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When Chat Noir is akuamtized, despite the golden opportunity, he did not expect it to go well for him.
At all, for that matter
(Bunnyx probably would’ve have a field day explaining how anomalies work)
He is not surprised when his own creation turns against him. As far as he was concerned, it had gone exactly as assumed. He doesn't want to get into it further then necessary. It was actually rather embarrassing.
They had informally called him the White Plague. It’s an unoriginal nickname, really, but it’s effective in explaining the scale of the attack. He’d only caught the beginning of it all, but from his understanding, everyone in Paris had lost someone to Chat Blanc's rampage. (The deaths were as violent as they were painful. Conduct that was unbecoming of the usual akuma.)
Or, if it wasn’t family, it was themselves. Everyone remembering it spelled disaster. (He’d pay for their therapy by donating large amounts to the Akuma Support fund— he reaped hadn’t meant to cause such mental damage.)
Either way, the girl had eventually saved the day
Things should’ve gone back to normal after that, barring the weakening of the heroes defences that’ll help him in the future. Oddly enough, though, Paris does not forget so easily as he did.
He hadn't expected their volatile reaction. Not at all. Had it been his own plan, it would’ve been brilliant, but the hate sparked from thin air and lingered like a bad scent.
The entire city, seemingly overnight to his own perception, despised Chat Noir. With a burning fury. It was as though they'd completely discarded the situation for what it was. Chat Blanc had killed, not Chat Noir. Blanc.
In a way, as the father to his own creations, it was rather infuriating to watch them treat his akumas as equal entities. They were nothing alike.
Paris didn’t know that, and that was all that mattered
Mobs, justice groups, petitions. They’d popped up as quickly as the disgruntlement did.
A few days of discontent melted into weeks of protest and then months of mobs
They hunted him. In a way not unlike sport. To the point the boy had narrowly avoided beatings on several occasions during their patrols. It was almost ironic that the public was making the villain sick with disgust. (He was a child. Barely Adrien's age. The thought of his parents learning about the child’s brutal death made him nauseous.)
He was just one of many akumatized civilians. He didn’t see the problem. They didn't care about their own misdeeds, waving the excuse of him being a ‘hero’ and how that should shape his responses to emotional distress. (They'd been warned over and over again about this becoming a possibility— yet they claimed ignorance.)
If anything, it was one of the better outcomes of Chat Noir's possession. The heroes had maintained both miraculous by the end of it, and Hawkmoth was no closer to victory. He didn’t even know the lad’s identity, which was a sore spot to this day.
But, despite the heroes overwhelming win, the city made it seem unforgivable
Gabriel takes note of the city around him as he observes the situation from afar. The monuments with the main duo had been reduced to Ladybug statues alone. His half either torn down, or removed by the government. What few things they had left up was already defaced beyond comprehension. (Officers seemed to have turned a blind eye when it came to Chat Noir related defacing.)
The mayor had even expressed his allowance of ‘civil action’ by heavily implying that he'd lightened police presence in the 7th and 16th arrondissement. They boy frequented those areas. He lived there— it seemed— so his makeshift mobs were specifically trying to track the boy's residence down. Presumably to unmask him, and carry on their sick sense of justice in civilian form.
He attempts to continue as normal, waiting for it to blow over, and akumatising who he can. Everything was always reversed. No one was permanently dead. He’s painted Chat Blanc’s hand reds, and Ladybug had washed him off it. The outrage only grows, though, and all he feels is rage.
'No person akumatized is responsible for ones actions committed under Hawkmoth's power and emotional coercion.' A law, if he remembers correctly, that was implemented shortly after his arrival. Why were they ignoring that now?
(In a way, he almost feels protective. He'd personally ensure that every akuma in Paris faces legal ramifications if the petitions about criminal charges actually became successful. He watches old footage of his akumas, and cross references his memory; mentally calculating a death toll. The Ladyblog has a plethora of evidence.)
To his knowledge, he'd only found four supporters of Chat Noir in the whole of Paris. That weren't the heroes, at least. Four. Four out of two million. Him, Nathalie, Adrien and the girl with pigtails that won the competition in Adrien's class.
When they'd first broached the subject at home, Adrien had looked terrified. He can’t even remember was the initial conversation was about. Just that the TV was too loud and they’d caught the back end of a Chat Noir related news report. His son had clearly expected him to express his discontent for the hero like the rest of those blubbering idiots, not scoff.
"Ridiculous." It was an annoyed mutter as he read through the physics assignment. As much as he hated to sound like Audrey, he didn't say a word of a lie. "You… you support him? I… I thought it was just me and Marinette." Adrien squeaked, relief flooding over his face.
"What? Yes. By their logic, I should be just as guilty as him. I turned people into drawings as The Collector. It's idiotic to think he's anything other then a hero. He was controlled." He answered at a deadpan, tone pushing that he thought it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Didn't uh... didn't Chat Blanc kill you two though? He was- he was reigning around this bit a lot, so I thought, maybe..." Adrien whispered nervously, half expecting him to change opinions on the spot.
He was killed, yes. (Granted it wasn't exactly in civilian form, but he had, and it had been relatively brutal.)
"So?" He answered evenly, easing an eyebrow as though this conversation had no effect on him. Adrien had looked so close to crying that day, now he thought about it.
Chat Noir himself was clearly taking notes on just who he could turn to. Perhaps he networked with other kids his age to find his few supporters. Gabriel noticed the boy outside the manor on a few occasion. Perched on the safety of their walls with a small smile.
He leaves him a basket of supplies one night, and later footage of the hero showed that he was using what he delivered
Ladybug was trying to act as a middle man; bringing to light the public’s hypocrisy and toeing the line between protecting her partner and her duty to the people of Paris. (She couldn’t sit back and let Chat Noir be attacked, but she couldn’t exactly fight back either.) The girl could only do so much.
At Nooroo’s instruction, he leaves them a bag of food to recharge their kwamis with if they’re ever in a pinch with their chasers. They never catch sight of him, but the purple Hawkmoth symbol he'd drawn on the front said enough on who it was from. (They were his nemesis, but then again, he needed said nemesis alive for them to continue fulfilling that quota.) It was a silent confirmation that he'd lay off until they got their own affairs in order.
As far as the public were concerned, if Chat's on private property, they were going to take the trespassing laws in stride. Even when he's on the streets, that tactless spineless disgrace of a mayor had all but given permission for anyone to take ‘defensive measures’. Since Chat had no proof he's a minor, past revealing his identity, he couldn’t even protest these actions as illegal.
They were stuck, bluntly in a legal loophole
Chat Noir, under the current affairs, could be beaten to death in the streets at any point. The repercussions would come all too late if he ever detransforms after death. (He had ranted to Adrien about that actually. Rather loudly, for that matter.)
"It's delusional! Not a minor, what are they thinking?! He looks your age! Maybe younger! What if that was you out there? People wouldn't know until they've just about bashed your brains in! What would they do then? Jesus, tthey'd probably still try and find a way to defend themselves. They're insane. That boy has family. Who will tell them that some mob has just slaughtered their child? What about his parents? They’re probably also against him, now we talk about it! What if they’re the ones that kill him?"
It had been a lengthy one sided fume. Whatever he was saying had amused Adrien’s slightly, because he had this small smile and glassy eyes. He didn’t comment on it. “I don’t think that’ll happen, father.”
The bar was one the floor and Hawkmoth of all people was stepping over it as others dug to get underneath it.
Before long, other countries were taking notice of the travesty. Yet, despite out roar, there’s no formal action lodged against the government. Worse yet, America seems to be silently supporting it due to an incident the boy had with the heroes in the past.
Adrien had told him that some kids in class would skip to the day to join a campaign against Chat Noir. Hooligans jumping on a bandwagon was to be expected in his generation. Expected and then punished accordingly, but his teacher was encouraging it. Saying it was something to be proud of, leading the 'fight' against 'evil' at their age was something awardable in her eyes. He was close to pulling Adrien out that wretched place once and for all, but needing to write down a ‘reason’ for why he was doing it surely wouldn’t go well.
He was Hawkmoth. He was supposed to be the bad guy. He was supposed to be the one with questionable morals and lack of decency. So why the hell did everyone seem hellbent on making him so much better compared to them all?
He'd akumatized people. He'd broken laws. He'd commuted several accounts of domestic terrorism that would make even the greatest of terror cells cry with jealousy. He'd even proven he could start World War III at any time he pleased. Yet, Chat had been made worse.
It was inevitable someone would want to pick up his stance on things. (No one had really questioned it at first— just like Adrien, they all assumed his victim status would automatically make them a follower to their cause.) It took a conference call for them to realise.
"And on a final note, what are we going to do for the upcoming fundraiser to convince the police to arrest Chat Noir?" His stylus had stopped mid stroke. Countless executives made pledges, and he did nothing more than glare. So this was why it was streamed. Publicity.
Someone finally noticed the look he was giving his tablet. "You look like we've just killed your cat, Gabrikins. Don’t tell me you’re annoyed someone’s outdone you financially." Audrey commented dryly. There was a chorus of laughter at the joke against the hero, and it didn't take long to notice he wasn't laughing with them. "I'm not giving a thing to youe witch hunt." He snapped, pressing down harder with his pen and marking down an angry splash of red in the design he'd been making to ignore the group.
"No now Gabriel, I know it may seem like it won't work or it's a waste of time-"
"And that’ll be a fucking good thing."
There was a few gasps before utter silence. That was understandable to an extent. He hadn't sworn since his university days, and even then, it had never been in public, but this was really starting to rub him the wrong way. "You're saying you want the movement to fail?" Audrey echoed in honest confusion.
"You tell me." He pointed out. Tgere we’re a few more beats of silence before a realisation hit. "You were killed by him and you want to protect the boy?" One of his male associates blanched in disbelief. "Yes… Paul, is it? So, if you could refrain I'd vastly appreciate it." He answered evenly.
The chat they'd set up for people to discuss was blowing up now in confusion. He even spotted a few people saying that maybe he was ‘under the effects of an akuma’ or had been ‘brainwashed by Chat Noir’ at some point. He interrupted them before they could continuing talking.
"Unless you fancy going to prison too, Style Queen, I suggest you take a similar stand point. You killed lots of people. My son included. I'd be more than happy to testify after I'm locked up for my own murders as The Collector." He added sarcastically.
She made a spluttering noise. "How dare you say such a thing?!? Those don't count, we were akumatized!" She shouted in disbelief before trailing off at how stupid she was making their cause sound. "No no, Audrey. If he's to blame for his actions as Chat Blanc then we all are, and I don't know about you, but personally I'm not overly fond of being blamed for my wrong doings." He continued, taking the opportunity he'd been given.
"But he killed over half of Paris!" One of the investors stuttered. Gabriel raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the feeble excuse. "According to the Ladyblog, there's a promising swimming student by the name of Ondine. The boy she liked was oblivious to her attempted advances, and she was akumatized by Hawkmoth. This turned her into the mermaid villain Syren." He explained.
"Now if you're going to bring numbers into the equation, she killed most of Paris, if not all aside from a handfuls of survivors that had found high enough ground in time or managed to not tire out swimming. People sleeping or in homes? Dead. Drivers? Dead the second her water impacted their cars or trapped in them to the point of drowning. People bellow ground level? They didn’t even stand a chance." There was no indication they were going to protest. They just looked thoughtful.
"A Public Healthy study in 2016 found that one in seven adults in France don't know how to swim. Right off the bat, that's 314,286 people. 1 in 3 under 18's don't know how to swim. With an average percentage of 24%, that's 528,000 minors, or a further 176,000 that would've drowned at the first few feet of water. Tsunamis are the most deadly sub-type of earthquake, and close to the results of Syren's tears. They average 79 deaths for every 1,000 people affected. Take the population of France and take away the precursor death count. There's about 1886 thousands in it. Times that by 79 and you get another 148,994 deaths. That's assuming you get the five minute warning you usually get for water disasters. Paris had none." They knew he wasn't finished, and they still hadn't said a word.
"Aceh was among the areas hardest hit by the tsunami resulting from the Boxing Day tsunami of 2004. While estimates vary, over 170,000 people were killed in that area. Since they had no warning, it's relatively easy to get a guess number from that. The population of Aceh before the December 2004 tsunami was 4,271,000. To add on the surprise factor that would've taken lives, we half the number killed for that population size to match Paris'. That's another 85,000 people." Gabriel was on a roll now, and Nathalie was watching him now from her desk as she did similar math in her head.
"We have to be realistic, so we'll estimate 10 thousand killed from the result of panic in large crowded areas. Crushed. Pushed. That kind of thing. Almost everyone is familiar with the fight or flight here. The reaction to a stimulus perceived as an imminent threat to your survival. However, less well known is the freeze response, which adds a crucial dimension to how you're likely to react when the situation confronting you overwhelms your coping capacities and leaves you, theoretically, paralysed in fear." Adrien had walked in at some point. He must of been watching it himself before or was sent it by a friend. Now choosing to watch it unravel with his own eyes.
"We'll assume 100,000 thousand people didn't process it quick enough to get to cover in time for the initial impact, leading to their deaths. Then, there wasn't enough space or tall buildings to save everyone that made it to the point of seeking safety. I reviewed some footage the blogger made from atop her area. There was only a handful of their group, and on the buildings around them, an equally sparse amount. A few would've managed to grab onto something. So we'll be nice and say 75% of what was left drowned anyways since they either didn't get there on time or was blocked in some way." He took a deep breathe, ready to finalise his point.
"With the initial calculations, Syren killed 834, 280 people near instantly. That's 1,365,720 people remaining with simply the ability to survive. Then we take the 75 percent killed from lack of time or chance to get to safety and tiring out from swimming for an hour straight. Leaving us with, and this is a generous estimation because believe me I've left out a lot of things and possibilities, 314,430 survivors. Exactly 14.29227272727273 percent of Paris lived in that attack. Far more than Chat Blanc's total. Trust me. I did the math and read your surveys." The silence isn't silence anymore. It's deafening.
"How can you hold one accountable, but not another?" It was low and left no room for argument. "So no. I don't support your ideology. You do whatever you want, but you all best leave me out of it, because I've added up all of your estimated counts and believe me... it doesn't look good." He threatened, eyes narrowed.
In the end, his little speech caused some change rather then none. The side they'd formed that was hellbent on making Chat pay for his actions had fractured into two. There was a second, more 'pacifist' side, that still hated him. However they realised that if he was to be accountable, they all would be for their own akumatizations.
Of course, this didn't mean they refused to join mobs and hunting groups to find the boy and deliver mayor sanctioned street justice. They just refused to take it to the courts since that would make them criminals too. Selfish. The lot of them.
Eventually, the Anti-Guilt began to outweigh the Pro-Guilt as the logistics were brought into the mix. At least the boy wouldn't have to worry about being arrested any time soon. Small mercies in a city where mobs were apparently the new normal.
He was a kid. Probably a very scared kid. Who wouldn't when you were being hunted down on a daily basis and constantly bad mouthed about when in civilian form? At this point, the only safe spaces the boy had was the roofs across from the Agreste house. He'd been clear with his security entourage to keep the unruly mobs and search parties away to supposedly prevent property damage.
Every time Chat stumbled down onto one after a long night so he could catch his breath before continuing his patrol, it made paying for double the usual amount of guards worth it. He was more shocked the boy didn't just give up nightly patrols all together. It was more of a danger to him now then ever before, but he seemed absolute on continuing to protect the very city coming for him.
A matter of time. That's what it came down to these days. Just a matter of time. So when the mobs finally get a hold on Chat Noir, and Ladybug couldn't be there because she'd already swung of home after bidding adieu from patrol, it only made sense he'd run towards the one place they couldn't touch. They’d spotted him trying to go home himself and saw it as the perfect opportunity to try and get a few hits in.
All of this was why fate had led him here. To this very point. Noticing the leather clad figure jumping over houses as he tried to reach the walls of the Agreste Manor. He hadn't even gotten the time to order Nathalie to open the gate since it was already done. How the cat knew the security override code wasn't something he was going to question.
The guards clearly couldn't hold the overwhelming numbers back since they were all right on the heroes tail. He had opened the door to let the teenager in or order away the group, but was instead greeted by the sight of one of the people behind Chat Noir stabbing out with their pitchfork as though this was some Disney movie where they hunted down the beast.
Apparently, if their shocked silence meant anything, even they hadn't expected the sharp metal to actually do its intended job. The three prongs pierced through the black suit and out the other side from the sheer force they'd charged with. He stares in horror for a moment.
They’d gone and stabbed him. Actually stabbed him. With a pitchfork. Through the chest. This wasn’t some roughing up gone wrong. Nooroo had told him the cat kwami had lost owners before from people beating them up to much after misunderstandings, but this? This wasn’t beaten to death.
They’d stabbed him!
Then, there’s a king shrill beep being emitted from the child’s miraculous. Not like the beeping it usually did when they were out of minutes for their kwami’s. It sounded... could a ring sound afraid? If it could, it certainly was as there was a flash of green light. Suddenly it’s not Chat Noir stood staring at the holes in his chest, but Adrien.
Adrien
Adrien
Adrien
People screamed out in horror, as though they seriously expected the hero to be an adult. That they hadn’t just good as killed a child. A child. His son who had been playing soldier. His son who has been playing martyr. These people just stabbed his son. THEY STABBED HIS SON!
Gabriel's never been so glad he had a license for a gun in his whole life. When Emilie had first suggested he own a handgun incase the manor was robbed, he'd thought the whole process took far too long. There was so many tests and paperwork just to get the green light to own a weapon in the first place. Permits, insurance, practical exam results it was a very annoying system but one he understood none the less.
They'd given it to him because his status warranted such precautions, and right now there was an angry mob in his private front yard that had just stabbed his son. Nathalie, bless her soul, had already sprinted back from his safe and put the handgun in his waistband as they stood in the archway before he'd even ran forward. He didn't care less that he'd never fired a gun in his life past mere paper targets. This was well within his right.
Pulling it out from the back of his belt, he raised it with a panicked look at all the strangers who's one purpose in life as of late was to hurt Chat Noir. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even as Hawkmoth his goal has always been to just get the miraculous and reverse the akumas effects before making his wish. These people- these monsters had done what he’d never done as a villain.
They’d stabbed Chat Noir
He had never unsheathed the blade in his cane when fighting the two. Not in his life. He’d only ever used the sword once when Robustus had activated the security system in his lair. He’d never used lethal methods. Why would he? They were children. Children don’t deserve to be killed. Ladybug didn’t deserve to be killed no matter who she was as a civilian. Chat Noir didn’t deserve it either.
Chat Noir, his son
His son who was currently collapsing to the ground as red trickled below him with a worried cry of his kwami. The group looked up as though finally noticing someone else was in front of them all. He didn’t care about their fear struck gazes as they stared down the barrel of his weapon from a few meters away.
They all knew their situation. A registered self defence gun holder faced with people on their property after crossing the gate line without consent. By all means, they were already technically breaking in, but they’d made it worse for themselves. They’d stabbed his son. They’d all become accessories. One a full blown murderer.
They’d stabbed his son. Theyd stabbed his son. They’d stabbed his son-
He only hesitated a few seconds. This was more than enough warning to the crowd to back off and call an ambulance. Gabriel Agreste was a forward man, and if you put a gun in his hands, you damn well better follow instructions because he would take a human life if he so wanted. But then someone took the first step forward. He didn’t care if they were apologising or about to express their mistake. He didn’t care.
he simply didn’t care
They were holding the bloodied pitchfork. They were the one that did it. They were the one that hurt his son. Not Chat Noir. His son. His son that had pledged to save Paris no matter the cost, and they’d betrayed him. They’d all betrayed him. He just wanted to help and he’d been upset for one fleeting moment. They should’ve been there with open arms. He was counting on it after the fact even. They should’ve done anything but this.
They’d stabbed him in the back
Literally
Traitors
The man had taken that step forward. A step forward without warning and Gabriel wasn’t willing to bet they weren’t about to finish the job. Self defence laws were on his side, so he had no more reason to wait. He aimed. He fired.
And he felt nothing but pure white rage while doing so...