They say that killing is illegal.
I say sometimes it's a necessity.
I'm not a killer, I'm a judge. A judge for people, whom the law couldn't reach. I am a judge, maybe unusual but one nevertheless.
𝗜 𝗮𝗺 𝗮 𝗵𝗶𝘁𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻.
They call me a murdere...
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🎴𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 🎴
🎴𝚅𝚘𝚝𝚎&𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝🎴
🎴𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈🎴
♟️ ✦ ♟️ ✦ ♟
"We do not fear the unknown. We fear what we project into that unknown."
♟ ✦ ♟ ✦ ♟
[Y/N's POV]
The repetitive tapping of my finger against the leather material of the steering wheel fills the eerie silence of my car with the constant static. I watch the glittering snowflakes fall weightlessly from the evening sky as the remaining of my fingernails disappear under my nervous bites.
Why does it take them so fucking long to pack and leave?
As if on cue the door of the passenger's seat opens and Yoongi slides in, wearing a black mask and a bucket hat. My eyes jump from side to side like a pair of ping pong balls, examining the quiet street, illuminated by yellow street lights, looking for anything unusual.
Nothing, just elderly people walking around in the silent neighborhood, lost deep in the chaotic flow of thoughts and worries of their daily life. The staccato of my finger tapping against the wheel quickens, thickening the tension in the air.
Yoongi stops my finger in the air before it can hit the wheel again.
"Do it one more time, and I'm going to throw you out of the window," he growls, sending me a glare that can make one's blood run cold in their veins. I flip him off, letting out a frustrated puff of air.
"What is he doing so fucking long!?" I snap, gazing back for any sight of Taehyung. Nothing.
"What is it with you? You're waiting here for less than five minutes." Yoongi announces utterly deadpan, his solemn voice laced with a mixture of concern and curiosity.
I shake my head, starting cracking my knuckles one after another, "I don't know," I grumble, making my annoyance crystal clear, "I have a bad feeling about this."
"I know why," he states, his lines vacant from any particular emotion. I give him a dazzled look. "You were raised to be paranoid." Yoongi drawls slowly.
Well, he has a point.
"Just stop overthinking," Yoongi continues. "What are you waiting for? Do you expect that grandpa to throw a grenade at you?" he questions, pointing at the silver-headed old man, who walks down the road with shopping bags clenched in his hands.
