Noir, containment is being prioritized above all else."

The screen shifted again to a clip of an emergency UN session, where a visibly distressed French ambassador pleaded for aid. "We understand the need for containment," she said, "but we cannot abandon the citizens of Paris. They are frightened, trapped, and facing dangers no one should face alone."

The anchor resumed her narration. "Despite these pleas, international leaders have agreed that until the crisis in Paris is resolved, the quarantine will remain in place."

The broadcast shifted to images of prominent heroes from other nations arriving in France—Knights of the Round from England, Aeolus from Greece, and Dragonfly from Japan—working alongside Majestia's team to construct the magical barrier.

"This barrier is expected to be in place within the next twenty-four hours, leaving Paris effectively cut off from the outside world. Residents within the city have begun voicing their fears, with protests erupting in several districts."

The report transitioned to footage of Paris streets, where terrified and angry citizens shouted into cameras. "We're being abandoned!" one woman cried. "All because the heroes can't do their job."

Another man yelled, "First the akumas, then the sentimonsters, and now this quarantine?! We're being treated like criminals for someone else's crime!"

"You heard Chrysalis, it's the heroes' fault!"

"Why isn't Chat Noir locked up yet?"

Danielle Moreau's tone grew sombre as she concluded. "As Paris descends further into chaos, the rest of the world watches, waiting for answers. But for now, the city of lights is shrouded in darkness."

The broadcast ended with Olympia Hill's final words from the press conference.

"We will not abandon the people of Paris, but we must protect the rest of the world. To the citizens of Paris: hold on. We will survive this, together."

Nino nose curled into a disgruntled wrinkle, quickly turning off the tv before falling back in his seat. "So, we got a walking apocalypse brewing underneath the city, and the rest of the world is telling us it ain't their problem."

"Getting involved is too messy." Chloe, sitting slumped on the floor in a miraculous display of lousiness for the girl, idly swirled her coffee cup, still trying to numb the raging headache she'd been nursing since she woke up. "Putting us in a box and patting themselves on the back is less expensive and complicated in the long run. And I bet it looks good for Hill's upcoming re-election. Makes her look like she's solved the problem without actually solving it."

"Bee," Nino groaned, "You didn't even know how to spell 'election' two years ago."

"I've been learning, Shellhead." She crossed her arms, pouting. "Daddy rants a lot when he thinks I'm not listening to him. Pick up a lot of colourful new words about politicians."

"I can't believe there are already people taking Chrysalis' speech as gospel." Luka grunted; his eyes fixed to his phone screen as he doom scrolled through twitter. "She beats down her own monster and suddenly everyone forgets that all of this started with her."

"Vibes speak louder than logic, Scale Boy." Chloe grumbled. "And Chrysalis is coming out of the gate with that rebel feel."

Adrien was pulled away from watching their exchange by Su-Han, hands roughly keeping his head still with a steel grip. They'd been at this for over thirty minutes and Adrien still couldn't sit still and idle.

Yeah, as a model he was used to staying in place for long periods of time, but he was never fighting back the nerves during those shoots. He was there to sit and look pretty, he didn't have anything else to worry about outside of when it ended. Now, he was sitting there with a raging ache clinging to his stomach and an uneasy thought swaying in his mind's eye, threatening to knock him off balance.

"We must focus, Chat Noir." Su-Han grunted, forcing Adrien to stare him down. Another thing that made it hard to stay still; Su-Han's stare was intense. "You are allowing your mind to wander. Do not think of the world outside. Think only of what is within you."

"I am trying," Adrien muttered through gritted teeth. "But maybe I'd have an easier time concentrating if you weren't crushing my skull."

Ever since the fight with Surface Pressure and Melting Monarch (Nino's suggestion), Adrien had been confined to the lair and subject to tests from every end of the spectrum. Max went over him with tech, Nathalie subjected him to a few invasive medical trials and Su-Han was the obvious choice to handle the magic analysis.

Which… Fair. He wanted to be annoyed with the set up, but he knew that it was exactly the right thing to do; he was invaded by a foreign entity, the creature sealed away in the butterfly miraculous, and turned into a weapon, he could not be trusted until they'd ensured that he wasn't going to attack anyone. It didn't make him feel any more comfortable with this, nor make the process any easier to stick to, but he understood it; and he tried his best not to complain.

Su-Han took a slow, measured breath, his fingers pressing firmly against Adrien's temples as his own eyes slid shut. "Clear your mind," he instructed, his tone commanding but not unkind. "Your emotions will cloud my ability to see what lies beneath."

Adrien bristled at the implication but obeyed, forcing his breath to steady. In through his nose, out through his mouth. He tried to push aside the whirlwind of thoughts—the memories of the fight, the fear in the eyes of the people he'd once sworn to protect, the crushing weight of Ladybug's absence—and focus only on the faint hum of his heartbeat.

Su-Han's energy began to shift, his presence becoming heavier, almost oppressive. Adrien could feel it pressing against him like an invisible tide, probing, seeking. It was as though Su-Han's very essence was sinking into his, peeling back layers of his soul in search of something hidden. Adrien's fingers dug into the armrests as he fought the instinct to pull away.

The room fell silent, save for the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. Even Nino, Chloé, and Luka stopped their chatter, their eyes flicking toward Adrien and Su-Han.

"Anything?" Nathalie asked quietly from the corner, her arms crossed as she watched the process with clinical detachment.

Su-Han didn't respond immediately, his face tightening as if he were straining against something unseen. Sweat beaded at his temples, and Adrien felt a strange, almost foreign warmth spreading through his chest, accompanied by a prickling sensation that made his skin crawl.

"Curious." Su-Han's brow furrowed, and suddenly Adrien felt the need to protectively grip the rings hanging from his neck. "I can find no marks of the creature, but… Your aura… I can't explain it, but it's strange. More consistent than most humans."

"So, I'm clean, right?" Adrien murmured.

Su-Han sighed, finally relaxing his grip on Adrien's face and pulling away. "I believe so."

He was the expert; he knew what he was talking about; but Adrien didn't feel clean. He still felt those ghostly fingers clawing away at his heart, still heard the symphony of agonized whispers in his ear, still saw Alya's blood thick between his fingers. The creature had marked him, and everybody could see it, but no one wanted to be the one to point it out.

"What was it like?" Nino blurted out, instantly drawing a lot of glares his way.

Adrien ignored them, some small part of him just appreciated that Nino asked. "I was trapped in a nightmare." He whispered, finding his eyes drooping into the floor, almost afraid of what Nino would glimpse from them if they made contact. "It wasn't just blacking out, it made me see things over reality. I saw… I saw Alya, and Max, and Luka all dead. And the monster that did it replaced everyone around me, and everybody was just coming at me and- And-"

His breath hitched and the words were lost, he simply slumped into his seat. "How's… How's Alya holding up?"

"She keeps holding her head like the wound's still there." Nino was quiet in his admittance, but he didn't try to sugarcoat it. Adrien appreciated that. "And she's pulling away more." Then he shrugged and that lackadaisy air came back. "But she's tough as nails. She'll get better, she just needs time and care. And maybe a Friends marathon."

There was no response Adrien could muster, no reassurance he could delude himself into accepting. He heard Nino shuffle closer and soon enough a hand rested on his shoulder. "Hey, we know that wasn't you out there."

No, they don't. They don't know anything.

"We got your back man, always."

Something about that made his heart crack.

"Do you?" Adrien's knuckles turned white gripping the edge of his seat, suddenly feeling the bile of something bitter get stuck in his throat. "Because when we were getting out asses handed to us by the memento, I can think of a couple of people who weren't there."

Hesitation struck Nino under the boot of Adrien's tone, but he eventually talked. "We were held up, Dude."

"You were sleeping because you decided to get black-out drunk the night before." Adrien snapped, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Nino's, his tone colder than the wind that swept through the lair's drafty corners.

"Hey, that's not our fault." Chloe interjected, stepping closer, but Adrien shot her a withering look that stopped her in her tracks. She continued softly. "It's not like Chrysalis announced when she was going to attack."

"That shouldn't matter." Adrien's expression softened slightly at Nino's words, but the anger didn't fully leave his eyes. "Every day is a possible threat; we should always be prepared to fight."

"So, what? We just give up our personal lives?" Nino challenged, his fingers trembling. "Just because you don't leave the mansion anymore doesn't mean we need to be shut-ins too."

Adrien leaned forward, his voice low but biting. "Cops still have personal lives while being on duty. Doctors still go home after shifts. But when the call comes, they show up. They don't abandon their post because they partied too hard the night before."

"We're not cops, Adrien!" Nino shot back, his voice trembling. "We're not paid professionals. We don't have shifts, backup, or resources. We're teenagers trying to do the job of an entire army!"

"And people are still dying while we're 'trying,'" Adrien snarled, the venom in his voice causing Nino to flinch.

"Look, Dude, I think you need to chill."

"No, I won't 'chill'." He shot to his feet, baring his teeth to his best friend. "There are lives at stake here, people get hurt when we're not there, and I don't think you're treating this seriously enough."

"My girl got mauled and you don't think I'm taking this seriously?" Nino's voice wavered, but his tone carried a rare edge. "You think I haven't been beating myself up for not being there? For what happened to Alya?"

"Maybe if you two were there when I needed you, she wouldn't-" He couldn't find it in himself to finish the sentence, he choked, he blinked away at the monster gnawing away at his stomach.

"Whatever, dude," Nino muttered, his voice hollow. "I can see you're going through it, but I can't do this right now. I'll see you when you cool down."

Without another word, Nino turned and walked out, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing in the silence that followed. Chloé shifted awkwardly, avoiding Adrien's gaze, while Luka stood frozen, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Adrien…" Luka started hesitantly, but Adrien held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't," Adrien muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just… don't."

They filed out silently after that, leaving just Adrien and Nathalie in the cold, lonely dark of the lair. She looked disappointed in him, and suddenly he felt like a child who was about to get scolded. He was man enough to look at her, locking his arms behind his back as she looked over him.

Nathalie simply sighed, raising her hand to point down at the sofa. "Sit."

Obediently, he followed her finger, sinking deep into the cushions as she sat on the coffee table in front of him. Oh great, his mother was sentencing him to the naughty corner.

This only made him feel more childish when he blurted out. "Was I out of line?"

"Adrien-"

"Was I wrong?" He quickly followed up, crossing his arms and curling into himself. "We needed them. I needed them. And they weren't there. And… And…"

And everything went wrong, and everyone got to see how weak he really was.

"You can't be vigilant 24/7." Nathalie stated stiffly, no warmth, no comfort, just her hitting him down with what she needed to say. He imagined it was how she got through to his father. "They have responsibilities to more people than just you."

Her arms folded in her lap, another sigh escaping her. This was a difficult conversation to have, wasn't it? Adrien was always the good boy, the obedient one. The household never had to have a discussion about how he treated the friends he hadn't had, nor were the adults in his life ever ready to teach him about how he should deal with… All of this.

Many words and ideas swelled up and died on Nathalie's tongue. There was probably a joke in there somewhere, the emotionally repulsed trying to have a conversation about feelings with the emotionally uneducated. She offered a sigh, leaning forward slight, making sure to lower her head until she was no longer over him. "They have a life to live, they can't just drop it every time for you."

"I have a personal life too." He murmured.

"No, you don't." She answered sharply, tilting her head and letting flickers of regret leak into her stare. "It actually worries me."

Tikki poked her head out of Nathalie's breast pocket, a groggy pull to her eyes suggesting she'd been sleeping until the group outburst. "Marinette was bad with balancing her hero life and her normal life too." She said, bringing her paws together. "But she still knew that she couldn't let Ladybug consume Marinette."

Sneaky little kwami knew putting Marinette into the conversation was like wrapping a pill in ham to trick a dog.

Plagg stretched out on Adrien's knee, arms behind his head and eyes closed. "I think we're long overdue for a catnap anyway."

Adrien beat his head against the cushion, groaning. "You heard the news; Paris is an impromptu prison until we sort this out."

"And you won't sort it out any quicker by overworking yourself with no time dedicated to relaxation." Nathalie had that response so prepared in advance that she didn't even need to look at him as she made it. The tablet in her lap had been flipped over and, as her fingers swiped across the screen, her expression seemed to grow into a scowl.

"What are you looking at?"

"Mansion security. I keep seeing task force vehicles pass us." She leaned the tablet forward a little to let Adrien glimpse the multiple windows on display. "They've been slowly stationing more troops around this area. I'm fearful that this means that they're building up to something."

The information sat heavy on Adrien's brow. He looked down at Plagg. "Do you think they've figured out who I am?"

Plagg stifled a yawn and shrugged. "Maybe Lila wants them to storm the mansion and take back her family home."

Tikki, who Adrien could guess was well experienced in potential meltdowns and conclusion jumping, made sure to pull her arms from Nathalie's pocket and wave them around to push away the bad vibes clouding them. "Let's just remember to be careful about how we exit the house from now on."

Glancing back at the screen, Adrien caught an upside-down feed showing a truck set up at the other end of the street outside the front gate with task force troops gathering round. Chalot stood over his men in the midst of conversation, seemingly displeased with whatever was being relayed to him.

The height, the muscle mass, the familiarity, the cowboy aesthetic and the poorly hidden accent; how did Adrien not figure out that it was his uncle hiding behind Chalot's name? Sure, they'd had it figured out for a month now, but it felt like it was only now hitting Adrien just what that meant.

His uncle, the same guy who taught him piano, who'd play Rudolph in kid Adrien and Felix's Christmas party games, who'd babysit him and help him (well, try to help him) with his home-schooling homework. He was the enemy now.

The man who once ruffled his hair and told him stories about Gabriel's awkward teen years. The man who always seemed larger than life, effortlessly blending charm and sternness. Now, he was orchestrating moves that could bring everything crashing down.

Adrien shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, still staring at the screen. "Defect," he muttered, the word sticking awkwardly in his throat. "Do… Do you feel weird? Knowing it's Uncle Colt?"

Nathalie didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the tablet. When she finally spoke, her voice was sharp, almost dismissive. "No. He's just another villain to knock down."

Adrien frowned, looking at her. "Weren't you guys friends? Shouldn't that give you some pause?"

Nathalie let out a low, humorless laugh. "We were never friends. My family was indebted to his father. I was his glorified babysitter, ensuring that he stopped being the bane of his family name."

Adrien blinked, the words sinking in. "I thought you always worked for us."

"I met your father on the same day Colt met him," Nathalie explained, her voice even and detached, as though reciting a long-forgotten chapter of her life. "Gabriel made quite the ruckus at your mother's birthday party with his… declaration of love."

Adrien's brows shot up. "Oh, that sounds… nice?"

"Your grandfather had him beaten to a pulp and thrown out onto the street," she said dryly, glancing at Adrien.

Adrien winced. "...Okay, I can see why we don't talk about my grandparents."

Nathalie tilted her head, her tone softening just slightly. "When your father and mother finally decided to tie the knot, your father… Well, I'm not exactly sure what he did to convince Colt's father, but he got my contract, and my debt, paid off."

"And you still decided to come back to us?"

"Hey," Nathalie said with a faint smirk, "never underestimate the importance of a steady paycheck and good company."

Adrien tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "Was Colt that difficult to be around?"

Nathalie sighed, leaning back slightly. "He was a troublemaker. There was no such thing as a peaceful night when Colt Fathom was your charge. I swear, it was exhausting. Your father was the only one who managed to reign him in most of the time."

Adrien's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes drifting back to the screen. "Hard to believe he was ever that close to my dad."

"Your father had a way with people," Nathalie said, almost wistfully. "When he wanted to, anyway."

"Guess it skipped a generation," Adrien muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from Nathalie, but she didn't comment her discontent.

Instead, she moved on. "Why do you care about Colt's past so much? Right now he's the enemy, and that's all that matters."

"Because he's family. That matters to me." Tears started to well up, but Adrien refused to let them fall. "Because when I look back on my conversations with him, as Adrien, as Chat, against Chalot, against Defect; I can see glimpses of something more. It almost felt like Chalot tried to protect me, from Lila, from his goons, from himself. Even when he was Defect doing his darndest to rile up Chat Noir, the villain banter, the threats, it all felt like an act he was putting on. It was better to be the bad guy who loved being evil, than act a slave to Hawkmoth's curse."

Shameful eyes fell to the floor, knowing every word was a little dagger of betrayal, was wrong. "I know what he's done, and I do hate him for that; but I don't want to kill him. I keep thinking that if I say the right words, I can get him to stand down. Deluding myself that there's another option."

Adrien leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor. "It's… It's him, you know? He used to call me 'little maestro.' He taught me how to play Chopin. He—he made my childhood feel... Normal. And now…"

"And now he's got a SWAT team parked outside your house," Nathalie finished bluntly, cutting through the sentimentality. "Whatever he was before doesn't matter now, Adrien. He's standing on the other side of this war."

He saw good in Colt. He was infatuated with Lila. He still wanted to help Felix.

All these people who hurt him, who unleashed their spite and pain upon the masses of innocent people and ruin Marinette's legacy. He would still love them while blowing up at his friends. He would still love them while daring to doubt his lady and besmirch his father. He would still love them while treating his own sins as damnation.

When did he become such a bastard?

Nathalie's voice broke through his thoughts, steady and unyielding. "You need to stop trying to fix everyone. Some people don't want to be saved. And some people… aren't worth the cost."

Adrien didn't respond, his head dipping lower as he mulled over her words. Was she right? Could he really just... Stop caring about the people who had shaped his life, for better or worse? Could he fight against them, knowing that deep down, he still wanted to see the good in them?

Nathalie shifted uncomfortably, her fingers curling around the edge of the tablet in her lap as she struggled to find the right words. Comforting people had never been her strong suit—especially not Adrien, whose emotions seemed to swell like waves she couldn't quite navigate. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then shut it again, her brows furrowing as her mind worked furiously.

"I…" she began, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, Adrien. I wish I could tell you how to make all of this easier or… or fix it. But I can't. I don't have the answers. I'm sorry."

Adrien glanced up at her, his green eyes glassy but soft. "You don't have to apologize."

She grimaced slightly, her gaze darting away. "Maybe not. But I hate seeing you like this and not knowing what to say or do. It feels like I'm failing you."

"You're not," Adrien said quickly, his voice earnest. "You've never failed me. You've been here for me—for everything. Just… just being here right now is enough."

Nathalie's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she looked like she was fighting an internal battle. Her hand hovered briefly over his before retracting, her posture stiffening as if she'd caught herself getting too close.

"I'm not good at this," she admitted quietly. "But I'm trying."

Adrien's expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I know you are. And I don't know what I'd do without you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Nathalie's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face—surprise, discomfort, maybe even guilt. She opened her mouth again, but no words came out.

Adrien wanted to call her "mom." The thought had been sitting in his chest for months, warm and heavy like a fire that refused to die. She wasn't his mother—not biologically, not officially—but she was the closest thing he had left. She had been his anchor, his guide, his protector. And yet, he knew the title still unsettled her. She wasn't ready to hear it, and he wasn't sure if she ever would be.

So, he didn't say it. Instead, he smiled faintly and said, "You're the best thing I've got."

Nathalie's throat worked, but she didn't respond right away. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, her lips twitching in what might've been the ghost of a smile. "You're stronger than you think, Adrien," she said finally, her voice soft. "Don't forget that."

The tension in the room lingered, but it had shifted—less sharp, more melancholic. Adrien leaned back against the sofa, exhaling deeply as if he'd been holding his breath.

"Thanks," he murmured, his voice low but genuine.

Nathalie gave him another nod before rising to her feet, smoothing out her skirt. She hesitated for a moment, glancing back at him, her eyes filled with something unreadable. "Get some rest," she said softly before turning and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Adrien watched her go, the warmth of her presence fading with each step she took. He slumped back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling. Even with everything weighing him down, he felt just a little bit lighter.

Maybe that was enough for now.

---

Present

Gawdy. That was the word that hit Gabriel over the head every second he spent looking at Bob Roth's office. It was a shrine to the man's image in every way possible, all smattered in an eye-burning amount of putrid gold. Pillars dominated the room, making ways for little alcoves to show off different displays of wealth, from Roth stamped coins and treasure chests spilling over; the room taking on the look of an old Greek temple that had been renovated by industry.

Statues of Gold Record towered over the double-door entrance, painting of Bob Roth in many positions that would scar Gabriel's mind forever lavished the walls, his signed records stood in display cases littered throughout the room.

For God's sake, the man's moustache was the pattern carved into the railing and the staircase that descended into the miniature throne room.

Vincent and Sherman kept a strong grip on his arms as they yanked him down the steps, Sherman pausing their journey to flip a coin into the little fountain of champagne Roth had at the foot of the stairs. They arrived at the far end of the room, where a long dining table stretched from one wall to the other atop a raised platform, acting as a barrier between the peasants and the throne of the king. The empty throne for the moment.

Sherman patted Gabriel on the head. "The main man is still taking care of some business, so you just sit tight."

"Plenty of time to absorb the Bob Roth experience." Vincent drawled, breaking away from the two to reach for the bar set up on the left half of the room. In routine, practised motions, he quickly had himself a tall glass of something green and expensive prepared in seconds.

Gabriel opted not to talk back, remaining in silence for a time while the idle chatter of the thugs reigned over him. However, minutes later, a peculiar sound cancelled it all out for him, bringing Gabriel shooting to his feet to stare up at the entrance.

The sound was faint, but it stuck with him. It a wet, rough sloshing noise, like something damp and heavy slithering across the floor. It was one of those visceral sounds that just you're your ear itch. Gabriel's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But the sound grew louder—closer. Wet, dragging, accompanied by an occasional, irregular thud.

"I'm just saying, we should have melted them." It took a second for Gabriel to recognise Meltdown's voice grumbling, distant at first, but growing closer and accompanied by footsteps.

Roth's voice was easy to pick out, louder than everything in the room. "Your solution to everything is melting, ya damn acid brain."

"Because it's so effective!" Meltdown snapped back. She sounded downright indignant. "Can't I at least melt the Stone kid? It's not like Mad Moth's gonna care about her."

"God, you need a hobby," Roth shot back, exasperated.

Gabriel's gaze remained rooted to the door, fingers tense, brows furrowed waiting for something. He wasn't entirely sure what drew his interest, he knew Meltdown, and Roth wasn't anyone dangerous physically. Yet some flight-or-flight instinct was being set off as an itch just under the skin, telling him to pay attention.

So that's what he did. He watched the door intently as the footsteps drew closer. His ears honed onto that slithering noise like it was his own thoughts, listening to metal scream and curl in something's wake. His emotional senses reached out, hitting upon a cluster of emotions scattered just outside the door. It wasn't multiple hears lighting up his connection, it was one heart broken into several tiny pieces.

He watched until the doors opened, and Meltdown stepped into view.

Only Meltdown.

Roth's voice had been crystal clear on the other side of the door, but the man himself was nowhere in sight by the akuma's side. And considering how long the hallway was at their backs, there was no way that man waddled his ass out of view at supersonic speeds.

"Hey there, Gabe." Meltdown greeted with a gruff sneer. "How does it feel having your plans blow up in your face?"

Gabriel crossed his arm, crinkling his lips into a cruel grin. "I don't know, how does that feel?" Meltdown bristled at the response, but delayed responding long enough for Gabriel to lean in. "Bug thwart your schemes again? Trust me, I know how it feels, I've had to deal with that brat for four years."

"Careful what you say there." Drawing closer, Meltdown came close enough that Gabriel could feel the heat radiating from the man, as well as hear the hiss of steam escaping the suit. "I'll be remembering every wise crack you make when that bitch's luck runs out and I need to decide the most painful way I can rip off her wings."

"Trust the veteran," Gabriel spat back, trying to hide his nerves behind a tense stance. "Her luck never runs out."

A boisterous laugh erupted behind him, followed by a rough voice gargling alcohol. "Aw, shucks. Gabe; did you get dressed up just for me?"

Gabriel's eyes widened, the interruption ripping his attention form Meltdown's threats to spin around, finding Bob Roth settled on his throne, brandishing a goblet and staring back at him appreciatively.

"Where did you-" He was speechless for a moment. Roth had been right outside that door, he knew that, but how did Roth manage to get from there to the throne without passing by Gabriel's field of vision. There were no other entrances to the room, it made no sense.

Unless Roth's akuma was involved.

Phantom Nathalie showed her face again, materializing by Roth's side and peering down at him in disgust. "What power could cover having duplicates and teleporting?"

"Maybe he transfers between vessels?" Gabriel's mind theorized. "Or he can split himself apart and he did it to such a level that he was invisible to the naked eye all for the sake of making an entrance."

Roth wanted to leave Gabriel guessing, wanted to leave an impression, that much Gabriel knew for certain. In other words, Roth wasn't going to freely offer answers, so Gabriel settled for a different question. "Where's your twins?"

A mischievous glint flashed, a stray thought that Roth enjoyed knowing some secret little tidbit that Gabriel didn't. "Powdering their noses in their dressing rooms." He shrugged before gesturing to the chair set up in front of the stage.

With no choice Gabriel obeyed, slinking over to the chair and sinking down into it. Ever at his tallest height, Gabriel couldn't glimpse more of what was on the platform below Roth's waist. "Why am I here, Roth?"

"Because I think we can do a lot of great things together, Gabby Boy." Roth raised his goblet up high in a toast. "I'm a powerful man, and you are a man who knows how to put power to use."

Gabriel barely stifled a grimace, leaning back in his chair with a forced calm as Roth grinned down at him. The golden goblet in the man's hand sloshed with some dark, viscous liquid that didn't look anything close to appetizing. "You thirsty?"

"Thirsty?" Gabriel repeated, his voice sharp with scepticism. "Not particularly."

"Shame." Roth leaned forward in his throne, swirling the contents of the goblet lazily. "It's a real special vintage. A little hard to get, y'know? Gotta pull the right strings, grease the right palms. Or, if you're me, you just melt down the competition until they give you what you want."

Meltdown chuckled at that, the sound low and grating like sandpaper on metal. Gabriel didn't take his eyes off Roth, though, his mind working in overdrive. The man's demeanour, his sudden appearance, the nauseating spectacle of the room—it all screamed of a power play. And yet, there was something deeper. Something wrong.

Roth's grin widened as he leaned back, enjoying himself far too much.

"Hungry? Not now? Maybe later." Roth gestured mockingly to one of his henchmen, who immediately started fiddling with a silver platter on the far end of the room. "I can make that prison cell very comfortable for you. Could I interest you in some hot towels? Pillows? Maybe I could call up one of my best girls to drop by your cell later, keep you company."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, his disgust barely restrained. "Do you have anything I can kill myself with?" He said dryly..

Roth laughed, delighted by the retort. "Don't be like that, Gabe. It's been, what? At least three years since you last got some, you must be frustrated." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "Or has Ladybug been scratching that itch for you?"

Against his consent, Gabriel had been forced to learn of Bob Roth's existence and, at the risk of all decency in the world, listen to the bastard speak.

Gabriel's lips curled in anger, but before he could respond, Nathalie's phantom form materialized in his periphery. Her expression was pure, unfiltered disgust. "Oh, that is just vile," she muttered, arms crossed tightly as she hovered by his side.

"She's the same age as my son," Gabriel growled, his voice cutting through Roth's laughter.

"Hey, it's legal," Roth said with a shrug, as if that made it any better.

Nathalie turned to Gabriel, her voice sharp and full of scorn. "This is a man who's said that a lot throughout his life."

Gabriel couldn't help but let out a faint scoff, his mind a warzone of revulsion and calculated thought.

Nathalie's tone softened slightly as she stepped closer, though her expression remained fierce. "He's trying to keep you unsettled, Gabriel. It's all shock factor, nothing more. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Roth's grin didn't falter, but there was a flicker in his eyes—he noticed Gabriel's momentary calm in the face of his provocation. "You're no fun, Gabe," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But hey, keep playing hard to get. I'm a patient man."

He lazily gestured to the paintings adorning the walls. "Have you seen my gallery?"

Gabriel was pushed along, directed to turn himself to the paintings that screamed for attention. They were all terrible in their own way, but it was the largest one that demanded his attention and, unfortunately, he was forced to give it.

A cigarette was offered to him, but even if Gabriel didn't smoke, he'd be damned if he trusted anything Bob Roth or his goons handed to him. Besides, he felt like smoke gave a certain elegant framing, like an art snob sipping wine while observing an art gallery, that this painting didn't deserve. It dominated the office, Roth's shrine to his own ego making it a mission to be an eyesore on every wall. And hey, Gabriel wasn't opposed to self-portraits to assert ownership of your personal space, he had paintings of himself and his family; but his were tasteful, respectful. This was filth.

The first thing anyone saw when they entered Roth's personal office or thrown in after being slammed against the doorway several times, was a depiction of the fat bastard wrapped in velvet sheets, with naked woman intertwined by the legs and arms to form a circle around him. All framed by cigarette smoke and heated colours.

"It's real classy, ain't it?" Roth didn't move to Gabriel, he remained hidden behind his desk, hands together and thumbs twiddling. "Had a whole collection commissioned."

A slime ball like Roth should never use the word 'classy'. It just sounded vile on his tongue. "What's classy about you commissioning perverse pictures of what I assume to be your fictional sexual exploits?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Pieces like this are basically behind all the great arts in history. One of our most well-known statues is a guy with his paintbrush out, if you know what I mean." Roth cackled. After watching the man on TV, it was strange, almost unnerving, to see the man alone without his doubles. It left questions, and in such a perilous situation, you needed some certainties nailed down. Just what was Roth's akuma power? "'Sides, this ain't fictional, all of these paintings are historical records."

"Ah yes, I see you've got an illustration of watching a very well endowed future PHD holder cleaning your car." Gabriel eyes peeled over the remaining paintings in the gallery. All of them surrounded Roth, and none of them seemed to have any information of historical relevance. "That's one for the history books."

"You just don't get it." Roth clicked his tongue, knocking back his drink. "See, you know when we have these big tragic events? President gets shot, buildings get blown up, heroes' dirty secrets get unveiled. You know, you know." He leaned forward, drumming his fingers over the desk. "Years later, people always start asking each other 'Where were you when it happened?'. Were you on the plane? Were you apart of the crowd? Were you having a moment?"

"That's what this is." He gestured to the gallery like it was some grand reveal. "This is where I was when Majestia debuted." He pointed to another painting. "This is where I was when my wife gave birth."

Gabriel couldn't stop himself from snarling. "You were on a cruise?"

"I was on a cruise with twins." Roth looked very proud of himself and Gabriel was so, so, annoyed that he couldn't just punch the bastard in the face. "Now, this one is my favourite." He returned Gabriel's attention to the first one he observed. "Because I know, no matter how many years pass, everyone's gonna be asking me where I was... On the day Hawkmoth was unmasked."

Gabriel's blood ran cold at the words, his heart skipping a beat despite his best efforts to maintain composure. Roth grinned wider, clearly revelling in the reaction. Nathalie's phantom flickered at Gabriel's side, her expression grim.

Roth leaned back in his chair, exhaling a satisfied sigh as his goblet clinked softly against the desk. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he savoured Gabriel's silent, simmering tension. "Oh, that was one of those days that felt biblical, you know?" His voice was fond and nostalgic, recounting some cherished memory. "You wouldn't believe the mayhem that broke out after you and the girl got exposed."

Gabriel's lips thinned, but he said nothing. There was no space to interrupt—Roth's monologue rolled forward like a train on greased rails, each word dragging Gabriel deeper into the mire.

"I don't think even Chrysalis realized just how out of hand it would all get." Roth chuckled, swirling the liquid in his goblet as though to punctuate his point. "She thought it would stop at just some petty online arguments, a couple of fistfights, demands for the heads of Team Miraculous. But the speculation, ah... the speculation," he said, leaning forward, "that's what blew the lid right off."

Gabriel's gaze darted momentarily to the grotesque paintings. The way Roth spoke, it was as though he'd not only anticipated the fallout but actively enjoyed watching it. This painting, it was a celebration of a day that most would consider a tragedy.

"I guess it's a testament to your influence, really," Roth continued with a grin that showed far too many teeth. "You know, I get it. You're a planner, same as me. We're businessmen, after all. We plan for contingencies, consider the fallout when the skeletons get dragged out of the closet. But here's the thing—people like you and Ladybug?" He chuckled darkly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. "We always underestimate the scale."

The room felt colder despite the oppressive heat radiating from Roth's presence. Gabriel found himself frozen, absorbing each word as though they were nails hammered into a coffin he wasn't ready to face.

"We think about how it affects us and our brand," Roth sneered, "but it doesn't stop there, does it? No, no, no. The stench spreads. Family, friends, acquaintances, employees—hell, anyone you've ever so much as shaken hands with gets dragged into the fallout. Anyone who's worked under you? Their lives crumble right along with yours."

Gabriel's chest tightened as the implications settled like lead in his stomach. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, but Roth pressed on, relentless.

"People weren't content to just scream about it," Roth said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. "Some of them needed catharsis—a target. And just pissing on the memory of two assholes who were too dead to feel it? Nah, that wasn't enough for them. Rage and righteousness make people blind, you know? Real blind. They burned down your brand offices without even realizing there were still people inside."

Gabriel's breath caught, his mask of composure threatening to crack. Roth grinned wider, clearly enjoying the way his words dug in.

"And oh-ho-ho, the injuries those Couffaine kids got trying to defend Marinette..." He whistled low, shaking his head in mock pity. "Now that was something. A real family effort, too. Even that little goth one—Juleka, right?—threw herself right into the fire for her hero."

Gabriel's voice finally broke through, a hoarse whisper. "Juleka…"

"It's a wonder she hasn't tried to kill you both yet." Roth's words hit like a hammer, each syllable slow and deliberate. "But hey, who knows? Maybe she's just biding her time. She seems the patient type."

"You look so surprised, Gabriel." Meltdown howled with laugher, leaning close over Gabriel's shoulder. No doubt Weevil had been waiting years to see Gabriel Agreste caught lacking. "Did you really think you could do all this and… It would just end with you?"

"Of course he did." Nathalie replied, looking away from him. "Since when does Gabriel Agreste think about anything except himself?"

It was easy to think as one's actions as self-contained, that you were a gun aiming at one target, and only that target would bleed. You tell yourself that, mathematically, one bullet can only hit one person.

But reality was messier than that. Bullets didn't always stop at one target. They tore through flesh, ricocheted, shattered windows, ignited sparks that set entire buildings ablaze. A single shot could ripple outward, leaving ruin in its wake. And Gabriel, for all his self-proclaimed brilliance, had never accounted for the ripples.

Gabriel always told himself that he worked alone. He took up this promise to Emilie and all it's burdens as his responsibility. He thought that, in doing this, he protected those around him from being caught up in the dangers of Hawkmoth. If were ever to be unmasked, it would be clear that his deeds were his alone and that his failure or success was the end of it.

He never considered how Adrien would react to finding out the truth. Obviously, Adrien would see the necessity of Gabriel's actions, he'd understand that his mother had to be saved. Obviously, there'd be no consequences on Adrien's head because Adrien wasn't involved, Adrien didn't do anything; Adrien would, of course, accept that, good or evil, it was all on his father and move on.

Obviously, Adrien wouldn't turn out to be Chat Noir.

Obviously, Nathalie wouldn't be so foolish as to take up the broken Peacock to save his worthless hide.

Obviously, nobody would be dumb enough to think that Adrien, or anybody else Gabriel knew, was responsible for Hawkmoth's deeds.

Obviously… Gabriel Agreste was a fool who excelled in making assumptions about his son instead of trying to understand him. A fool who had pushed away the people who had been closest to him in favour of chasing a dream. A fool who was now realizing, far too late, just how many lives his actions had shattered in the process.

"Was it worth it, Gabriel?" Nathalie murmured in his ear. "Salvadore would be so proud of you."

In quiet desperation his eyes scanned the paintings, looking for something to distract him, to keep him focused until he could collapse in his cell. "What's this painting commemorating?" He blurted out, pointing to a random painting, this one depicting a drunk Roth being pulled out of his car by police.

"The day we lost Emilie Agreste, one of the industry's brightest rising stars."

Emilie's name coming from Roth's mouth was pure, putrid perversion. It lit a fire in his heart, one of spite and anger and an urge for violence. Fortunately, that was the perfect salve to numb the pain of the prior conversation.

Roth didn't seem to notice—or perhaps he did and simply didn't care. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, exhaling with a satisfied gasp. "I wasn't her agent, but I was getting there. Really admired that woman—unrivalled charm and ambition wrapped in such a refined package. Real class act, she was."

Gabriel's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. "You… knew her?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Knew her?" Roth chuckled, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Oh, we talked all the time. Ran in the same circles, attended the same parties. Never knew a lady who could put so many shots back without getting knocked off her game. She was impressive, man. Elegant, smart, fun."

The way Roth said "fun" made Gabriel's skin crawl. His knuckles turned white as he fought the urge to lunge across the desk and throttle the smug bastard where he sat. Emilie's memory didn't belong in this room, on his tongue, or in this man's disgusting excuse for an art gallery.

"You have no right to speak her name," Gabriel hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. "She was nothing like you. She had dignity."

Roth's grin widened, like a predator toying with cornered prey. "Dignity? Sure, sure," he drawled, lazily swirling the empty glass in his hand as if he could wring out more whiskey by sheer force of will. "She certainly gave that impression, didn't she? The perfect wife, the radiant muse, the loyal partner. Quite the brand, really. You did a great job selling that image, Agreste."

Gabriel's lips parted to retort, but Roth didn't give him the chance. "But, you know," Roth continued, setting the glass down with a faint clink, "the thing about actors? They know how to play the role. And Emilie? She was a master at it. Could turn heads in a room with just a smile. Knew how to make people feel special. And that whole… married thing?" He waved his hand dismissively. "She was smart enough to keep that under wraps. Bad for business, you know? Fans like to imagine they've got a shot. Wedding rings ruin the fantasy."

Gabriel's mouth went dry. "You're lying," he said through gritted teeth. His voice was low, but there was an unmistakable tremor in it.

"Oh, come on, Gabe," Roth interrupted, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. "You can't be that naïve. Quick as a whip on everything else, but the moment romance enters the picture you're a dumb sap? I saw her at those parties. She always found an excuse to leave the ring at home. 'Oh, I forgot it,' she'd say. Or, 'I don't want to lose it while I'm out.' It was a performance, my friend. A damn good one, too."

Gabriel's mind reeled. He knew Roth was lying, twisting the truth to get under his skin.

But Roth wasn't done. He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, I'm not saying she was stepping out on you, but… well." He smirked, savouring the moment. "She was a confident woman, wasn't she? And confidence like that… it doesn't come from nowhere. Wouldn't be the first time someone in this business played the field."

Gabriel slammed his fists against the arms of his chair, the sharp pain in his wrists from the cuffs barely registering. "You're wrong," he snapped.

But even as he said it, a cold whisper curled through his mind. "Didn't you ever wonder?" Nathalie's voice—soft, ghostly, and cruel in its knowingness—sliced through his thoughts. "You had suspicions, Gabriel. Late nights, unexplained absences. You told yourself not to ask because you didn't want to hear the answer. Because you knew you'd be pathetic enough to put up with it."

"No," Gabriel muttered, shaking his head. "No, that's not true. She wouldn't—"

"She wouldn't?" Roth's laugh was sharp and mocking. "That's rich, coming from you. What, you think she didn't notice how close you were to your assistant? You two were practically joined at the hip. She complained about it more than a few times, she was so sure you two were screwing behind her back."

Gabriel's chest tightened. "I never engaged with Nathalie in such a manner!"

"You wanted to," She murmured, her tone quiet but unrelenting. "Don't lie to yourself, Gabriel. You fantasized about it. About me. More than once."

His breath hitched. "Shut up," he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking to Roth or Nathalie—or himself.

Roth chuckled, clearly enjoying the unravelling spectacle before him. "Look, I'm just saying what she told me. You can take it or deny it, doesn't really matter to me."

Gabriel shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. "That's enough!" he barked, his voice cracking with fury. "You don't know anything about Emilie. About me. Keep her name out of your filthy mouth."

Roth raised his hands in mock surrender, a smug grin still plastered across his face. "Touchy, touchy. Fine, fine. But you can't blame me for wondering. Hell, when Emilie disappeared, half of her friends were convinced you killed her in a jealous rage. 'Course, I never thought you'd have that rage in you… Well, until this whole Hawkmoth ordeal."

Gabriel's fists trembled at his sides, his breathing ragged. The room seemed to spin around him, Roth's voice blurring into the insidious whispers of Nathalie's phantom presence. It was one thing to damn him, he was an easy target, he constructed this hell himself; but to try and tarnish Emilie's memory was unforgivable. To lend even a little credence to Roth's word, for even a second, would forever be a stain on Gabriel's role as a husband.

After a time, Roth snapped his fingers for Sherman to make his way over, placing a book and pen down on the table. "You know, I was just thinking about getting into contact with the old mothball. I'm sure she'll be so pleased to hear from you again."

Gabriel froze, his entire body going stiff. The last thing he or Marinette needed was Lila discovering that her two greatest enemies were still alive and kicking.

Thinking quickly, Gabriel cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"Making the big bitch happy is always wise," Roth said with an exaggerated shrug, as though the answer were obvious.

"Ah, but will it truly make her happy?" Gabriel countered, forcing a cool tone into his voice. "True, she might find some meagre pleasure in adding me to her collection, but will she still be happy when she realizes you only got half of the set?"

"You see, Gabe? This is why you interest me," Roth said, leaning back in his chair, gesturing with his drink. "I get the girl. She's Ladybug, big damn hero, and the Big Moth hates her guts; she's valuable to her." He leaned forward now, his grin widening. "You, on the other hand? You're just a washed-up supervillain without any of his powers and all his secrets out. Will the moth really care about you anymore?"

She would, Gabriel stopped himself from instantly responding. Lila would care very much about the former Hawkmoth being free, especially if she put together that he was working with her prisoner. But Roth didn't know that.

"You don't fit in this story, you know?" Roth continued, ignoring him, his voice dripping with condescension. "But I can make you fit in here."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes, masking his unease. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that us middle-aged bastards have got to stick together, that I can make your stay here on par with a king." Roth leaned closer, his grin almost predatory. "All I want is the mind of the Gabriel Agreste that wrestled his way to the top from nothing. To whip this joint into something even more impressive so I can get my image across all of Miraculous Paris." He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words sink in. "What do you say?"

Gabriel's jaw tightened. Roth was offering him a lifeline—one soaked in filth and rot. The idea of aligning himself with this man was revolting, but he wasn't blind to the alternative. If Lila found out he was alive, if Roth turned him over, it would be the end of him. Worse, it would drag Marinette into it too.

"Take the deal." Nathalie insisted, prompting a sceptical brow raise from Gabriel. "He's gullible and powerful. Play your part, nod along and you can easily plan your escape and cause his downfall. Pretending to join him is your best option."

She was right, of course. Roth had handed him a golden opportunity to gain the upper hand in this miserable place and find an opportunity to protect Marinette. He'd be a fool to-

"No." The words came out so suddenly that he was sure someone else spoke them.

Roth tilted his head back, frowning, "No?"

Phantom Nathalie made an attempt at grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "What are you doing, Gabriel!?"

Gabriel's mind found itself back in that dark place, the floor of the mansion back when it was Salvadore's, standing over Belmond with the crude bar raised to bludgeon the man to death. He could commit dark deeds to gain the advantage, he could follow whatever master he was pretending to follow said, he'd done it all before and done it so readily. He could make Roth believe he cherished the opportunity.

His mind didn't leave him alone, it left Marinette there, at the corner of his vision, watching it all unfold. He wanted to tell her that it was a necessity, that he was only pretending to be the monster for now as it was such an easy role to play. It wasn't real. It wasn't permanent. And maybe she'd understand that, she'd hear that explanation and tentatively accept it.

But for a split second before he explained, she'd look at him with such disappointment. And suddenly… Suddenly it wasn't worth it.

"I can stomach many things, Roth." Gabriel tried his best to get on Roth's level, both hands reaching up to slam down on the stage and glare up at the man. He hit it with such force that the book and pen fell over the edge and hit his feet. "But I'd never be able to stomach you."

"I'm sorry to hear you say that." Roth barely withheld a growl, gesturing to the thugs. "Vinnie, Sher; be so kind as to escort our VIP back to his room. And make sure you make him feel nice and welcome."

The two dogs were on him in an instant, grabbing Gabriel's arms and making silent promises to give him the proper treatment for his disrespect of the boss. However, the moment they tried to bring him back, Gabriel found himself stumbling and falling, hitting the ground hard. As expected, they let him lie there a while, soaking in the pain while they laughed.

And while he slipped something under his shirt.

When they eventually pulled him up, he called out. "Weevil."

Meltdown stiffened at Gabriel actually getting his name right, motioning for the two thugs to stop. "Huh?"

"…You mentioned something back at the diner…" Gabriel's mouth was dry enough to make every syllable feel like a chore, but he pushed on, Marinette's earlier words keeping him too curious for his own good. The question itself was simple, but the possible answer weighed down heavily upon him. "It was Colt that you were talking about, wasn't it?"

Meltdown didn't waste time scoffing. "Colt, Defect, Chalot; Yeah, you really did a number on the poor bastard, didn't you?" He leaned closer, hissing and swaying. "I never liked the guy, but after all he sacrificed for you? I gotta say, that was pretty cold."

Defect. That was the name of the akuma that unleashed the sentimonster bomb on Marinette, the one that he couldn't place, the one that sounded familiar.

And just like that, he remembered the name. He remembered the akuma, his first akuma. It was ridiculous really, the name hadn't been intended as one, it was just one final insult as he watched Colt fall through the window. Calling him a 'defect' who Hawkmoth would grant the chance to become a being who could no longer bother the living.

All I ask in return is that I never see your wretched face again.

After all this time, Gabriel wanting to rub it in Colt's face instead of just killing him in a normal way came back to bite him in the ass.

He narrowed his eyes, but his force shook. "Is he still alive?"

He had to know for sure.

Meltdown shrugged. "After his final bash with your kid we lost contact with him." He paused, just long enough for hope to set in, before sniggering. "But neither of us are lucky enough for that fucker to stay down."

Half an hour later, Gabriel hit the ground hard as the thugs unceremoniously tossed him into the cell. His shoulder ached where it had struck the cold concrete, but he stifled any noise of discomfort, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of hearing him in pain. The cell door slammed shut with a metallic clang, and their mocking laughter faded as they walked away.

He pushed himself up, brushing dirt and grime from his hands, and his gaze shifted to the corner. Juleka sat huddled there, shivering with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her pale complexion looked even paler under the harsh, artificial light. Her teeth chattered faintly, punctuated by the occasional sniffle.

Gabriel sighed, the sound more of an exasperated growl. The incessant noise grated on his nerves, each sniff and tremble another pinprick in his already frayed patience. Without a word, he shrugged off the new jacket Roth had so generously provided and tossed it toward her.

It landed in a crumpled heap at her feet. Gabriel didn't wait for a reaction, didn't glance her way. Instead, he turned his attention to the world beyond the cell, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Across from him, mounted high on the opposite wall, was the camera.

It blinked sluggishly, the red light faltering every few seconds, a telltale sign of its dysfunction. Gabriel had noticed it earlier, Roth's vanity keeping him too preoccupied to realize his surveillance wasn't foolproof. He'd spent the entirety of the earlier encounter mentally cataloguing every detail, every angle, every weakness.

Now, if his calculations were correct...

He shuffled toward the very edge of his bed, his movements deliberate yet casual. The narrow cot groaned beneath his weight as he sat, leaned back, and finally stilled.

Perfect. The camera's field of vision didn't extend here.

From beneath his shirt, Gabriel carefully pulled out the prize he'd hidden—Roth's pen and notebook. He laid them in his lap, fingers brushing over the leather cover and metal casing.

"Where did you get that?"

The voice was hesitant, soft yet tinged with curiosity. Gabriel glanced up to find Juleka staring at him, the jacket wrapped around her like a blanket, but her eyes now fixed on the stolen items.

"I swiped it from Roth's office," he answered simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What are you doing?" she pressed, her voice still quiet but more insistent this time.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated enough to make her flinch slightly. "I'm drawing a map," he said flatly.

He opened the notebook, flipping past several pages of Roth's messy scrawl until he found a blank one. He clicked the pen, the sound sharp in the quiet cell. "I'm already sick of this place."

---

Past

"We're never gonna get out of this place, are we?" Alix groaned, throwing herself back on the sofa. "We're gonna be stuck in Paris until I'm old and grey and at your funeral."

Her roommate, Kim, was demonstrably less tense, leaning back casually in his seat and idly flicking through channels, showing no reaction to the girl resting her feet on his shoulder. "Don't be a downer, Shrimp. We'll-" He stopped, narrowing his eyes. "Wait, why am I the one dying first?"

She wriggled her toes, sniggering. "Someone dared you to do a trick shot off a moving train or something for a free doughnut."

He pouted, "You make me sound stupid."

She showed no mercy, though her voice had no real bite to it. "You are stupid."

"Who's stupider," He started slowly, the tightness of his brow suggesting that Kim did indeed think that this was going to be a real headscratcher of a question. "The man who knows how to live life to the extreme, or the gnome who still splits rent with him?"

"I'm not a gnome!" Alix's foot dove forward to push back his head, his cheeky grin only incentivising her further. However, all this got out of him was laughter. "I've met my future self, remember? Just you wait, when my growth spurt finally hits, you're gonna be sorry!"

Kim tilted his head innocently, "I don't see how you getting hotter at some point is bad for me."

Another kick to his thick-as-a-brick head that Kim barely reacted to while Alix gnashed her teeth together. "Because then I'll have more options for better friends, jackass!"

"I dunno, all the looks in the world ain't gonna make your personality any easier to handle."

Without a proper retort that was pure, unbridled offense, Alix turned over to face the tv, grumbling out. "Just pick a damn channel already."

Kim went out of his way to give that condescending pat on her leg. "Think there are any Takeshi's Castle re-runs?" He closed his eyes, letting out a blissful sigh. "Always a good day to see people get run over by a boulder."

Alix looked up at him with a wry grin. "You know the boulder is made of the packing peanuts stuff, right?"

He frowned at that. "Don't ruin the magic, Shrimp."

"Boy, I am the magic." She stated proudly.

All Kim gave was an affirmative 'hmpf' before he went back to mindless channel surfing, the two falling into a comfortable silence. Despite her barking, she was happy to have her best friend here, even before the new quarantine order came through trapping them in Paris for the foreseeable future. He made things feel normal in a period of constant weirdness.

Yeah, that was Kim, a man of constants; for both good and ill.

And one of those constants was spontaneity, as shown when Kim suddenly asked. "So, you're a kick ass superhero in the future, right?"

Alix blinked back the confusion for a second or two, peering up at the man. "Uh, yeah?"

He didn't look at her, but when he smiled, she felt like his eyes were on her. "That means everything works out here, doesn't it? And that you get out of Paris and go on all these cool time traveling vacations."

She was unsure. It sounded like too easy an answer for her, especially with all the times she got trapped in the burrow with multiple versions of herself. God, it had been so long since she last thought about her future self. If she was being honest, the idea of being the time miraculous hero until she was way into her ancient years was… Kind of scary.

She and Kim always talked about their futures and hopes, but did Bunnix mean that all that was going down the drain in favour of sitting int eh burrow for eternity?

She sighed, "I guess."

This time he did look at her, shooting her that self-assured grin that marked the start of every insane stunt Kim tried to pull. "Don't worry, it'll all work out in the end."

After a time, she sighed. "Thanks Kim." She couldn't look at him while she thanked him, she was too cool for that, and she was sure her face looked embarrassing.

Instead, she drew her attention to her watch, distracting herself. "Max is running late; he was supposed to be here half an hour ago."

Kim shrugged. "Probably got caught up in some big project."

Suddenly, a loud, shrill beep escaped from the tv, causing both young adults to shoot up into a sitting position.

On the screen, in bright orange flashes "We interrupt this broadcast to bring a city-wide emergency announcement."

"Oh, come on! I wanted to watch people get trampled."

---

"You need anything, Babe?" Nino called from the kitchen counter, squeezing a wet sponge up against what remained of their lunch.

For the hundredth time that day, Alya was non-responsive, curled up on the sofa, blankly staring at the tv screen. Her sister, Nora, sat at the counter, taking tentative sips of her coffee and looking utterly deflated. Strongest person in the entire family, but she couldn't do anything about Alya's slump.

"She's been staring at the tv all day." He murmured to Nora.

"I'm starting to think we should take her to the hospital." Nora sighed, pushing her coffee away. "She keeps mentioning all these pains and wounds that aren't there. It's really scaring me."

Of course it was scary. Nora didn't have the privileged information that her sister was reliving the injuries Chat gave her, so all Nino could offer her a soft back pat and the suggestion that it's all just the stress getting to Alya.

"Today. Open Season."

The two jumped at the first real words to come out of Alya in the past few hours.

"What was that, Babe?" Nino asked, cautiously approaching the sofa.

Alya sat with her hand raised to point at the tv, which was currently playing the emergency broadcast channel. "Chrysalis said. Today is when it becomes open season on heroes."

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring a city-wide emergency announcement."

---

"Tom…" Sabine shuddered with a sigh, a tight grip on the dining room chair as she desperately tried to hold it together. "You set out a plate for Marinette again."

The giant stood huddled by the other side, frozen in the act as he balanced a plate over the third seat. He was always a mountain, a fortress to someone as small as Sabine, but now there was no trace of that size or presence left, just a haggard man reaching for a girl that was no longer there.

"I did?" He asked, staring down at the plate for two straight minutes before coming to terms with his mistake, blinking away tears. "Guess it must have slipped my mind."

She shuffled over to throw herself at his arm, clinging on and digging her face into his side. "She would hate to see us like this."

"She's probably up there right now…" Tom sniffled. "Lecturing us on moving on."

"Even though she was terrible at it herself." Sabine smiled through bitter tears.

"Of course she does." Tom reached over to fully transition into a hug. "She… Our girl's a superhero."

"We interrupt this broadcast to bring a city-wide emergency announcement."

---

Nathalie had decided to pull out the big guns tonight. Adrien was still in the depths of a funk, and that meant pulling out all his favourite food. Granted, this was a much harder task than Nathalie expected, mostly because she forgot that the mansion hadn't had an actual chef for years now, so she had to try her hand getting it right herself.

Spoiler alert: there were several terrible results.

As she approached Adrien's room, tray in hand and piled high with goodies, Nathalie's ears began to pick up some of whatever Adren was watching. Hm, just some news segment.

"-at the press conference today, Chalot F. Moth, leader of the Miraculous Taskforce announced efforts to-"

Oh yes, the task force was having a press conference. Probably just making up excuses to look productive.

Glancing into the room she found the image of Chalot standing in front of a podium, though she was only paying half of her attention to listening. "After a year… Has finally been able to piece… Footage… Installations."

Nathalie turned on her back and bumped the door wide open on her hips.

"And what we found shocked us." Chalot finished saying as she slipped into the room. "But no matter how absurd it sounded, the evidence and its conclusion was as clear as day."

The moment Nathalie laid her eyes on the tv, her strength as gone. All feeling left her. The tray was dropped in a heap on the ground. The world slowed down, just to ensure she got the full taste of this moment.

"People of Paris, you have been lied to." The Moment Chalot spoke to all of Paris and told them. "Hawkmoth is Gabriel Agreste."

---

Next Time - Canary:

"Nathalie... Answer me... Please..." He waited there, frozen in denial and fear, hanging onto her answer. And he would wait for an eterntity for her to explain it away. She could tell him to clsoe 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 yes.

And maybe she had an excuse ready and equpped. She had to have been planning for this day for years, had to have imagined this scene and how it would play out. But whetever 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."