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♞
♞𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝&𝚟𝚘𝚝𝚎♞
♞𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈♞
🗝 ᚐ🗝 ᚐ 🗝
"People overwhelmed with trouble don't look behind; they know too well that misfortunefollows them."
🗝 ᚐ 🗝 ᚐ 🗝
[Y/N's POV]
A gamble.
A mad, wild gamble.
That's what we've shored up against.
Taehyung is half dead. Jimin is unconscious. Hoseok is running from one room to another trying to help them. Jungkook and Soobin are dragging dead men around. Yoongi and Namjoon are shouting at each other like mad animals. Seokjin is smoking in the corner, completely unbothered. And then there's me, sitting on the couch with my newly bandaged hands on my lap as if my soul has left my body, leaving a lifeless shell behind.
Everything is running in warp-speed in my head; facts, memories, fortunes, and misfortunes tripping all over each other, the latter badly outweighing the others. And while there's pure chaos around me, I try to make a map out of all this; boundary-breaking choices made, life-changing diversions taken, perilous people met.
There's a headache nestled in my skull, continual, thumping pain that makes me incapable of thinking beyond a few loops of tangled circumstances. My hooded stare remains on the yelling duo that shouts incomprehensible things back and forth. The funny part is that they perfectly understand each other.
I let my eyes take in my surroundings as a long sigh drifts from my cracked lips.
The floor is polished concrete, the vintage walls are dimly lit with lamps that hang on the mute colored walls like earrings as the center is occupied with a circling couch. I know the morning has long proceeded, painting the outside world in divine colors but there's no sign of the sun's golden hues in this chamber.
That's the disadvantage of the underground facilities; no daylight.
The room is uncomfortably large, almost like a foyer of a hotel that's designed for at least a dozen children to run around. Though I highly doubt even one would be welcome in a place where the word crime is the attribute of the walls.
The whole place can be defined with one word; smart.
Beginning with the ridiculous staircases at the bar above, designed to keep the unwanted customers away. Finishing with the four-leveled underground base, that's deeper than a rabbit's hole, larger than the White House, and more complicated than the underground tunnels under the Pentagon headquarters.
