Chapter Text
The instructions are clear, written in a tidy list of scrawled handwriting:
make your men visible at all times
carry no weapons!!!!
announce yourself at the front door by pressing the buzzer four times in quick-long-quick-long succession
and this is the most important of all, keep your hands where they can see them at all times or they will shoot you
Taehyung wads up the paper and thoughtlessly throws it on the ground.
Peppy’s Pizzeria is a nondescript and completely unremarkable pizzeria, armed with a large neon sign in bubble letters that spans the upper half of the building—a sign that remains off even at eleven in the morning. On the door is a notice announcing the daily operating hours from two in the afternoon to midnight, the booze flowing like water, the public welcome, legal drinking age only. The brick facade is solid, though individual bricks are cracked and crumbling, crushing to fine white dust, aging the already old building. A relic—passed down from father to son, despite TOG being a relatively new name on the streets.
No matter their digging, names and connections aren’t coming to the surface, as though his gang and shop had materialized out of thin air, and it only serves to infuriate Taehyung that much more. ‘Gangs just don’t show up out of nowhere. Everyone has a history. Everyone is trackable.’
It looks deserted, but looks are deceiving, danger lurking at every corner, just out sight. They’re like cockroaches, gathering en masse in the darkness and scattering when the light hits them. There’s likely over fifty armed men in the building alone, more dotting the nearby buildings, but Taehyung has a few of his own men strategically planted, already breaking the first rule.
The second rule is also broken—this had been clearly written by someone with no experience in these matters, and recognizing the handwriting, Taehyung knows that’s exactly the case. Intelligence guru, Jimin, the man who stays behind closed doors to shift through all the rumors for a kernel of truth. Jimin, who has never point-blank walked into a hornet’s nest with nothing but a gun in his belt and a knife strapped to his ankle (and his wrist, and the inside of his thigh, there’s also—you get the point).
There’s a certain irony here, really.
“Who do you think I am, Park Jimin?” Taehyung’s low voice chides, laced with zero feeling and warmth in the words. “Who saved your bumbling ass countless times over the years. Ungrateful.”
The men flanking him do not respond or react to his mocking, knowing better to never speak unless spoken to. It’s a miracle, really, that his men still respect him after the whole debacle with Jungkook—multiple debacles he had to grit his teeth through to sell their version of events, weave the narrative for everyone to believe. His fucking second— ah, but the younger is not his second anymore, is he? Now, Taehyung stands alone at the top of the frigid and desolate peak, vulnerable as he observes his kingdom being attacked from all sides.
His expensive dress shoes click neatly on the sidewalk as he walks towards the entrance of the hole-in-the-wall pizzeria. In the shadows, his own men are stationed, his most elite assassins to dance through the dark with nimble feet and sharp minds, even sharper blades. None, though, as good as Jungkook, but that option remains unuseable for Taehyung.
After all, Jungkook has gone traitor, hasn’t he?
Inside, the place is pristine, not an ounce of dust or dirt anywhere to be seen, as well as lacking the normal amount of greasy surfaces a pizzeria carries by nature. How many men have been killed in this room alone? Taehyung wonders if he’s about to be next, following the leader right to his untimely slaughter. But he steps further in the potential death trap, eyes scanning the rooms as he’s led deeper into the building, categorizing, memorizing, seeking out possible escape routes—always trying to remain one step ahead of his enemy. Looks like there’s only one way out, right back through the way he comes in, and that’s difficult but not impossible. Taehyung’s had worse odds.
The room they lead him to is a storage room with two empty folding chairs in the middle, facing each other. A one-on-one meeting—flanked by protection, of course. When Taehyung is gestured to sit, he stands and remains on high alert. Being here is risky, a crafted scheme to isolate him and remove him from the game board.
It isn’t Taehyung’s job to get into these situations—it’s never worth the risk to someone so valuable in the food chain—but he has to do this dirty work for himself now. Taehyung would only get involved when the Jackal needed backup, and those times were rare. Saved for the big game, the big foes. Typically Taehyung sat back and calculated their next move, studying the variables and their enemies until he knew them inside and out—only because he did the dirty work in the beginning. It’s the only way he could afford the luxury he has now because while his father built the empire, Taehyung had to prove his worth once the old man died. So taking risks isn’t unfamiliar territory for the mob boss, it’s how he built his living, to prove he is the rightful Kim to take the throne.
Taehyung knows what they’re after—what they’ve been after all along: his own family relic, one that’s been in his family for generations and afforded them their status. He needs to know how much they know and it’s why he stands in this room, staring at the familiar, but slightly aged, face of his previous second walking into the room.
Seconds later the scent of strong cologne follows. Grapefruit and mint—Taehyung has had nightmares with similar beginnings.
“Kim.” Siu greets him in a warm manner, old friends reacquainting themselves after a long separation, effortlessly bridging the gap after ten years, soothing the stormy waters. “It’s been such a long time. How have you been?”
Taehyung does not accept the olive branch and replies in a cold voice, “Kyon.”
“We have a lot to talk about.”
“Do we?” Taehyung is already losing interest in this game they’re playing, but he always feels this way when paired with someone lacking any sort of skills—a tiger versus a house cat, there’s no contest. “Where should we start? Where you betray me or— no, I know. My biggest question right now is, are you really the Jackal Killer? Because, quite frankly, I’m not impressed with the performance so far. As far as I know, the Jackal is still out there, unharmed and looking to right some wrongs, I imagine.”
The unkempt man—things never change, do they?—bristles at the loss of control in the conversation. Siu has never been anything but a background player with a weak deck of cards. “And you aren’t afraid he’s coming after you?” Siu asks with a sneer.
“I can handle him. Much like I had to handle Dean. Oh… you remember Dean, right? You were responsible—”
“—Enough,” Siu snaps to cut him off, not wanting to hear past mistakes, his past failures, and why Taehyung replaced him in the first place—this all undermines his current position of authority, did it not? “You know what I’m after, Kim. Either you hand them over or I take them from you. Your choice—easy or difficult.”
Taehyung squints at him, pursing his lips out faintly as he adopts a coquettish look. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You know I’m not an easy boy. Who do you take me for? I’m hurt, I thought we were friends.” He watches the way Siu’s jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth, composure quickly crumbling. As Taehyung suspected, this is not the infamous, yet suspiciously dormant, Jackal Killer.
“Difficult, then—”
“—Kyon,” Taehyung cuts him off, impatience coloring his tone. “I just want to know who you’re working for. This can be very simple.”
Siu reeks of bitter resentment, clouding his unconventionally handsome face, swirling storms in his eyes as he stares Taehyung down. At his sides, his hands clench rhythmically, to a beat only in his head. He breathes, ragged and uneven, as his body poises for an attack. Taehyung looks the man up and down in a show of feigned indifference before inspecting his cuticles, making an idle note to get another manicure after all this is finished—he’s been doing too much dirty work around here sans a second in command. After all, Taehyung has an image to maintain, keeping a man’s respect is such a fickle, fleeting thing as they look for their next payday.
Their next god.
One imperceptible gesture and the bang of two gunshots in succession, two bodies thudding to the floor behind Taehyung in a lifeless heap. He sighs lightly; he had liked these men.
“I want the map.”
“You’ll have to find it first,” Taehyung taunts.
What had begun as a peaceful meeting quickly turns into something violent, uttered words instead dropped for a speech of a more physical type, with knives and guns doing the talking. Each member of TOG drops, one by one, until Taehyung and Siu are the only two alive in the room. It’s always tricky taking on four men on your own, and Taehyung has a few wounds to mark his mistakes—a wound at his temple, a graze from a knife on his bicep, an aching rib from a kick—but none of these men are top tier fighters, mere pawns to take up space and energy, to distract.
Clearly, Taehyung is meant to make it out of this room alive. Probably to kill Siu in the process, so he’s thinking—Siu might be valuable. ‘Let’s see what information he possesses.’ He dodges when Siu flings a can off the shelf at him, shooting him a you can do better than that look. Blood steadily drips down the side of Taehyung's face from the wound at his temple, seeping into the formerly crisp white collar of his shirt, staining it a muddy pinkish color. The rest of his body aches, but he barely notices.
“I could have been good for you. Unlike Jeon, who betrays you any chance he gets.”
Now, that makes Taehyung laugh, cruel and mocking, at the thought of Siu being better than Jungkook. There is no universe where that’s remotely possible. “You weren’t good for me when you worked for me. What makes you think anything has changed?” The small knife strapped to his wrist stealthily slips into his hand, hidden from view. This whole plan—convince Taehyung how Jungkook has turned on him to break up their reign and weaken both of them considerably—has merit, but the execution is sloppy. But Taehyung knows there’s more to this than Siu whining about losing his spot because he would have done something a long time ago. “The Jackal never betrayed me, Kyon. You did.”
Siu falters at the news and opens his mouth, but Taehyung takes advantage of the distraction to make his move.
A cornered animal will risk it all, no matter the consequences, no matter the odds. The room quickly becomes a macabre painting, splattered with blood and gore, the loss of life. Another gun goes off as they wrestle for control. A dull throb blooms in Taehyung’s side, unnoticed as his brain adapts to the changing situation around them, new missive: getting them out of the building. Alive. Time becomes distorted, stretching and wavering around the edges. It snaps into focus before Taehyung loses himself again, his body moving on autopilot and instincts to protect himself and his new hostage.
Things happen rather quickly.
—Using Siu as a shield, fighting his way out, every man for himself as Taehyung disappears down into the tunnel system with his hostage.
—Trying to navigate the pitch black tunnels with his senses, tripping in a hole and nearly smacking into a wall. Siu, half-conscious, jeers at him, “You’re bleeding, Kim. N-never going to make it.
—A jolt of nausea, a sharper throb in Taehyung’s side. “Your cologne fucking reeks.”
—“Is this—more tunnels? Boss, w-why’d you never let me see them all? I knew there were more. I knew…” His voice weakens as falls unconscious. Taehyung exhales harshly through his nose and fights back the black at the edges of his vision as he lets the body drop to the floor. Gripping Siu’s wrists, he drags the limp body with difficulty.
—Stumbling, hands slicing up on the concrete, smearing blood on the door as hands tremble to lock—
—A light from his phone’s flashlight; it’s a risk, it’s a risk, it’s a risk—
—The ladder, safety, he makes it, but it’s too steep; he’s too weak to pull himself up the rungs and he crumples at the base. His eyes are too heavy to remain open, his body making the decision to shut down. As he slips out of consciousness, Taehyung hears the distant sound of himself tapping his phone against the metal of the ladder rung.
Tap, tap, tap.
Only the good die young, they say. Taehyung is going to live for-fucking-ever.
The image before him resembles Siu, but it does not. A mocking smile stretches his chapped, torn lips before his face is shifting, his body is shifting, distorting into someone unrecognizable, yet Taehyung knows this is the image of his original second. A shell of his former self, this new version of Siu becomes something shriveled and sniveling, seemingly unable to die. “I have the map, Taehyung. I have the map and I’m going to destroy you. You never stood a chance against me. You’re weak, Taehyung, you’re so fucking weak, you’ll never amount to anything—”
Again, Siu’s figure is changing, skin peeling away to expose bone, the bones now crumbling into dust.
A new voice that sounds deceptively like his father, “I knew I couldn’t trust you with those maps, you worthless boy.” From thin air, a backhand to Taehyung’s face that sends him reeling, down to his knees in reluctant worship. Where he belongs. “You’re ruining my legacy.”
“This is not your legacy anymore.” Taehyung’s voice remains steady while his heart is racing, his insides sloshing around and threatening to come up on him. His teeth clench through the pain, as his cheek aches, his temple aches, his side aches, all the aches like a million knives stabbing in unison. “This is mine! I earned this!”
The old man stands in front of him now, and sneers with rotting teeth, his skin starting to peel from his face, one foot in the grave and one foot in hell. Why hasn’t this bastard burned yet? Taehyung visibly recoils, only to realize he’s strapped to a chair. Leaning closer and closer, the old man rasps, “You have never been good enough, Taehyung-ah. I should have never spared you. You’re too much like your mother. Too soft.”
“Don’t you fucking dare—” Taehyung struggles against the bonds, hands clenching as he strains. “Don’t you— she didn’t deserve to die—”
Cruel laughter. “She got in my way. You know about that, don’t you? There’s someone getting in your way now. Someone you need to take care of.”
“No,” Taehyung bites out as he fights back the age-old demons he keeps at bay. One word from his father and his insides tear open, his guts spilling across the floor—never good enough, never fucking good enough for him. Taehyung bleeds and bleeds—can you see me now, father? Do I still not have what it takes? “No. She fucking— she fucking loved you and trusted you and you—”
“Is that what you want, my dear boy? Love? He doesn’t love you. He’s using you. Wake up, Taehyung.”
Taehyung wakes up.
He wakes in a cold sweat, gasping heavily to replace the oxygen in his lungs, unable to replenish them sufficiently. His body trembles, caught between two worlds—one waking and one a mirror of that world, yet inches from death—and pain is a distant memory that only vaguely haunts him. Next to him someone moves and Taehyung, unable to comprehend his surroundings, unable to recognize who sits next to him, blindly lashes out.
“Easy,” Taehyung hears, again and again. He keeps fighting against the restraints; another battle for his life, when will he ever have peace? “Easy, Taehyung. Easy. Open your eyes.”
‘Are they not open?’
His eyes peel open and harsh light floods his retinas, squinting against the onslaught. A nondescript bedroom fills his view and then he notes Jungkook, sitting above him with his hands stilling the flailing arms. Seeing that Taehyung isn’t on the offensive anymore, he slowly shifts back to sit against the headboard again.
“It’s safe here, boss,” Jungkook adds, unnecessary.
“Where am I?” Taehyung’s voice comes out rough, abused.
But then the pain hits him all at once, dancing across his body in a duet of sharp and aching, using each of his organs to play a medley. He grimaces, taking the pill Jungkook passes him with a swallow of water and without a second thought.
When he’s finished, Jungkook gives him a funny look. “Our safe house. You came here. Do you not remember anything?”
“I do,” Taehyung says, then reconsiders, his mind swampy and sluggish. ‘I think I do.’ There had been an urgency, he remembers, to get where he was going. Here, to get here. There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, as though he’s forgetting, yet it remains incessantly right out of reach, crawling up and down his spine with a growing intensity. He notes the way Jungkook’s look reflects exactly how much he doesn’t believe him, but remains silent as his hands fiddle together in his lap.
Taehyung takes the moment to take stock of his body, counting each and every pain—a dull throb at his temple, his bicep and his ribs, and then the heavy pain down near his hip. He’s shirtless and there’s a bandage wrapped low on his stomach. “Was I shot?”
“Mm.” Jungkook nods. “I had to stitch you up because you were bleeding all over the place and looking half on death’s doorstep. Wasn’t sure—” He clears his throat and presses his lips together, unable to finish the sentence—‘wasn’t sure if you were going to make it,’ Taehyung already knows, though. And, knowing the impossibility of calling for help in their situation, there’s a good chance he wouldn’t have made it, if Jungkook hadn’t been able to help him.
The knowledge hangs heavily on Taehyung; he wants to thank him, but the words stick in his throat.
It’s only then when Taehyung realizes that Jungkook’s messing with a pair of rings, large and gaudy and blood-stained—Daeshim’s. When Jungkook sees him staring he slips them away out of sight. Neither of them mention the elephant in the room; Taehyung doesn’t mention Jungkook snooping through his clothes to find them.
‘Never forget to search for trackers. You can’t lead your enemy right to your doorstep, Jungkook. Do better.’
‘I kept them because they hurt you because I wanted, I wanted to show you—’ Taehyung closes his eyes.
Jungkook clears his throat. “What’s the plan, boss?”
The detached professionalism makes Taehyung ache, highlighting that ever-growing elephant in the room between them, the silence thick and heavy. Taehyung wants to reach out, but he doesn’t know what to say and never mind there’s no time for them to play make up—and he knows Jungkook will never reach out first; it’s never been in his personality to do so, always looking at Taehyung to make the next move. But the older is faltering right now, unable to even reach in his direction, too caught up in the images of losing Jungkook.
‘If I hadn’t found you first. What if TOG had found you? They drugged you, they were going to torture you, Jungkookie. I don’t know how I can bear that happening to you.’
There is nothing here without Jungkook.
He doesn’t love you.
Love. Love is such a foreign concept in this line of work—Taehyung isn’t allowed to love, but he’s allowed to hate. A profession where viciousness rules and there is no give, only take, take, take. How much has Taehyung taken from Jungkook; how much will he continue to take? To the point of getting them both killed, until they’re both shriveled up and useless. No, affording emotions will only further complicate things—things that are already so fucking complicated between them.
What’s a little more complication?
“I’ll let you know when I have one,” Taehyung murmurs and turns his face away.
There’s something he’s fucking forgetting, but everything feels muddy and weak, not worth the effort to sift through for the pearl. All his thoughts lie like stones, weighing down his body until it’s heavy enough to sink to the bottom, never to surface again. After a while, Jungkook brings him a dinner of packaged ramen and bread—fresh bread that he must have brought here for himself, for Taehyung? It’s getting hard to think; his thoughts go round and round, feeling like he’s circling prey yet never making a move in attack. ‘What the fuck am I—’
Hours later, his eyes fly open.
“We need to go. Now.”
—
A man sits in an office, the interior cool grey and sharp crisp lines, impersonal and cold and he’s wearing a designer grey suit with a black shirt—merely one of thousands of similar high-end offices and similar designer suits. He fits right in with the crowd, careful to never stand out. His elbows rest on the desk, fingers steepled in front of his face as though he’s in deep thought, an expensive watch gleams on his wrist. A careful inspection leads to some discrepancies—his meager, though somewhat higher-end salary range cannot possibly afford the luxury he dons.
At the news he receives, he visibly trembles in anger.
“What do you mean ‘he got away’?” He asks in a slow voice, voice coloring in disbelief. “Was he not shot?!” Hands slam down on the desk as the man’s surges and swirls like a growing ocean. With a howl of outrage, he sweeps everything off the desk before he gets to his feet. “Not good enough,” he snarls and pins his accomplice to the wall by his throat. “You promised me we would take down the Tiger and Jackal and I’ve seen nothing but excuses and failures.”
“I told you,” the younger man rasps against the growing pressure on his windpipe. “This is going to take time. Please, I almost have them. The cracks are getting bigger. Kim isn’t going to last much longer. Just a little more time, please.”
The boss sneers at him with contempt. “I swear to god, you told me this last time. Get it done—what do you think I’m paying you for? Fuck. You promised me you could handle this, so I better see some results soon or you can kiss this deal goodbye, Jaehyun. I am not getting my hands dirty in this mess.”
“Yes sir,” he wheezes. “I have it under control.”
“Get out of my sight.” The man throws Jaehyun down to the floor before turning, smoothing down his suit as he walks back to his desk. “Don’t allow anyone to see you leave here.”
Jaehyun scrambles to his feet and bows profusely before slipping out of the room.
Alone again, the man—in his pristine and expensive suit, the Rolex that adorns his wrist—taps his fingers against the desk and sighs. “Papa didn’t raise no fool, did he, Jungkookie?”
—
Allowing Kyon Siu to remain alive had been Taehyung’s biggest mistake.
Maybe the second biggest mistake—after all, there’s someone else running around with way more knowledge than Siu ever had and Taehyung allows him. In hindsight, letting someone with some knowledge of the tunnel system to walk away is absolutely unacceptable, but Taehyung supposes he had lent out a fraction of his already limited amount of trust. Rare, but Taehyung has these lapses in judgment, though few have the capacity to come back and haunt him like this one.
His heart thuds a steady rhythm in his chest, though his body is heavy with pain and trepidation as they navigate the dark tunnel system. The pace is slow—feeling nothing more than an urgent crawl to Taehyung—but his energy is nearly depleted, putting one foot after another in a mindless daze to get him from point A to point B, pulled towards Siu by an invisible string between them. The tunnel remains silent of their presence, except for Taehyung’s soft breathing and the gravel underneath his shoes when his gait becomes clumsy—too injured to do anything except give away their position, and their only salvation being these specific tunnels are unknown to anyone except him and his second.
The trepidation increases with each step he takes, certain they won’t find the man alive—’stupid, stupid; I let down my guard too far and this is going to cost me.’
They continue to walk. ‘I think it’s one of the main interior rooms.’ Jungkook says nothing about the unusual sloppy work of his superior, his jaw ticking with his clenched teeth. He’s spoken very little since Taehyung woke up, playing with those rings when he thinks the older is asleep or otherwise not paying attention (it does not get past Taehyung’s notice that he hasn’t once touched the chain around his neck). The cut on his cheek is healing slowly—there will certainly be a scar there later once the bruising fully disappears.
Taehyung had not been confident with his estimation—in fact, he’s way off, but they find the locked door and Jungkook nimbly unlocks it.
Siu is crumpled on the floor.
The silence is overwhelming, Taehyung’s eardrums ache with the absence of noise, with the absence of life. In a voice that very much sounds like his father, ‘I told you so.’ When the door is closed behind them, Jungkook flips on a flashlight to find a ring of blood haloing the still man. Siu is useless in life and in death.
“Motherfucker.” Taehyung curses fiercely, but he has no energy to rage at the lost opportunity. Will he be thwarted at every turn? He leans back against the wall and slides down until he’s crouched there, limbs feeling boneless and heavy. The gunshot wound throbs hotly under his hand and he senses the gauze is damp under the t-shirt Jungkook had pulled out of the dresser for him, musty but suitable.
The sheer stubbornness inside him is the only thing keeping him from admitting the possibility of defeat. It’s not over until he’s fucking dead—and even then he has some boobytraps for his successors to deal with while he’s in the grave.
It takes Taehyung a moment to recognize Jungkook's speaking to him.
“—not right about this.”
“What,” Taehyung says blankly. The flashlight shines on his face, making him squeeze his eyes shut and rear his head away with a noise of protest. “What the fuck, Jungkook—”
“Just making sure you’re still alive.”
“I don’t fucking have time for this,” he snaps, anger rushing to coat any remaining feelings of being sorry for himself. If he had any sense right now, he would have realized Jungkook did it on purpose to coax his normal self back. “Repeat what you said.”
Jungkook dutifully repeats himself, “I said I think something isn’t right about this. Siu didn’t slit his own throat, the angle is all wrong. I think someone else did.”
“Impossible,” Taehyung says, but the earlier dread seizes him all over again—he realizes vaguely that it’s never left. “We need to—” A sharply lifted hand and the flashlight cutting out makes him immediately still. ‘We need to leave.’ Except the killer is likely lurking around and Taehyung knows he’s nothing but a sitting target right now; there’s no way he can navigate the tunnel swiftly and silently by foot. The younger crouches next to him, both of them knowing their only chance is surprising the bastard.
His gut ties into knots—’no one is supposed to know about these tunnels.’
It’s hours—or minutes or even seconds later—when Taehyung catches a noise out in the tunnel, the slide of gravel faintly echoing, a huff of breath. This unknown intruder is definitely not an expert if Taehyung can detect them already, and he isn’t even the one with sensitive ears here. Jungkook taps Taehyung’s arm in three quick taps, indicating the level of threat. Three. Non-threatening to anyone with a lick of experience, as Taehyung had suspected. The warm hand remains on Taehyung’s arm, gripping it firmly to keep him still.
Someone soon creeps into the room, a flashlight leading the way, and Jungkook shoots at them point blank. A familiar—too familiar—voice cries out and drops to the ground hard. The flashlight skitters across the room, the beam of light landing on Jimin’s startled, but in one piece face.
“Are you fucking—” Taehyung growls, launching himself forward, ignoring the hard pull of pain in his stomach. He flips the dazed man over and pins his throat against the ground. “Why the fuck are you here?” His voice drops to something low and severe, an edge of a threat in the words. ‘Answer me very carefully,’ the words say.
“Tae! I was trying to find you! I’ve been looking everywhere, I-I—”
Taehyung tightens his hand on Jimin’s throat to make him stutter to a stop and wheeze before he lets go. He clumsily climbs to his feet, his wound giving another hot throb of incessant pain. Stepping back, he does not help Jimin to his feet. The younger of the two—by only mere months—swings the flashlight around the room, pausing on Siu before lowering it again, finding nothing else of note. They are now alone in the room, and Taehyung cannot decide if he’s relieved his former second left or annoyed that he’s now left alone with Jimin.
“Where have you been?!” Jimin’s in his face now, the low light of the single flashlight casting deep shadows across his face. “I was so scared you were dead! What the fuck, Taehyung?”
“Fighting for my life,” Taehyung says in a dry voice.
“It’s been over a day since the meeting. You disappeared.” Then, after a brief pause, almost an afterthought, “Did you get anything out of Siu?”
“No.” Taehyung doesn’t correct him.
While he’s been aware this has been a set up from the start, Taehyung’s realizing this goes further and deeper than he could have ever dreamed of. There's corruption running like a wildfire through his gang, burning bright and toxic, and infecting it from the inside-out; there may not be a cure as he once had thought. Who is compromised—who follows the antichrist? Unwillingly, his thoughts drift to the man long gone in the tunnels before he forces himself to focus on the present moment.
“This has to be Jungkook, you know?” Jimin speaks up again. “He’s out there, rogue, with a vendetta against you. Who else has this information to destroy you?” His tone is agitated as he paces the small room, careful not to step in the pool of blood. Abruptly, he swings the flashlight on Taehyung and gasps. “You’re bleeding. Taehyung, why didn’t you say you were hurt? We have to get you back, you’re not safe here.”
“No, I’m certainly not safe here,” Taehyung agrees mildly and allows himself to be guided out of the room with an insistent hand at the small of his back.