Chapter Text
There’s nothing quite like the heady feeling of power that comes with being Akumatized. Her whole body feels like it’s been plugged into a live wire, and she wants to laugh, to rejoice, to exult as she looks at herself in the mirror. She has power again.
Empathy looks almost exactly like Lila Rossi. She’s a masterpiece of subtlety, she thinks, pressing her fingers around her chin—her hair is maybe half a shade lighter, her eyes a little more flat, but if she hadn’t been looking for it she’d never have noticed.
The susurrus of sensations in the back of her mind grows, then dims, as Mireille passes by the bathroom door. Empathy grins. Hawkmoth has given her his own power, the power to read emotions. She was a master manipulator before. She can only imagine how much better she’ll be now.
And nobody will be able to blindside her again.
She straightens, brushing her hair out of her face with her fingers. Akumatization refreshed her makeup, purged the bags under her eyes, so she looks perfect. She’s ready to go. She can’t go subtle—if she wants to salvage her reputation, she needs to ruin Adrien and Marinette, and she needs to do it quickly. If she can take out Adrien’s reputation, if she can destroy people’s trust in him…
You’re not the only one who can play the victim, Agreste. And I’ve been doing it since I got here.
As she prepares to leave the bathroom, she notices a growing sensation in the back of her mind—concern. It feels odd. She’s… worried? About herself? It feels kind of removed, like—
The bathroom door opens, and in steps Rose—gentle, sweet, naïve Rose, and Empathy realizes exactly what’s happening. She’s feeling Rose’s emotions as if they were her own.
It’s… strange. Unfamiliar. Rose’s worry about something other than herself is something Empathy has never experienced before, but… well, she’s always known Rose was a bit dim. She just… revises her estimation of the girl’s intelligence slightly downward.
“Lila?” Rose says, her voice as soft as her footfalls. “Are you okay?” Her concern pulses in the back of Empathy’s mind, mixed in with fear and confusion and a stubborn determination to push those things aside. Lila can’t get a good enough read on her to know what, exactly, she’s worried about, but she can make a good guess.
She’s afraid that Lila is as bad as Adrien said. She’s afraid that she misread her. But she's also afraid that maybe Lila is perfectly normal, and kind, and Adrien may not be the golden boy they all believed him to be. She’s afraid that one of her friends is lying to her.
And now Empathy knows exactly which buttons to push.
She forces out a sob. “I don’t know,” she chokes out. “I thought—Adrien always said he was my friend.”
Empathy’s gut squeezes in an unfamiliar manner as anguish spikes in her mind, but it mixes with triumph that her words worked, and she fights down a grin. Check.
“What happened?” Rose says, and Empathy’s heart pounds in her chest. (It’s rather unpleasant.)
“I don’t even know,” Empathy mumbles, doing her best to appear like she’s trying not to cry. “All of that stuff was his idea, I don’t know why he’d…” She sobs, letting Rose fill in the rest.
Rose is confused, but Empathy can feel the doubt plant in her mind, and that’s a start. If she pushes too far, tries to suggest conclusions herself, Rose will suspect her. Better to let her come to her own conclusions.
Then Rose’s confusion hardens into resolve. “We should talk to Adrien!” she says brightly. “I’m sure the two of you can clear this up.”
Empathy’s eyes widen. No, she thinks. That cannot be allowed to happen. If Rose talks to them both at the same time, the whole thing will fall apart. “Um,” she says. “I—I’m… I don’t think I can face him right now.”
Rose’s sympathy burns in her mind, forcing her to feel the very fear she’s faking. “Oh,” Rose squeaks.
Empathy smiles, trying to make it look forced instead of victorious. “I’m… I’ll be okay,” she says.
The hallways are much worse than the bathroom was. There are too many people—everyone’s nervous, everyone’s panicking. Empathy can feel her nerves buzz, her hands shake, and—God, how do people like Rose live like this?
The pressure on her mind is astounding—she can’t tell anyone’s minds apart from each other, can’t pick out which sensations belong to whom. She feels like she’s drowning under the waves of anxiety that her schoolmates are throwing off like head from a busted lightbulb—everyone’s worried about something, and she can’t separate her own feelings from anyone else’s. She wants to—she wants to hide. To run back to the bathroom and not come back out, ever, not until everyone has left.
The tsunami of hatred that slams into her every time anyone looks in her direction is stunning, too. And completely unexpected. She hasn’t done anything to most of these people—or at least nothing most of them can prove; why do they all care about Adrien? Some of these people have never even interacted with him!
Her throat squeezes in on itself as she feels the hatred in her mind grow into something dark and violent. She wants to—she needs to be punished. She wants to hurt.
Keep it together, she thinks. That’s not your thought.
Tracking down Sabrina is difficult, to say the least. She can’t look anyone in the eye without feeling a rise of loathing for herself, and she keeps having to steer clear of people’s faces, but luckily Sabrina is always wearing those ugly sweater vests.
”Sabrina!” Empathy gasps, yanking on the sleeve of the redhead’s blouse. “I need to talk to you!”
Sabrina turns to her in rage, with what Empathy is sure is invective on her lips, but that rage quickly dies away when she locks eyes with Empathy, replaced with—what is that? Is that—is that pity?
”Oh, Lila,” Sabrina murmurs, and Empathy suddenly realizes how she looks to the other girl right now—she’s trembling and sweaty, and she must look as much like a cornered animal as the crash of everyone’s emotions is making her feel.
“He’s going after Chloé next,” Empathy gasps, and is rewarded with a sudden rush of mind-wrenching panic from Sabrina that makes her want to drop to her knees and scream.
“What do you mean?” Sabrina says, her panic bleeding from her like blood in the water, and Empathy knows she’s guessed right—she found Sabrina’s weak point. This is where to keep pushing.
Empathy grits her teeth, forcing through Sabrina’s overwhelming fear. “Listen—Brina,” she says, risking Chloé’s nickname for the other girl. Spike of annoyance. “Sorry, sorry, that’s—sorry,” Empathy mutters. Apparently that nickname is reserved for Chloé only. “Sabrina.”
Sabrina’s annoyance subsides, much to Empathy’s relief—it’s replaced with gratefulness, that “Lila” noticed how she was feeling, and that “Lila” was accommodating. Which makes this a perfect moment to strike.
”Adrien—he did this on purpose,” Empathy says. “He tricked me into—he told me he loved me, he tricked me into—and then he…” She grips Sabrina’s shoulders. “He’s been doing the same to Chloé,” she says. “I just found out. He’s going to ruin her.”
Sabrina’s emotions are mixed, confusing, much to Empathy’s delight. There’s jealousy in there, and relief, and anger, and shock, and possessiveness. And… wow. Sabrina doesn’t want to be just Chloé’s friend.
Which means she wants to believe Empathy. Wants to believe anything that will push Chloé away from Adrien.
“Chloé won’t listen to me,” Empathy says. “You need to get her away from him.” She squeezes Sabrina’s shoulder. “You have to warn her.”
Sabrina’s shock grows, almost overwhelms Empathy’s mind, until it hardens into something else. Something shaky and quiet. “Okay,” Sabrina says. “I’ll—I’ll make sure she knows.”
Empathy flexes her fingers. Two practice runs down, two rumors planted, though she has no idea if Rose will bear fruit. Enough practice, though—it’s time for the big run.
Alya Césaire.
Empathy skips the next class period: showing her face in front of the people who hate her is only going to make them angrier. She needs to make them think she’s hurting worse than she is.
And besides, in her current state, she’s not sure she’d be able to hold herself together for an entire class period with all of her classmates’ insipid emotions cavorting about her skull. What was Hawkmoth thinking? This ability—it’s useful, yeah, but there’s too many drawbacks. It hurts. It hurts too much to use it the way she should be able to.
It must’ve been an accident. She wants to yell at him for his incompetence, but the lack of the pressure indicating his voice in her head means that he must’ve detransformed, so no matter what she says, he can’t hear her.
Instead, she shuts herself away from the school and all their chaotic and useless emotions and goes over what she knows about Alya.
She’ll admit, Alya taking Adrien’s side—and taking down Lila’s interview—was a bit of a shock. Unexpected. But now that she’s had time to think about it, it makes sense: Alya Césaire is a journalist, and as a diplomat’s daughter, Lila knows journalists. They’ll do anything for a good story, and Adrien’s story is juicy beyond belief. Better than Lila’s was. Alya siding with Adrien makes sense now; she’s chasing the story, and she needed to get rid of the interview in order to keep consistency, keep her reputation.
Which means all Empathy needs to do to sway the reporter back to her side is give her a juicier story. One that implicates Adrien, and clears Lila. Alya won’t be able to resist, and she’ll drop Adrien like a hot potato as soon as Empathy gives her what she really wants.
And with her new powers, Empathy can figure out exactly what that is.
Empathy skirts the side of the cafeteria, trying to hide out on the edges of the waves of overwhelming emotion. There are simply too many people in the cafeteria, and any one of them seeing her could trigger a debilitating spike of hatred that would pin her to the floor. She’d prefer to get Alya alone, but the girl is a social butterfly—she never goes anywhere by herself. The cafeteria is the only place loud enough to give them any privacy.
“Guys, guys!” she hears Alya shout. “Give Adrien some space!”
There’s a crowd gathered off to the side of the cafeteria, and in the middle of it, a waterfall of red-brown hair. Alya is standing on a chair, pushing people away with a—well, Empathy can’t tell what that expression is, she’s too far away to get a good read. She’s with Adrien, and Nino, and Dupain-Cheng, and the rest of the class seems to be crowded around them, but at Alya’s words they begrudgingly back away.
Adrien says something that Empathy can’t hear, only to be interrupted by Nino, who says something in that annoyingly kind tone he makes when he’s trying to get into someone’s good graces. Dupain-Cheng looks away from them both with downcast eyes, and Ivan adds something, turns around, and begins to clear the rest of the class away.
Then he locks eyes with Empathy, and she doesn’t even need powers to feel the force of his anger. She shrinks, trying to appear nonthreatening.
He leans over toward his pig of a girlfriend and murmurs something in her ear. Immediately, the rest of the class turns to look at Empathy, and the surge of their collective hatred (where is this coming from? She did nothing to most of them! Or at least nothing they can prove) pushes her bodily against the wall.
She wants to hurt. Instead, she bolts from the room.
Lila has spent enough lunches with Alya that Empathy knows which bathroom she prefers. Without any ability to actually go into the cafeteria, she’s forced to wait for Alya to come to her. She’s already spent the whole day in the bathroom, hiding from all the goddamn emotions that are pressing on her mind.
Remember, Empathy, this is what you asked for.
“Hawkmoth,” she growls. “You want me to win? Help me out here.”
There’s no answer. Of course there’s no answer. She wants to—she wants to—
Actually, she feels… pretty good. A bit vindictively satisfied, maybe, but…
Wait that’s—
The door to the bathroom swings open and Alya steps through.
“Alya!” Empathy cries, grabbing at the other girl’s arm. “We need to talk—!”
Her sentence is cut off in a shiver as Alya’s eyes turn toward her, and everything Empathy has felt over the course of the morning jerks into perspective as Alya’s blood-curdling rage slams into her like a truck dropped from orbit.
“Rossi,” Alya snaps, her voice cold enough that Empathy actually feels the chill strike into the marrow of her bones. “I told you to stay away.”
Empathy gasps. “I know, I know,” she says. God, she must’ve risked more damage to Alya’s reputation than she thought if the girl is this angry. “I’m sorry. But—you need to hear this!”
Alya’s expression doesn’t change, and Empathy feels her veins catch fire as the other girl’s rage and hatred presses down on her. Come on, Rossi, she thinks. Just tough it out a few more seconds. Then she’ll be on your side again.
“Alya, Adrien is stalking Ladybug!” Empathy hisses.
She’s expecting Alya’s anger to instantly turn to interest. Empathy knows how Alya is about Ladybug, and this is a truly juicy scoop. It’s everything Alya could possibly want—
Why is she getting angrier?
“Why should I believe a single word you say?” Alya says.
Empathy is shaking with Alya’s rage at her words; she wants to smack something, to punch something, to pound her fist into the sink until the porcelain snaps. Not mine not mine not mine—
“Adrien was trying to discredit me,” she says. “I found out he was using me to get to Ladybug and—”
Bile surges up her throat, cutting her off mid-word.
“He was using you?” Alya hisses. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Empathy shivers. “He—I found out he was—”
Alya snorts. “He was what, Lila?”
This—this isn’t working. Why isn’t it—this is the biggest story that’s come across Alya’s nose in months, why isn’t she biting? Why isn’t she at least entertaining the idea? Alya’s emotions aren’t making any sense. There’s no interest at all!
“What—what are you—” Empathy gasps, her heart pushing up on her sternum. “Why don’t you believe me?”
It takes a moment for Empathy to realize the confusion she’s feeling isn’t just her own.
Alya steps back, horrified. “Believe you?” she says. “You’ve been attacking my friend and lying to me about it for months.”
Empathy’s stomach swoops. “Marinette—she’s lying to you, she’s—”
A piledriver blend of indignation, disbelief, amusement, disgust, and condescension crashes through Empathy’s forehead. Alya shakes her head. “Should’ve known,” she murmurs. “Mari knew. Of course she did.” Alya narrows her eyes, and suddenly Empathy wants to—drop to her knees and beg forgiveness from that stupid hussy? Protect that ridiculous blond asshole? She wants to—she wants to—
Alya—Alya is actually their friend. Alya actually cares about them. No. Impossible. She can’t—she can’t be wrong, can she?
“Eat shit, Rossi,” Alya snarls, turning on her heel. “I’m gonna find another bathroom. Don’t follow me.”
As her rage retreats, Empathy is left with only her own emotions in her head. And they’re unfamiliar ones. She’s—she’s lost, she’s confused, she’s... she’s relieved that she’s not feeling the self-destructive force of Alya’s rage, and yet it’s like there’s a hole in her chest, right where her heart goes. Something is wrong. Something is—something is missing. Something that Alya had, something that—
No, she thinks. I can’t be wrong. The—the powers are useless. She collapses back against the wall, pressing her palms against her skull. Hawkmoth, she thinks, what have you done to me?