Chapter Text
The first law of the universe was that gravity was more of a suggestion than a rule. The second was that anything not bolted to the floor belonged to her by default.
This was crystal clear in her home: a disused subway car, located on a forgotten branch of the tracks, deep in Paris. It was a treasure trove, a chaotic museum of her life. Gutted electronic devices, stacks of old vinyl records, a mannequin with a feather boa and a motorcycle helmet; everything was arranged according to a pattern that only she understood. In the center of it all, on a worn mattress spread directly on the cold metal floor, a girl slept.
The sunlight, scarce and filtered at those depths, did not wake her. Neither did the rhythmic, distant dripping of water or the faint rumbling of a train on an energized line. Faced with the deep, resonant hum of the subway trains passing by on the active tracks at 6:12 in the morning, which would usually be her alarm clock, the figure lying near the floor stretched out on her mattress, a thick and surprisingly clean mat spread directly on the floor of her “apartment”; a disused subway train, the seats ripped out and replaced by shelves made from recycled scaffolding, bent under the weight of curiosities: an antique typewriter missing the “E” key, a mismatched set of whiskey glasses, a first edition science fiction novel with a cover so striking it almost looked like a work of art. A rococo chandelier served as a coat rack for her denim jacket. Stacks of books with cracked spines formed a crooked nightstand. A neon sign stolen from a defunct bistro, unplugged, leaned against a wall, with the word “Chez” in cursive, in a state of perpetual anticipation. What did wake her up was the third law of her universe: the persistent, ghostly moan of discontent.
— Julieth. Julieth. Hey. Julieth.
A small black spectre, resembling a feline, with bright green eyes and sharp black pupils, floated a few inches from her face with black particles floating around it, touching her nose with a tiny paw— I'm bored.
Julieth half-opened one eye, revealing reddish-brown irises— Five more minutes, fur ball. —she muttered hoarsely in her sleep, turning her head to cover her face with the pillow, which was actually a pile of rolled-up T-shirts.
— Impossible. I was dreaming of... something soft. And creamy. I can't remember what it's called.
— That's because you don't remember anything, Plagg. It's probably just yogurt. —said Julieth before turning back onto the mat and reaching out to scratch the little cat behind one ear— And you might get a kick in the head if you don't let me sleep. —she said in a hoarse, deep voice, a mixture of threat and amusement. She stretched with a slow, feline movement that tensed the muscles of her bare arms. She slept in only her black underwear, oblivious to the cold of the train car.
— Too late, —Plagg declared, leaning against her fingers— You're awake now. Something is bound to happen.
As if on cue, the precarious tower of books next to her mattress chose that moment to shake and collapse, sending a thick art history volume flying toward her face. Julieth's other hand shot out, not to block it, but to catch it in midair by the cover with a sharp slap. She didn't even look at it, her eyes remained fixed on Plagg.
— See? —said Plagg with a smile— I told you.
— You're a menace. —said Julieth, but without anger.
She had long since stopped seeing her bad luck as a curse and considered it a particularly aggressive training partner. She kept her on her toes. She tossed the book onto the growing pile on the floor and got out of bed, beginning to dress in a torn white sleeveless shirt, fingerless mesh gloves, dark pants, a studded belt, and a black denim jacket with studs on the pockets, chest, and sleeves, as well as a faux fur collar. She ran a hand through her long ash-black hair, pulling it back into a high, pointed ponytail, leaving loose strands and striking purple highlights framing her face. A quick glance in a broken mirror leaning against the back of a seat confirmed what she already knew: she looked good.
After putting on his strapped boots, he crossed the door of the wagon to reach the next one, which served as his living room. A gilded Victorian mirror leaned against a rusty beam, reflecting the cavernous gloom. Three modernist chairs, too avant-garde for any normal home, were stacked precariously near his “kitchen”: an electric stove and a mini-fridge humming on a salvaged luggage cart. Rolls of fine silk spilled out of a cracked travel trunk, and a collection of antique cameras rested on a shelf made from a recycled subway sign. A jar of stale cookies served as breakfast. He tossed one to Plagg, who devoured it in one ethereal bite.
— Wu is waiting for us. —said Julieth, grabbing a leather briefcase and heading for the door: a heavy sliding mechanism adapted for the occasion— It's delivery day.
Plagg settled on her shoulder, leaning against the synthetic leather— Let him wait. The old man is probably meditating or calculating the exact value of his soul's taxes.
— Be nice. He's the reason I'm not a spiteful child living in revenge and rage. —Julieth scolded, slinging a guitar case over her shoulder.
— Fine, but the old man better have something good. I'm in a mischievous mood.
— Aren't you always?
— It's my natural state. You'd be bored without me.
She didn't reply, since he was right after all. Upon exiting the subway car, she entered the sprawling, makeshift community of the dimly lit underground train station. Dozens of homeless families, petty thieves, street performers, and runaway youths coexisted in a fragile ecosystem. Makeshift shelters lined the walls, and the air vibrated with hushed conversations and the smell of damp cement and food. and Julieth moved through the controlled chaos with the ease of a predator in its territory, nodding to a boy spray-painting a mural on a column, dodging a heated card game, and then a girl waved at her and Julieth tossed her the last cookie with a wink before throwing the wrapper into a perpetually burning oil drum. An old woman greeted Julieth from her “doorway,” a recycled plush armchair.
— Juli! Do you have any of that delicious honey left, dear?
— I bet I do, Marnie! I'll let you know what I can scrounge up today. —replied Julieth, with a mischievous smile that softened into a sincere grin.
She moved through the maze of lives with familiar ease; her piercing reddish eyes missed nothing. She saw old Henri trying to surreptitiously deal a marked deck to a newcomer and gave him a warning smile that forced him to shuffle again quickly. Her destination was a metal staircase leading to the world above. As she continued on her way, a small boy with freckles on his cheeks, no more than ten years old, stared at her wide-eyed. Julieth's expression softened almost imperceptibly, she reached into her jacket pocket and tossed him a chocolate bar she had stolen the day before. He caught it with a cry of joy, and she nodded briefly before making a quick patrol to ensure that the unscrupulous criminals who sometimes took advantage of the residents knew she was watching them. Once she had checked the surroundings, she climbed the stairs. As she climbed, the light changed, becoming more intense, and the smell of the city—smoke, perfume, and money—enveloped her. She emerged into an alleyway, blinking in the sunlight.
Going out into the Parisian morning was always a shock. The city above was another planet: a world of bakeries giving off the aroma of warm butter, of tourists with their wide, naive eyes, and of such overwhelming wealth that it seemed like a personal insult. She saw a well-dressed woman scolding her son for running on the sidewalk, and a strange pang—not envy, but a deep curiosity—came over her.
What did it feel like to worry about something so trivial?
A businessman bumped into her without looking up from his phone. “Sorry,” he muttered, continuing on his way. Julieth didn't flinch. A quick flick of her wrist, and the expensive pen was already on her studded belt, a new trophy. A petty crime.
A point in her favor.
Wu's pawn shop, “ Dragon Treasures,” was a small, dusty place, a true miracle hidden in a forgotten alley in Le Marais. A place halfway between law and legend. Inside, the old man polished a silver locket with a cloth, his movements slow and deliberate. Wu was an elderly man, with a face that looked like a map of a thousand stories and eyes that saw much more than they let on.
— You're late. —he said without looking up, his voice hoarse and sing-song.
— In style. —replied Julieth, leaning against a display case full of jade figurines— What's new, old man? Another piece of the crown jewels?
Wu finally looked at her, a wry smile on his lips— Your father called. —Wu said, putting down the silver locket— He said the tour in Berlin is going well. They're thinking of adding a second night.
A small, discreet, sincere smile appeared on Julieth's lips. She took out her phone, an elegant, expensive model recovered from some careless tourist, and saw the missed call— I'll record it tonight. Tell him to play "Iron Cradle" for me.
Wu nodded before placing the figurine on the table— There's a delivery. A client needs an item retrieved from a secure location. A private gallery on the Rue de Seine. The item is a small pre-Columbian jaguar statuette. It's... unhappy in its current location.
Julieth's smile was dazzling— And we're its relocation service. I like it. Security?
— Enough for the average thief. For you, it's a nuisance. The access codes are here. —he slid a disposable phone across the glass— And Julieth... be careful. The media has been relentless with your nighttime activities. Paris is watching you.
She put the phone in her pocket, her expression hardening for a split second. The media could call her a villain until they were blue in the face— They were always watching. That didn't change what had to be done. See you later, Wu.
As she left, he called out— There are steamed buns in the kitchen if you're hungry!
She waved her hand dismissively but remained silent about the suggestion. He was like a second father to her, even if she didn't openly admit it.
She went out into the street, the paper safely tucked away in her jacket. Plagg poked his head out— A robbery? Is it a robbery? I love robberies.
— I'm sure it is, Plagg. Keep your claws sharp.
She moved through the streets of Paris with a predatory grace, her eyes always alert. She saw a couple arguing in front of a café, a businessman anxiously checking his watch, a group of tourists staring at a map in astonishment. She observed everything, recording it in her memory. A loose cobblestone here, a flickering streetlight there, a delivery van with the engine running and the keys in the ignition. When she found herself in front of the target building and was about to open the door, bad luck intervened.
A woman hurrying by with a huge stack of packages stumbled. A box wobbled and fell. Instinctively, Julieth's hand reached out, not to catch the box, but to give the woman a subtle nudge on the elbow so she wouldn't fall. The woman regained her balance, and the box simply tilted into Julieth's arms.
— Oh! Thank you! —exclaimed the woman.
— The sidewalk is terribly dangerous. —Julieth said softly, returning the box. In the same movement, her fingers slipped into the woman's open purse, pulling out a wallet and slipping it into her jacket pocket with a fluid, imperceptible gesture. A petty theft.
The woman, nervous and grateful, hurried away, suspecting nothing. Julieth subtly counted the bills for a moment before dropping the wallet on the ground and hiding the bills under her sleeve, then looked around the building before deciding to leave. Back in her apartment, as twilight turned to night, she prepared herself. This wasn't just a job. It was a prelude. The real work began after the delivery.
She raised her hand; the jade gems in the eyes and the red center gem of the black cat ring glowed ominously under the light of a bare bulb— Ready, Plagg?
The black cat shot out from where he was trying to untangle a necklace— Unleash glorious chaos and terrible luck? Is the sky over Paris a depressing gray?
— Plagg, —she said, adopting a serious tone she rarely used, according to her— this is just picking up the package. After that... we'll go hunting. The usual riffraff. I need you alert.
Plagg yawned, revealing an unsettlingly large number of tiny, sharp teeth— You say "hunt", I hear "fun". Let's go. —he didn't seem to care about her motives, judging by his tone, but he didn't doubt his loyalty.
Julieth raised her ringed hand to her chest with the back of her hand facing forward and slid her other hand over it, quickly rubbing the gems on the ring, unleashing a vortex of blinding, violent purple energy, consuming her as Plagg spiraled before entering the ring. Her clothes were covered in a glow before altering and changing shape. Soon the sounds became clearer, the smells a complex tapestry of information. Power vibrated in her veins, a live wire of pure potential. When the light went out, her hair was loose, a cascade of ash black with a single vibrant neon green streak. Her bangs fell over her left eye, a dark, fur-lined jacket flared at the sleeves, and the large tuft of white hair on her chest had an air that was both regal and wild with her abdomen exposed. She flexed her hands; the retractable claws on her gloves extended and retracted with a soft tinkling sound, high boots with metal clawed toes and studded straps. A transparent lavender fabric spiraled up from her head like a witch's hat, tactical goggles with green-tinted lenses and LED flashlights.
And then there was the most remarkable feature: real, sensitive cat ears that twitched at the slightest noise in the station, as well as two tails that whipped impatiently behind her. She unfastened the buckle on her leather belt, opening it to reveal a type of cell phone with a screen lit up with a diagram of the gallery that Wu had specified. A soft, satisfying click echoed in the chamber as it synchronized with the building's security system. Child's play.
With a grace that defied the laws of physics, she propelled herself through the air, firing a grappling hook from the device itself, which caught on a rusty beam. She left her lair and entered the labyrinthine tunnels, a shadow with neon green reflections, heading toward the surface. The theft was, as Wu had predicted, a nuisance. The security was state-of-the-art, but it was designed to stop thieves, not forces of nature. Julieth's mind worked its magic. She didn't just deactivate a laser grid; she used a well-thrown coin from a nearby display case to bounce off a metal sculpture, triggering the alarm shut-off switch in the guard's office. She didn't pick the lock on the display case; instead, she used a precisely executed energy discharge from one of the short impact zones on her tonfas to overload the electronic lock, simulating a power surge.
She moved through the gallery like a ghost, subtly altering her surroundings. A chair was turned diagonally. A discarded cleaning rag was kicked onto the floor near a motion sensor. When the lone guard finally spotted her, his eyes wide, it was too late. The jaguar figurine was attached to his belt. He lunged at her. Julieth didn't flinch. With one fluid motion, she placed one foot on the chair positioned diagonally and kicked it against a window with a deafening crash. The guard, startled, stumbled backward, and his boot landed squarely on the rag on the floor. He lost his balance. As he fell, she was already in motion, joining the tip of the long striking end of a tonfa to the short striking end and using it as a grappling hook on the now-shattered window frame to swing out into the Parisian night, the stolen artifact safe in her grasp.
She landed on a rooftop, letting out a wild laugh, inaudible to anyone but the city itself. The thrill of the successful and chaotic escape was like a drug. The delivery at Wu's back door was quick. The old man took the statuette, handed her a thick envelope with money, and it wasn't long before she heard sirens in the distance.
— Do you always have to announce it?
— It's for the image, old man. —Julieth replied with a voice full of amusement.
But her night wasn't over yet. The money was stashed away. Now it was time to hunt. She jumped from rooftop to rooftop, her superhuman agility making the gaps between buildings seem insignificant. She was looking for a different kind of prey: the heartless people who took advantage of the homeless. The criminals who believed the shadows belonged to them. Soon Julieth found them in an abandoned warehouse on the banks of the Seine, a group of men moving boxes of stolen electronic devices. Their conversation was riddled with threats against street vendors who had not paid them for their “protection.” She did not introduce herself with a witty comment, but rather by landing in the middle of them.
— Salynx! —exclaimed one of the thugs in surprise at Julieth's sudden arrival.
The fight began immediately when she armed herself with her tonfas, starting by kicking one of the men behind her in the stomach, followed by jumping with her other foot to spin in the air and hit another with the defense/attack area of one tonfa while the other hit another in the chin to disorient him. When she hit the ground, she kicked a pallet truck into a pile of boxes, causing them to fall like dominoes and blocking an exit. One tried to hit Julieth with a pipe, but she moved from one place to another while backing away, drawing the disoriented thug in, before half-lying down on the ground so that the pipe ended up hitting the thug's sternum and knocking him down. Her opponent's surprise gave Julieth enough time to counterattack with a sweep that tripped him up and sent him flying into powerful bursts of energy shots from the short impact zones that pushed him against a building wall. Julieth spun her tonfas to aim with the long impact zones, then moved to dodge attacks from both directions.
She shuffles her feet to dodge kicks, tilting both her head and torso as she dodges blows and simultaneously counterattacks with spins and jumps to fire less powerful but faster energy shots at certain areas such as the calves, ribs, and elbows, ending with a jump to get away while twisting the handles and connecting the short impact areas with the elongated attack/defense areas. Upon landing, she twists her new staff and attacks with one, suffering a blow to the head while the other hits her sternum, followed by another blow to her collarbone and another to the lower spine. Then Julieth spins forcefully to knock them to the ground.
One of the thugs, who was twice her size, grabs her and proceeds to crush her. Julieth smiled at him, showing a few fangs, before separating her tonfas and twisting one of them to hit him in the genitals, causing the big man pain and allowing her to free herself and kick him in the chest while inflicting a superficial wound with the metal claws on the tips of her boots. Julieth spins in the air after kicking and lands on her knees a few meters away. Then she hears a shot from behind, but she doesn't flinch as the bullet whizzes past her and hits the big guy in the leg, causing him to scream in pain.
— Oh, what bad luck. —Julieth says with a bigger smile before looking over her shoulder at the last bully, who is frightened by the sight of her cat-like eye with its sharp, slanted pupil staring at him— But not for me.
Soon after, the last thug was tied up with his own duct tape, and she stood amid the debris, her chest heaving, the neon green streak in her hair glowing faintly in the dim light. She took out the disposable phone Wu had given her and sent an anonymous tip to the police, then disappeared into the night before the first blue and red lights flashed in the distance. Back in her apartment, the transformation vanished in a flash of violet light, gathering at a point before forming Plagg, who wore an expression of immense satisfaction.
— Did you see the guard slip? Classic! —he exclaimed with a laugh, rummaging through a pile of books.
Julieth, suddenly exhausted, just smiled. “It was okay.” She collapsed onto the mattress, the adrenaline fading. Wu's money was safe. The bad guys were in custody. Her people would be safe for another night.
She picked up her guitar, a beloved but masterfully modified electric, and plugged it into a small battery-powered amplifier. The first chords she played were a raw and rebellious riff. She let herself be carried away by the music for a while, the sound echoing off the walls of the train car. Later, he opened a laptop and after a moment, his father's face appeared briefly on the screen. He was backstage, his face contorted with laughter, a guitar pick stuck behind his ear.
— Juli! —he shouted over the noise of the crowd— How's my little thieving devil doing?
— Surviving. —Julieth replied with a sincere, tired smile— I made a delivery. I picked up trash. The usual.
They talked; well, mostly he talked and she listened, interrupting with sarcastic comments that made him laugh even harder. He was happy on his tour, and she was happy in her hideout. They were both exactly where they wanted to be. When the call ended, the silence felt deeper. She lay down on her mat, staring at the graffiti-covered ceiling. Plagg had settled down on a pile of money, purring contentedly as he slept.
— Another night in Paris, I guess. —she said to herself.