Encrypted - Chapter I

Bonjour mes miraculers!

Today I bring you my challenge entry to Hala’s Miraculous Prompt Challenge! I know I’m a few days late, but luckily Hala was kind enough to give me extra time; I thank you a millions times over Hala!

If I’m being perfectly honest, I chose a pretty difficult prompt to make a fanfic out of and while I was coming up with ideas on how to put my original creative spin into it, I came up with “Hey, why don’t I make a Criminals AU out of it and see where that goes?” :joy:

I wanted to submit more than one entry to the challenge but as y’all can see, I ran out of time haha.Tbh, I don’t know if this turned out any good but I hope you and all the other judges like my entry for whatever reason Hala, lol and of course all of you truly miraculous and loyal readers :two_hearts:

Despite all the problems I had while writing (writer’s block is pure evil), it was actually a ton of fun making this haha; hope you have a good laugh out of it! It’s pretty bad though, lol. So without further ado, enjoy! :stuck_out_tongue_winking_eye:

(Btw, I made it to Level 15! I’m Master Fu now hahaha!) :joy: :joy: :joy:

Word Count: 3989 (wow, this as way longer than I expected it to be)

Next Chapter->

Edit: 15th feature! Thanks so much! :two_hearts:

#promptfic

***

What is the one thing that everyone fears?

Some say heights. Maybe spiders. Others the dark.

Now what do all these irrational terrors have in common?

Answer is they’re all apart of the unknown.

A monster of the mind that no one can escape from.

A monster everyone is terrified of.

Everyone except a certain golden-haired individual.

***

Adrien Agreste is use to staring at danger straight in the eye. It was one of the conditions he signed up for when he decided to pursue a life of crime. However, what he didn’t sign up for was being nominated by his enigmatic boss as the leader of such a useless group of underlings.

In all his five years of being on the run from the law, he’d never met so many knuckleheads in his entire life (three idiots to be exact). To make matters worse, he was ordered to somehow successfully rob another priceless antique for their superiors’ personal collection (making this the second act of thievery this week) with such an uncoordinated batch of skains mates.

He grits his canine teeth, cursing internally in simmering irritation at his unlucky predicament. Like a black cat, bad luck always seemed to trail his back at every turn he makes. No matter how many times he thinks it loses him, it always manages to find him again. Why was he always the one who pulled the short straw when it came to life, he thinks bitterly.

“You ready to go, dude?” A voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

Adrien whirls around from the sky-high view of Paris to find the only person in his faction that he actually didn’t mind keeping around as company (as well as the only person he found to be pretty dependable). His best partner-in-crime, Carapace. A mysterious name for a strange individual. Not that his own nickname was any better.

Like everyone else in his crime organization, Adrien didn’t know the dark-haired boy’s real name and the same could be said for the latter. Rather, they all referred to one another by their chosen code names.

Unlike society, here in the merciless world of crime, your old identities are ordered be forsaken; your given names at birth are forced to be lost to the past. And a new name must be created. At least that’s what was the higher-ups stated at Adrien’s interview.

In all honesty, he thinks the real truth was that using codenames made it harder for the government to track them down.

At the sight of his friend, he relaxes his jaw, unclenching his tight fists. Like the rest of his subordinates, his partner was decked out in black from head to toe minus the violet butterfly insignia symbolizing their crime organization emblazoned on his chest where his heart was. To top the assemble off, two gun holsters dangle loosely from his utility belt.

“What?” the crime leader responds in confusion, unable to what the amber-eyed boy just asked.

Carapace tugs the onyx mask up to his head, revealing his rather youthful face. “I asked if you’re ready to proceed with the mission,” Carapace squints at him, slightly weirded out at his leader’s blank expression (he would think he’d be use to it by now) but decides to quirk his face in a light grin.

“A penny for your thoughts?” As if on cue, he flips a penny toward the blond, meant for hitting him straight in the forehead, had the blond not caught it with effortless ease.

Ah, that’s right. The mission. He was so lost in his mind, he almost forgot.

Adrien blinks, iring the glow of the piece of copper underneath the silver stars. “It’s nothing,” he clears his throat and pauses for a moment, collecting his words. “Just wondering if we’ll be able to pull this off tonight,” he fibs slightly, hoping that the dark-haired boy wouldn’t catch on. He never was the greatest liar.

Carapace strides towards his leader till they’re side by side, both gazing at the dazzling city of lights below from their home base’s rooftop. For a moment, it was like they were just two friends existing in another world entirely. A world where they weren’t on the run from the law. Where they weren’t rogue fugitives. Just two boys looking over the scenic landscape in peace.

Sensing his friend’s doubt, Carapace makes an attempt to ease it. “Don’t worry about it so much, dude. You can count on me to keep an eye on those nutheads, so you just focus on getting the job done.” He gently punches his shoulder to knock him into reality for good measure.

In response, Adrien lets a small smirk crack through his cold front and lightly punches his partner back. He knew there was a reason why he trusted him so much.

“Thanks for that,” Adrien mutters gratefully, locking eyes with his partner. “I knew I kept you around for something.”

Carapace quickly glances away, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He gulps and laughs awkwardly, “Y-Yeah, anytime dude.”

Paying his friend no mind, Adrien yanks his own leather mask over his own face, leaving only his vibrant green eyes apparent in the night.

Let’s get this operation underway then.

***

Chat Noir (his own codename in the criminal underworld) sneaks through the tenebrous corridors of the labyrinth of a museum.

He sprints as fast as a cheetah, roaming from exhibit to exhibit while swiftly scanning each possible floor inch for his prize for the day. As he subtly ires the grand scope of the ornate museum with its golden walls, edgeless tiled floors, and dome ceiling, he couldn’t help but remark to himself that whoever constructed this estate clearly put their heart and soul into it. It was almost a shame that he was robbing from this glorified building.

Almost.

While the exhibits were undoubtedly gorgeous, it didn’t make finding the artifact any easier. To him, all of his surroundings appeared similar. Not to mention, but he was also having trouble avoiding the eyes of the numerous guards patrolling the echoing hallways.

He rummages through one of the pockets of his belt, plucking out the black and white photograph his bosses gave him of a wooden, octagon-shaped box with a few muddled Chinese symbols that he couldn’t make out despite being able to understand the language fluently. In a hurry, he scales the exhibition’s walls in hopes that a higher point of view would heighten (pun definitely intended xD) his chances.

Nothing.

It was incredibly aggravating.

If he was being honest, his patience was thinning by the second as he was coming up empty despite searching through a plethora of intricately decorated galleries.

A static noise suddenly buzzes in his ear like a hive of bees, signaling that one of his men were trying to him through the intercom. Quickly, he ducks into a corner, using the dimness of the fluorescent-lit institution to enshroud his presence. Chat Noir glances at both directions to ensure the coast was clear before pressing the button on the comlink.

“Carapace, give me a status report,” he commands before his partner could speak.

The surveillance system is under our control. We have the two guards here tied up, and we’re on our way to the base of operations located in the central part of the building to shut down communications, so they won’t be able to call for help. We’re leaving one of our personnel here to take control of the surveillance cameras. Any problems on your end?

His mood sours like he had eaten pickles at this. “If I’m being completely honest, things aren’t going as smoothly as I hoped,” the blond its precariously, darting his eyes back and forth anxiously in case an unsuspecting pair of guards were to discover his hiding spot. “I still can’t find the artifact. And we’re running out of time.” To himself, he angrily murmurs a string of profanities at the higher-ups for tasking him with such unreasonable demands.

Why was he even here, wasting his time on such tiresome endeavors?

Sighing in utter defeat, he allows his heavy eyelids to drop as a tsunami of memories crashes over him, wave over wave. It felt like yesterday when he pledged his loyalty to the crime organization in hopes of fleeing from society’s black and white claws. In hopes of fleeing his father. He almost laughed in derision at how foolish he was as a kid, too naive to understand that in essence, hope was nothing but a lie. Now, look at him. He was nothing more than a piece of trash, earning profit by taking the easy way out.

Could you repeat that, sir?

His irises shoot open as the annoying buzzing noise returns.

For a split-second, the felon drew a blank that he was still active on the intercom. He ponders the query of Carapace possibly worrying about his well-being, considering that he had gotten practically silent over the course of the last minute. He snorts immediately after the sentimental thought. He knew that Carapace knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

“It’s nothing,” he discourses quickly, trying to clear his head. “Stick to the plan accordingly, I’ll find this relic if it’s the last thing I do. If something goes wrong, destroy all the evidence as planned and get out. I’ll meet you at home base.”

But-

Chat Noir releases his hold on the comlink, not wanting to say anymore. He chides himself harshly for reminiscing at such a critical moment. The forest-eyed boy didn’t understand why he was so out of the loop today. The past was in the past, nothing you could do about it.

With a sharp intake of breath, he regains his focus on the task at hand.

He rounds the next right in hopes that the prized trophy was in that direction. Like a flash of lightning, his instincts spring in action instantaneously, causing him to leap backwards at the sight of an approaching blinding white light.

Catching a glimpse of a pair of bulky silhouettes casually walking towards his direction with double-flashlights, the cat-themed criminal hides in the shadows, forcing his body to remain as still as a rock against the wall.

“You sure you heard something?” The blond hears one guard asks suspiciously, carelessly ambling right past the criminal.

“Positive,” the other one responds. “I’m thinking it was around this corner.”

Chat Noir holds his breath, praying to every unknown entity he could think of at the top of his head that the pair would keep walking. As a boy, he learned the hard way at an early age. That wishes on shooting stars and miracles never truly came true. In reality, they were all just fairy tales made to give people false hope. In truth, the only one people could rely on was themselves. But please, just this once…

Soon, all his sensitive ears could manage to pick up were the sentries’ quiet mumblings and echoing footsteps, each growing quieter with each step. Till it went completely silent. In relief, he almost collapses onto the floor, his breaths in heavy pants.

As a law-breaker, he had a history full of close calls but never one as close as what just happened. He was an inch away from being discovered; he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what if he had made a single noise-

Trying to get his mind off the fact that he almost had a close encounter with the grim reaper, he peeks over the corner, only to another sentinel (a rather meek-looking one) guarding a fortified iron vault. It was tucked away in the back of the establishment where only the sharpest eyes could spot. The perfect place to stowaway a box of treasures.

Chat Noir’s eyes flick back to the single sentry guarding the post. He couldn’t resist as a wide smirk tickles his cheeks. This was too easy. He would have thought the owners of this establishment would have put more thought into security, but he guesses everyone’s forgetful. With a lick of his lips in anticipation, he fades into the shadows.

In the dark, his five senses just felt...stronger. More potent. Like he could get away with anything as long as he remains in the shadows. In the dark, his restraints vanished into smoke, swallowed by the blackness. In the dark, he felt solace. He felt free of his shackles.

As he tip-toes closer and closer to the sentinel’s back, he could see the guard’s fear in his radiating aura. The fear of being alone. He could hear his quiet whimpers. The pools of sticky sweat trickling down his forehead. The chattering of fidgety teeth. The criminal almost pities him. Almost.

Before the guard could whip his head around, Chat Noir tightly cups the man’s nose and mouth with his right claw, preventing him from breathing. Gazing deep into the guard’s petrified brown irises, he raises his other hand to his own lips, shushing him.

“Sweet dreams,” the vigilante murmurs almost too sweetly before the guard’s eyeballs roll to the back of his head, and he plummets into a state of unconsciousness, not able to withstand being unable to breath. From his agape mouth, a mass puddle of saliva drips out like a gushing river.

Exhausted and about ready to call in for the night, the golden-haired boy stretches the sore muscles in his limbs before striding to the mammoth-sized vault. About to give himself a pat on the back in congrats for getting past the sentry without murdering him, the self-celebration was cut short when he takes in the sight in front.

“Aw-” he swears at the metallic electronic lock which was most likely encrypted with the most complicated imaginable for something so valuable. Chat Noir purses his lips in a grim line, scouting every crook and cranny of the final boss towering over him like a impenetrable castle. So far, no good. The safeplace had no explicit weaknesses as far he could tell. He grouses, believing that he must really have the worst luck known to mankind.

He sighs in exasperation, unable to produce a possible solution as to how he was going to get the object inside without sounding off any tripped alarms. As much as he hated to it it, he was really in a pinch this time.

Normally, he was able to make quick-witted, leader-like decisions based on any situation at hand which was the main reason as to why he was nominated as a squad leader and why the job suited him so well, but even he its that he won’t be able to solve everything himself. Not this time.

Swallowing down his forgotten pride, the thief clicks the comlink button only to be greeted with a scratching sandpaper-like sound that reminded him of sharp nails dragging across a blackboard. He winces, feeling like his ears were screaming in bleeding agony.

“Carapace, do you copy? It’s Chat Noir, I’m gonna need some back-up. Did you guys take control of the museum’s systems yet?” He questions, but the only thing he could hear were the static noises again, crackling like the flames of a fire.

“Hello?” he tries again, “Does anyone copy? I repeat, does anyone copy?” In disgruntlement, Chat Noir releases his lock on the link and curses for what felt like the millionth time today. Did their own communications system also break down? Or, was it just his intercom that was malfunctioning? Either way, he was on his own.

Stupid technology.

Chat Noir eyes the electronic lock on the vault again in disdain. What a heck of a day this was turning out to be, huh? He rolls his eyes to no one in particular. This was going to be such a hassle. For a moment, he considers just dragging the entire metal cellar with him and just handing it to his superiors to deal with themselves. However, after estimating the measurements of its volume, he verifies that it was much too gigantuous and heavy to carry around on his own. It would also make escaping the institution a lot harder.

If only I had my men here with me…

His fingers make with the keypad. It couldn’t hurt to try, right? On a whim, he clicks a random amass of numbers, hoping for the best. The lock processes for a second before a collection of glowing ruby red letters appears.

“Accessed denied!” an automaton voice replies. Sure it was kind of expectant that he wouldn’t get it right the first time, but an inkling in his head sparks. He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination or not, but it seemed as though the lock was indiscreetly...laughing at him. And it irks him, threatening his veins to pop out of his head. No one makes a mockery out of Chat Noir. Even if they were an inanimate robotic-sounding object.

He tries again, a different combo this time, trying unsuccessfully to keep his temper on a leash. “Accessed denied!” the voice says again, almost in glee.

Losing his grip, his fuming wrath releases in an volcanic explosion. “I’LL DENY YOUR ACCESS YOU PIECE OF - UGH!” He bangs his forehead against the iron door, pondering why he was losing his cool so much today.

It was unlike him, and in truth, it terrifies him how many times he almost lost control of his emotions. In training to becoming a part of an actual squad and a true member of their crime organization, he was taught to kill off his feelings and everything he’s ever learned from day one.

He was educated early that his personal feelings would get in the way of committing acts of treason against the country’s laws and association with the league of criminals. In this life, he wasn’t the story’s hero but the villain. The one categorized as someone who would befall a tragic end. The one who would die alone and miserable. The blond almost guffaws at this; at how befitting it was for a unredeemable human being such as him.

Despite only living a short life of nineteen years, Chat Noir has seen his fair share of trauma and death while living on the streets. And he had his own faults in participating in such twisted crimes that he wished he could turn back time for but knows it will forever haunt his nightmares in what little time he had left.

Slowly backing away, he slaps his cheeks to push away his regrets. It was too late for any self-loathing or guilt. When he was twelve, he made his choice with what cards he drew and would pay the price in the future. Facing the electronic lock again, a lightbulb idea flickers in his head. It was so simple, he was in shock that he didn’t try it earlier. What made it better was that it involved one of the things he loved best. Destroying things.

Gracefully flicking out one of the guns off his utility belt, he unclicks the safety lock and double-checks to make sure there were bullets inside. He peels his eyes in all directions for any witnesses before aiming at the cellar lock. His fingers twine themselves over the firing handle steadily as he readies his shooting position. With barely a moment of hesitation, he fires off a few shots. The gunshots pierces through the silent atmosphere, smashing the lock with a quick barrage.

With the job finished, Chat Noir clicks the safety lock back into place and approaches the vault. He blows out the crumbly residue the bullet left with a puff and was thankful to find that not only was the lock completely demolished to a pulp, but it also left a deep dent in the metal cellar where the bullets collided with.

Chat Noir smirks victoriously; take that sucker. He supposes that he will have to thank his superiors for supplying him and his men such well-manufactured weapons when they come back with the luggage successfully in tow. Not that they did that legally of course.

Noticing that the lock had unlocked itself after being eradicated, he deliberately slides the cellar door open as cautiously slow as molasses, expecting another trap. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Once he was a hundred percent sure there were no more booby-trap surprises, he glances upward, feasting his eyes on-

“A gramophone?” Chat Noir inquires in confusion. An old one at that. Sweeping away the smoky remnants of dust, he examines the phonograph in interest. The gramophone had a sleek flower-shaped tube where the sound was generally amplified from was a golden color rivalling that of sunflowers, and the wooden music box was decorated with a pair of crimson-eyed dragons. An impressively crafted music-creator if he says so himself.

He sighs in defeat, unable to hide his disappointment. What was he going to tell his boss now? That he failed the mission? If he came back empty-handed, he’ll most likely be deranked from squad captain back to zero, severely punished and tortured, or at worst, cut out from the organization itself to live off of scraps. The thought petrifies him into stone.

“Maybe they’ll appreciate it if I at least bring this back,” he says, uncertainty crawling in his trembling voice. Just as he reaches out to snatch the phonograph, the bursting sound of a gunshot whizzes past his ear and slams into the inside of the cellar, barely missing his head.

On instinct, he somersaults backwards like an acrobat at a circus, landing on his toes, grabs his gun mid-landing, and lets loose a few aimless shots of his own to the blackness where he estimated the shot originated from. A second past when nothing happened, but that quickly disperses when a round of shots was fired at his feet. He swears and nimbly dodges behind the cellar, shooting a few more while using the vault as a makeshift shield.

Who the heck was firing? Sure, he was a criminal with one of the largest bounties out there, but judging from the dozens of projectiles accurately shooting at him from point-blank, he was sure that whoever was trying to kill him was with a rather large group.

In plain truth, it felt like overkill.

Suddenly his gun forgos firing, a few clicks but nothing more. Realizing that it was out of bullets, he swiftly discards it without a second thought and starts firing with his back-up gun. The attack left him no time to reload gun with his spare packs of ammo.

Throughout his training with the other applicants, Chat Noir was considered to be a sharpshooter that was second rank to no one other than his superiors after he excelled in all the practical applications, but nothing prepared him for this onslaught of life and death.

A numbing feeling travels up his arms and legs, and he could feel himself losing balance. He barks out in laughter, breaking out into a coughing fit after inhaling some of the musty mist. How funny that after all these years, he finally understood what true fear was. The fear of losing one’s life.

The blond lays out his options. He could try calling for help again, but he had a hunch that communications were still jammed. And something told him that whoever was looking to bring him onto his hands and knees now was responsible for that mishap. He peeks over, about to start firing another bombardment of shots, but a high-pitched voice makes him skid to a stop.

“Cease fire!” Like that, the rapid-fire bullets stopped coming. Why though? If they wanted to, he was sure they could fry him to a crisp (not that he would go down easily though).

Daring to come out of his hiding spot, he notices two things. One, they penetrated not only the iron vault with at least a few tens of bullet holes, leaving behind an amass of dissipating smoke floating to the air, but they also decimated the gramophone inside. There goes any hopes of surviving this situation with all body parts attached.

Secondly, confidently standing in front of him was the short silhouette of a girl. Chat Noir takes a second to process the sight before him. All he could think about was how achingly stunning she was. She possessed the most clear as porcelain skin, raven black-blue tresses, and the most entrancing sparkling eyes as blue as the sea that bore through his own vivid green. It was as if the two were in a world of their own.

If only she was just a pretty stranger he met on the street, he could imagine what sort of flirty jokes he would throw at her.

Now, if only she wasn’t aiming a gun straight at his face.

“It’s taken me months, but I’ve finally found you,” her voice was like the tinkling of chimes.

“Adrien Agreste.”

***

Yeah that’s right, I’mma end it there :smiling_imp:

Petition for more perhaps? Not sure if I wanna make a continuation at some point in time for this 🤔

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY HALA!!!!🥳

Think of this as not only as an entry for your challenge but as a very happy birthday present to you! I think of you as not only an incredible writer but a wonderful person in and out :heartpulse:

I’m so sorry this took so long to finish, please forgive me :pray:

Until next time! Thank you for reading and Queen Out!

- :crown: PrettyQueen :crown:

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