Nothing but [BAD] luck

[1]

*may contain strong language and/or descriptive gore and torture*

(Chapter name is always under the star. Just to be clear, ADRIEN AND CHAT NOIR ARE THE SAME PERSON IN THIS BOOK. THAT FACT NEVER CHANGES. ✌🏻)

~✯~

The sky was dark, resembling a dip of purple and blue in a clash with one another, as if meagerly fighting for unattainable dominance. The quiet bustle of the streets below created a ringing that was surprisingly one of a calming nature. Nobody was out on the newly paved streets this late at night, in fact the only activity was a few cars whirring their way home loudly- with likely drunken inhabitants.

A thick sheet of fog whipped its way around the edge of buildings and down the street corners, encasing the west side of Paris in a grey atmosphere of mist. The lights were out and doors securely locked, nobody daring to step foot outside on such an eerie, cold night.

Only one person would be about the empty roads and rooftops this late as anyone in their right mind would gladly be in the state of slumber. But this man was very different.

The breeze mercilessly raked through the streams of his fluffy blonde locks, and the cold winter air tingled at his eyelashes. The night sky- now a dark purple shade with fingers of white due to the fog- swallowed him whole as he leapt from building to building, admiring the Parisian lights that twinkled and flashed in the moonlight. Some might say you could still see them from outer space, much like the Great Wall of China, except they weren't just large, they were instead brighter then you'd ever see. It was, after all, sometimes known as the city of lights for that sole reason.

The boy wore a mask of leather, one that concealed his identity from those he could not trust, (which was everyone, anyway) and a suit that hugged his build perfectly in order for him to move around with ease. His forest green eyes flashed with a certain passion- a determination toward his profession, if you could call it that.

A very unique job it was indeed.

In fact, today was the day he took care of some unfinished business- someone that hadn't upheld their part of the little deal they had come to terms with not too long up ago. It was a shame, for he knew that he was indeed a good man with good intentions, but from then on he would amount to nothing. He had, after all, messed with one of the most dangerous and infamous people in all of Paris.. for whatever reason.

It was never a game, never something to be put into the past and forgotten, someone would always have to pay the price in some way or another.

But that didn't matter. Because as far as he was concerned, the most important  thing a person could ever have was a deal itself, meaning that if under any circumstance ends could not be met, punishment would soon ensue. Regardless of who was at risk.

And Chat Noir of course, the infamous figurehead of one of the most iconic (not to mention perilous) gangs in all of Paris, of all people would understand what punishment was. There gathering and intentions were explicitly known- their numbers were few, but most would give no thought to it considering their death toll and all they had accomplished. "MIR" wasn't the real term to describe it, but the people of Paris feared them and hoped not to anger them, and eventually had to refer to them in one way or another. T

Chat Noir definitely loved the name. It had no real meaning but surely it gave him a sense of purpose, a feeling of power over the people.. the ones who turned their back on him. No longer would he be a hermit, but instead joined by other people to take revenge on this solemn world who gave them no care.