Nothing but [BAD] luck

[9]

I made this chapter longer to make up for the long wait. Happy Easter! (:

Don't forget to vote! (:

                                    ~✯~

                     /Chained and rotting\

"I don't know." Was the only thing Chat could say to the grandmaster, upon the question of Fang's death. His eyes dropped to the floor. What a dirty lie it was.. but better Fang than himself. That was days ago, which also meant he hadn't even caught sight of Marinette besides when he was in his civilian form. Even then he'd tried his best to avoid her— though for some reason he hadn't seen her in a while. He had also previously felt bad for Fang. The fellow assassin had been his childhood friend, his ally. But Fang had changed- gone wrong in the head for his hunger for power. He was trying to kill him. So instead, Chat felt nothing.

"Hm... such a shame. But he was always foolish, was he not?" The dark voice echoed, as Chat bowed in respect. "Always in over his head. A sloppy fighter, even worse intellectually. I should have never given him even a task so very- simple." The walls of the room crackled as if in agreement, and Chat shivered uncomfortably.

The grandmaster controlled nearly everything in Paris. He was a force to be reckoned with, indeed. But he was almost like a father to him. It was unfair that a criminal overlord had been more humane to him than his own flesh and blood.

"...This is why I have you, my young Adrien. This is why you are my commanding officer.. you have not yet failed me. Nor will you ever," he sounded so proud and sure of himself, as if he saw Chat as a prodigy of some sort. "When I have passed you will be well deserving of my place upon this throne," he gestured toward the steel chair he sat upon which was cast over by darkness, hiding his face. Chat was one of few to see it in person- battle-scarred, wrinkled and torn of age. Clear blue eyes with cataracts that would strike fear into all of those that opposed him.

Chat flinched. For once.. the grandmaster was wrong. He was a failure indeed, to both his master and all of his comrades. He didn't deserve all of these privileges he was given, but  it was either keeping his mouth shut or facing certain death for his startling betrayal. So Chat kept quiet, listening on.

"I know it's been hard for you, suffering with the death of your mother.. forced to abide by a ruthless father with no time for you. I get it. I was the same way at your age. Essentially an orphan. A reject who could never please the people who were supposed to care for me, my parents. It only makes sense for people like us to take revenge on the world," the man's fist tightened, a wide grin now visible through the darkness that surrounded the two. "That's why I want you to help me with our biggest mission yet.. I'll be sending in only the best, and it's only obvious that you will be leading them. I'll give you more details later, but for now, I must have your word. Are you up for the most gruesome mission of your life, Chat Noir?"

His fingers fidgeted. How was he to agree to this? Easy. This would be the chance to prove himself to the grandmaster and therefore only further strengthen his unwavering trust. It was viral, especially to mask his slip-up. He wanted to do it. He needed to do it. So when a smirk appeared upon his face and the eerie words, "You can count on me," slid through his lips, no thought of Marinette or anyone else he had met over the past few weeks ever crossed his mind.

===========================

His wrists chafed on the ropes. His neck ached and burned after hanging in the same position for days. His teeth gritted in anger, ecstasy. By now he was skins and bones starving. He glanced off to his side, barely able to turn his head more than a few centimeters. He quietly muttered the words, "So I guess this is it, huh?" Before turning back to face forward, laughing obnoxiously, non-stop, coughing up his own blood in the process. No response came. The person next to him was unrecognizable... in is bloodshot, aching eyes, just another prisoner. A bag was over their head, tight enough to where it clenched at the bottom of their neck, so he wouldn't doubt that they couldn't see him. Whoever they were, they had been thrown in the cell this morning.