Who's Got The Akuma
Chapter 1: "Fallout"
A Miraculous Ladybug fanfic

by Bill K.

All characters within are copyright 2016 by Zagtoon and are used without permission, but with respect.

Ever since Volpina had been defeated, Paris had been quiet. Several weeks had passed and no threat to the population had risen up from out of nowhere. The city began to wonder if maybe, possibly, the crisis was over and they could get back to living their normal lives. A few, though, were perceptive enough to see that the fear generated by the successive attacks had altered everyone's behavior and that "normal" would be a long time coming.

To the police and those covering the attacks, the subject still dominated their thought processes. Just because Hawk Moth hadn't attacked didn't mean he was gone. And they said as much to the public, if only to prevent vigilance from dissipating. That included all journalists covering the attacks.

"I read your latest blog piece," Marinette commented as she and Alya walked to school. "Maybe Hawk Moth did give up."

"Doubt it," Alya replied. "There's no evidence - - no 'body' to prove he's gone. And he hasn't achieved his goal of Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous', so . . ." She thought a moment. "Of course, I haven't seen either of them recently, either."

"I'm sure they're all right," Marinette assured her, trying not to sound as if she knew that for certain, since she did.

"Yeah," Alya nodded, brushing up against Marinette with her shoulder. "If Hawk Moth had gotten their Miraculous', I doubt he'd keep it a secret." Marinette moved to the side to regain the space between them.

"I wonder what he wants them for," Marinette mused.

"Power, why else?" Alya speculated, brushing up against Marinette again. "Imagine what he could do with Ladybug's abilities." Again Marinette shuffled to the side to regain space between her and her friend.

"Is it just that simple?" Marinette wondered. "Maybe he's desperate to use them for something other than personal power."

"Why would you think that?" Alya asked, once again brushing against Marinette. Her friend became self-conscious as she again shuffled to the side. "Go on. I'm interested in all theories."

"Well, why else would you akumatize a little child like Manon unless you were desperate?" Marinette asked.

Once more she felt Alya's shoulder against hers. As she moved away again, Marinette was about to say something. But someone else bumped into her from the opposite side. Turning inquiringly, Marinette found herself staring into Adrien's soft blue eyes. The boy was surprised at first. But when he saw it was Marinette, his expression softened and his mouth curled into that dreamy smile that made Marinette's insides tighten.

"Sorry, Marinette," he mumbled shyly.

"That's OK, Adrien!" Marinette gasped. Already she could feel her throat going dry. Her eyes sought the ground. "I'm sure it was my fault. You know me: Clumsy little Marinette. Sometimes I think I shouldn't be allowed out without a barrier around me. So people won't run into me . . . and, um, I won't run into people. Because I seem to do that . . .a lot . . ."

Desperately her mind screamed at her to say something that would keep the conversation going, even somehow miraculously charm Adrien into being attracted to her. But her mouth had now divorced itself from her brain and wouldn't work. An awkward silence followed. After a few moments, Adrien turned and headed up the steps to school. Another opportunity squandered. Sensing Alya's presence behind her, Marinette whirled on her friend.

"You were HERDING me into Adrien!" she gasped in mortification.

"Of course I was," Alya replied. "Not that it helped. What do I have to do, Marinette? Why can't you just talk to him?"

Marinette looked down forlornly. "What if he doesn't like me?"

Alya sighed. "Then you'll cry for a few weeks and move on. It's got to be better than fantasizing about someone you're too scared to talk to. Isn't it?"

"Is it?" Marinette asked. "At least this way, I still have a chance."

Further comment was suspended when the two students entered Francoise Dupont and found a scene in the entry hall. Chloe was theatrically dressing down Lila in front of a growing group of on-lookers. Sabrina stood to one side of Chloe, vicariously enjoying her idol's performance. Lila glared angrily, her fists balled at her sides.

"And I had your linage traced," Chloe proudly proclaimed. "I always make it my business to investigate the claims of people who try to cosy up to me. Not only aren't you descended from Count Antonelli, you're not connected with Italian royalty of any kind!"

"I am!" fumed Lila. "I am descended from Count Antonelli!"

"This is the information age, honey," Chloe countered, waving a paper report that Sabrina had compiled for her. "Lies are a lot easier to check out." She grinned devilishly. "Not that I believed you to begin with. Everybody in school knows not to believe anything YOU say."

Several of the students watching began to snicker. It was all too much for Lila. She stormed away from Chloe and Sabrina, past Alya and Marinette, and out the door. Knowing Lila's past, Marinette was instantly concerned for the girl. But her attention was drawn away.

"Chloe," she heard Adrien say. Turning, Marinette saw Adrien standing across the hall from the fashionable blonde, a look of scowling disdain on his face. "Do you have to do that?"

"Oh, is your heart bleeding for another charity case?" sneered Chloe. "Honestly, Adrien, when are you going to realize that we're above this crowd?" And off she stalked, Sabrina scampering after her.

"That girl has a talent," muttered Alya, still standing beside Marinette. "Given Chloe's track record, I'm beginning to wonder if we could see Volpina again."

Marinette raced outside to the steps, vainly searching for any sign of Lila. For Marinette was wondering if we could see Volpina return again, too. And that was one of the last things Marinette wanted to see.

"What do you mean?" gasped Simon Gimault. He stared at the booking director in shock and growing horror.

The director started to respond, then paused, reconsidering his words. Simon could see that this was difficult for the man. However, it was far more difficult for himself, so he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Attendance has fallen," the director, Henri Cherac, said finally. "You're not the draw you were."

"It's because of what happened with Ladybug, isn't it?" Simon asked fearfully. "That wasn't my fault!"

"I know that," Cherac responded. "But - - people are afraid. This whole business with this Hawk Moth character has everyone in Paris nervous. And too many people are afraid to come to the theater if you're appearing. They're afraid it could happen again." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I have to think of the theater. We have to let you go."

"But how am I supposed to make a living if I can't get venues to perform in?" Simon inquired meekly. "If you won't hire me, do you think anyone else will? This is my life. This is all I know. All I want to do."

"Monsieur Gimault," Cherac offered. "If there's one thing I've learned about people is that they forget. And they can forgive, if it's something that doesn't directly threaten them. My advice would be to - - take a sabbatical. Get out of the public's consciousness. Let their attention move on to other things. Who knows? Maybe in the interim, this Hawk Moth nut will be caught and everything will be all right again."

"And what do I live on in the mean time?" Simon asked. "I'm a performer. Do you think I'm rich?" He wiped his collar with his hand. "I'm not the greatest hypnotist in the world. I don't perform for Kings and Queens. I barely scrape by as it is. I only keep doing it because it's such a source of joy. If you take that away . . ."

"I'm sorry," Cherac replied. "Call us again in - - six months. If everything has blown over by that time, I'll gladly take you back."

Cherac could see the man wanted to argue further. But Simon Gimault couldn't summon the strength to fight. Instead he meekly rose to his feet and trudged to the door. Once he was gone, Henri Cherac opened his desk drawer and poured himself a shot of French vodka to wash away the foul taste he suddenly had in his mouth.

Outside in the hall, Simon stood and stared at the floor as his future seemed to swirl away from him. It wasn't fair. He was being punished for something he was forced to do. Why couldn't anyone see that? This was all Hawk Moth's doing.

Hawk Moth; a dark, constricting hatred began to form in Simon's wiry chest. Simon couldn't remember hating anyone this deeply since his loathsome encounter with Gabriel Agreste.

"Ooh, Mommy!" Manon exclaimed, pointing to a display in the department store as she jerked at her mother's hand to get her to stop. It was a display of fashion dolls. "Look at the pretty dolls!"

"Yes, Manon," Nadja Chamack smiled patiently. "They're very pretty. Almost as pretty as you."

"Can I have one?" Manon asked, clutching at her mother's hand. "Please can I have one? Please, Mommy!"

"That's not what we're here to buy, Manon," Nadja told her daughter. "Now come along or we'll be late."

"Please?" persisted the small child.

"Manon," the woman sighed. Manon was giving her the puppy-dog eyes now. Oh, if she ever found out who taught her daughter that particular trick, she'd do something she'd have to confess on Sunday.

"Please?"

"Manon," Nadja murmured, kneeling down to the child. "How about we stop for lunch after I make my purchase and I buy you some ice cream? Wouldn't you like that?"

"But what about the doll?" Manon asked, the hint that she was losing the battle creeping into her young mind and tinting her question with the color of fear.

"Manon," Nadja forced herself to say, "you know you can't have any dolls. Remember what happened the last time you had a doll?"

"No," Manon squeaked. It was true; she didn't remember. Her mother had told her what had happened after confiscating all of the dolls in her toy chest, but since she didn't actually remember being The Puppeteer, to her it didn't count.

"I told you what happened," Nadja choked out, her heart breaking for her little girl and for what she had to do to protect her and everyone. "I told you why you can't have any dolls. It's too dangerous."

"But Mommy!" Manon cried, drawing the stares of other shoppers. "You said it wasn't my fault!"

"And it's not!" the woman said, scooping the child up in her arms and hugging her. "But until the man who did that to you is caught and stopped, it's too much of a risk!"

"But I want it!" wailed Manon. "If what happened isn't my fault, why do I have to be the one who gets punished?"

"It won't be forever, Dear," her mother assured her. "Just hold out a little longer." Feeling the stares of everyone on her back, Nadja regained her feet and took Manon's hand in hers. "Now let's make that purchase so we can get you some ice cream."

But as Nadja led her daughter away, she couldn't see the bitter expression on the girl's face. She couldn't hear Manon mumbling that it wasn't fair.

Arriving home from school, Chloe Bourgeois sighed with fatigue. Sure, Sabrina had carried her books, screened her calls and ran interference for people she didn't want to lower herself to talk to. The fatigue was from just being her. Sometimes it was just too much for a fifteen year old girl to bear.

"Welcome home, Mademoiselle," the maid bowed as she took the jacket and purse from the daughter of the master of the house. "Dinner shall be at seven. I will notify you in advance so you may prepare."

"Fine," Chloe sighed. What to do until then. If only Adrien would return her calls.

"That gives me plenty of time to do your homework, Chloe," Sabrina volunteered hopefully.

"Don't bother me with boring details," Chloe replied, waving absently at the girl. Then she smiled wickedly. "Do you remember the look on Lila's face this morning? It made my entire day. I don't think she even came back."

"Maybe she's gone for good," ventured Sabrina

"Oh, Mademoiselle Bourgeois," the maid said, entering the hall again. "You received a letter today."

"Is it from Notre-Dame Academie?" Chloe gasped, snatching the letter from her maid. "It is! Oh, this is going to be wonderful!"

"The private college preparatory school?" Sabrina asked with a sinking feeling. "You applied there?"

"Of course! Francoise Dupont is too common for someone like me! Being the Mayor's daughter, I should be attending the most prestigious school in Paris."

Chloe read the letter while Sabrina thought about life without Chloe. For there was no way she was going to be able to follow Chloe to a school like Notre-Dame. But those thoughts came to a screeching halt as she observed the growing outrage on her idol's face.

"REJECTED!" bellowed Chloe. Eyes blazing, Chloe stared at nothing for a few seconds. The letter crumpled in her fist. "Well we'll just see about this!" And off she stormed to the main living hall, Sabrina scrambling to keep up.

"I'm sorry," Mayor Bourgeois said over the phone, trying to placate his precious daughter. "They are an independent school. I have no influence over them."

"Did you even try?" Chloe demanded petulantly.

"Of course I did. I was informed of the letter by the school's regent ahead of time. I must say that I made a very impassioned argument on your behalf. You know you mean the world to me."

"Then why am I rejected?" Chloe howled.

"The thesis you submitted," the Mayor replied with audible fatigue. "The faculty judges felt it was - - too close to a work that had been published years ago by the school. In fact, the man who wrote it is on the faculty at the school."

"Then he should THANK me for making it more interesting!" snapped Chloe.

"They considered it plagiarism," her father replied. Chloe didn't notice the hint of disappointment in his voice. "And then there was - - the incident."

"Incident?"

"When you," her father stammered, "became Antibug."

"What about it?" Chloe asked, her voice a whisper now due to surprise.

"The faculty feels that, well, someone with a, um, past - - such as that," the Mayor hemmed and hawed, "would open up the school to shame and ridicule."

"But that wasn't my fault!" Chloe protested. "I was controlled! Don't they know that? Didn't you tell them?"

"I did. It didn't make a difference."

"So," Chloe gasped incredulously, "so I'm a criminal now? Branded? Shunned by anyone who matters for something that wasn't even my fault?"

"Just the point I made," her father said. "They have agreed to reconsider your application next year."

"Next," Chloe whispered, "year?"

"If you stay out of trouble," the Mayor added, "and if you submit a paper that's your own work. You can do it. You can rise above this and redeem yourself in their eyes. I know you can."

Chloe disconnected her cell phone. Sabrina watched her stand there, the phone dangling from one limp hand, staring at nothing.

"Chloe?" Sabrina ventured.

"Get out," she replied softly.

"Is there . . .?"

"GET OUT!" Chloe roared. Turning, Sabrina hurriedly left, leaving Chloe's homework satchel on the floor.

The teen stood alone in the center of the room, feeling humiliated. And nobody humiliated Chloe Bourgeois.

A window stood irised open, the light scattering thousands of butterflies. It had been open for most of the day. The man in the center of the beam of light just smiled and drank in the sensations he was feeling.

It was all going according to plan.

Continued in Chapter 2