Nothing but [BAD] luck

[24]

since people have been asking, there's only going to be about 3 - 4 more chapters left.

(This one is decently long lol)

And thanks for 29k!!

~✯~

/Can't trust a cat\

The only thing they could possibly think was to run, but much easier said then done.

Hundreds- thousands of angry protesters stood up and began smashing at the glass separating them from Chat Noir, now a traitor. The coldness in their eyes signaled Chat's heartbeat to run an an increasingly alarming rate, racing to unlatch the prisoners. On the end of the hall stood the grandmaster and Jacob, the other with Saud and a figure with a hood, shrouded in mysteriousness. They were blocking the exits as if they were ready for this all along.

Chat's mind was spinning. He hadn't thought that this was how things would turn out. Hell, he couldn't even think collectively enough to possibly remember any plan he might have thought of. Finally releasing the two prisoners, he immediately turned toward the grandmaster, drawing a revolver from his coat pocket, carefully aiming it at him. Marinette and Andres, now free,  could not pry their eyes off of the crowd, who were now creating cracks in the fragile glass.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Chat Noir." The grandmaster's gaze held one of knowingness, as if he had already predicted the outcome of these events. He looked much too confident, much to Chat's discomfort.

Chat did not dare move an inch. Though his gun was still trained at the leader's temple, he didn't seemed deterred in any way whatsoever. And for once, Chat felt fear build up inside of him. Not because he was afraid of death, as Andres had accused him of. But now he was protecting the lives of those behind him.. and he wasn't sure if was going to be able to. His jaw clenched, his confidence slowly returning.

The grandmaster's expression slowly stretched into a grin. "Jacob, bring him in." As instructed, Jacob opened the door behind him, stepping inside the room filled with darkness and grabbing a figure by the collar, shoving him forward onto the concrete. The man crumbled to his knees in weakness.

He looked on the brink of being a teenager, his build not large but not quite resembling that of a young child. Observing him quickly, Chat thought nothing of this notion, his finger barely hovering over the trigger. Seeing the man's face he was unrecognizable. In his eyes, another doomed prisoner, one without any value to him whatsoever. Taking pity on those with no hope left would leave him powerless, and in an equally helpless position. 

Suddenly as he as about to fire upon the grandmaster, he was tackled from behind. He barely had time to react as he realized that someone was wrestling with him for the gun. Straining to keep it in his hands, it slid across the stage and left him disarmed.

"Stop it, Chat Noir!" The voice shouted, and he then realized the person who had attacked him was none other than Andres. His levels of confusion rose tenfold, his anger worsening.

Chat overpowered him easily as he was much too weakened to put up a good fight, shoving him to the ground with a force laced with anger. "What the hell are you doing?!" He demanded loudly. His back hit the ground of the cold, hard stage. Chat picked up the gun and was now pointing it at Andres.

He held his hands up in front of his face in surrender. "No! Chat! You can't shoot him-"

"And why's that?" All Chat could think was that his trust had been broken. He couldn't even put his thoughts together in a straight line. The screaming erupting around him from the crowd was almost deafening, his gaze intensifying in the face of Andres's actions.