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 🗝
"Trust starts and ends with the truth."
🗝 ᚐ 🗝 ᚐ 🗝
[Y/N's POV]
"Going anywhere?" The ringy voice carries through the garage, sweet and delicate, but it makes me jump and face the owner of it with a bewildered look.
He lazily emerges from the shadows, wearing a dirty grey overall combined with a simple white shirt that seems to be smudged with engine oil. Wrenches of all sizes hanging from his waistband clatter against each other when he slowly takes calculated steps towards me.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I snap.
"First," he starts, strolling towards me nonchalantly. "Watch your language, young lady. And second, you don't answer a question with another question, so I'll repeat myself. Are you going anywhere?"
My eyes roll back in my skull, as I flex my jaw rather violently. "Yes, I am going somewhere. Objections?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. But I have this gut feeling that you won't give a damn about them."
Huffing out a frustrated puff of air, I let my fingers untangle the knotted strings of hair as I mentally prepare myself for yet another fight. "Listen, Jin, I really need to go-"
"I'm not going to stop you."
He doesn't understand, does he?
"You don't get it, it's impo- wait," I stare at him in absolute puzzlement, only now letting his words reach my brain, "what?"
As a small laugh flees his plump lips, his honey eyes stay fixated on my baffled expression. "I know you, missy. Maybe not as well as that thick-skulled playmate of yours," his way of addressing Yoongi makes a bawdy chuckle drift through my lips, "but I know you and I figured I won't succeed anyway, so why try? Just tell me if you need anything."
Surprised but not disappointed. That's something new. His reaction isn't something I've expected, nonetheless, I welcome it with open arms.
"Uh...well," I scratch the back of my head, "a car. I need a car."
