Terrorists - BTS (Purge AU)

March 22, 01:47 Hours *Less Than 6 Hours Until Discharge*

After pulling the flag off the pole, I started examining it. They really needed a new one. The fabric was becoming worn down, the edges ripping. Even under the strain of my grasp, it was begging to give away. I folded it up, not taking any chances, and hid it where no one would look: in my bra. I wasn't going to risk getting this taken away from me.

Making sure the flag was completely out of sight, I turned to looking around the city. The skyline looked like it was on fire, smoke curling off it. The party that was only a few buildings down made my body shake from the bass. My teeth chattered at the bitter wind that attacked me. I could taste the smoke in the air. Now, how would I make it back to the billboard?

I remembered that we left the car blocks away from where I was. I could probably hot-wire it since Namjoon never gave me the keys(no surprise). I just didn't know where it was. The part of town where I was at was unfamiliar to me. How was I going to walk around and find that billboard?

I then remembered that truck in the back. If I hot-wired that, I could get somewhere quickly. I could find the billboard faster as well. Maybe it had a GPS as well. There was only one way to find out.

There was a way down from where the dumpster was. The dumpster was right next to the fence, making it an easy way out. I made sure that the people who found me earlier weren't down there. It seemed to be clear, so I slid off the roof onto the dumpster. It made a slightly loud sound, but I didn't waste any time with standing there and scolding myself. Instead, I started climbing down the fence, putting my feet and hands where I could to keep myself steady. 

My feet hit the ground, and they carried me to the back faster than I could comprehend. Like before, the dead body laid next to the truck. It wasn't a large truck, more like a small moving truck. I kept my eyes off the body. I couldn't afford to look at it. It made me sick for some reason. Instead, I watched if there was anyone around me. I was surprised they weren't guarding the back.

The drivers side door was open. Thank the Lord, or I would have to break the glass to just crawl into the truck. I worked quickly, undoing the hatch from below the steering wheel. I knew how to do this(don't ask me why), and after a couple minutes the truck started, the engine purring. I hopped in, closing the door shut. I could already hear people shouting.

Being me, I locked the doors immediately, but I knew that wouldn't make a difference with people throwing stuff at the window. At the loading dock, someone came out of the door. It was the guy, Mike. I just threw him a glare, and started pressing on the gas pedal.

He yelled something, and at the alley where I was going stood another guy. When he saw me, he pointed the gun and started shooting. A bullet hit the windshield, going through and zooming past my seat. I yelped, and did the only thing I could think of; I ducked.

In a matter of seconds, I came across a bump. I knew what it was. I threw my head back up, zooming out of there with tears in my eyes. I just killed a guy. I really just killed a guy with the truck.

No one came after me anymore. I turned through streets, thinking of the names if I knew them. Some seemed familiar, so I followed them. But I couldn't get my mind off of the guy.

I cursed myself out. I yelled at myself, telling myself I was stupid. But that was the only way to get out of there. If I didn't, I couldn't bring the flag back. Tears stung my eyes. But I felt a laugh bubbling in my throat. What was wrong with me?

After minutes of wandering, I came to a street I knew. I knew the buildings around me. I wasn't lost anymore. I zoomed off towards Times Square. Images kept flashing in my mind. The guy in the alley, the dead body on the loading dock, the pistol in my leggings . . . The pistol in my leggings. I wanted to throw it away. I wanted to get rid of it once and for all. I couldn't, though. I needed it. Pain just kept striking me over and over again.

I rolled up to Times Square. It was abandoned, no people in sight. The left overs from the bomb still remained, the blood still splattered everywhere, the body parts thrown across the street. I sucked in a breath, hopping out of the truck. I left it running just in case. The door closed, and my feet started carrying me over to the billboard of where they were at.

I tried following the path Namjoon had taken at the beginning of the evening. It included climbing up a fire escape and pulling my body onto platforms. I used my shoulder as little as possible. I was running out of blood fast. I didn't know what to do. I needed to conserve as much as possible. I couldn't pass out yet.

With pulling my body onto a platform for one last time, I sat on my legs, panting. My shoulder slightly throbbed. Sweat poured down my face. My body shook from losing too much energy. I just needed to find the base they were talking about, and then I could rest for a couple of minutes.

I thought my legs were going to collapse as I stood up, but thankfully they sturdied after a few seconds. A shaky breath, and my feet carried me to the back of the billboard to where they said was the base.

They were right. There was a little hideout made of some tarps and little accessories. The place was small, but it could fit the seven guys if they needed it. Small, wooden crates were used as tables, guns and knives littering them. Instead of the metal ground, the placed a carpet down, probably for hominess. In the corner was about four sleeping bags that were rolled up. So this was their home.

I walked over to a crate, looking at it's goods. Taking one of the knives into hand, I examined it. I didn't want another weapon on hand because of the running-over incident, but I knew I needed it. It took a few more knives to know which one would be perfect, so in the end I chose in a black hilted pocket knife that was small for convenience.

Plopping myself on the floor, I stuffed the knife into my pocket. Hot flashes were coursing throughout my body, so I shrugged my jacket off. The cold air hit my bare shoulders, goose bumps rising. I reached into my shirt, pulling out the flag. 

From all my sweat, the flag was drenched. I threw it on the floor in front of me, staring at the dark red fabric. A laugh bubbled in my throat. For some reason, this seemed to be the funniest thing I had come across all night. The laugh bursted out of my mouth. More soon followed, leaving me to be a laughing mess. But soon, the laughing turned to sobbing, tears falling down my face. I placed my head in my hands, my body racking with sobs. What was wrong with me?

The world felt like it was spinning. I tangled my hands into my hair, leaning over. My stomach was starting to turn on itself, bile raising to my mouth. I could smell the iron of blood in my nose. Each time I blinked, I saw the dead body on the loading dock. There was also the guy I ran over. My fingernails dug into my scalp. The bile was almost in my mouth. I ran out of the "tent", and threw up over the side of the billboard. My body shook. I wanted to die.

My eyelids were becoming heavy. I was only dry heaving now. I pulled away from the side, my breathing shaky. Small sobs escaped my lips. I laid on the cool metal ground of the billboard. My feverish skin felt like heaven against it.

I heard someone's voice calling out to me. I must've been hallucinating. My eyes closed. A little bit of sleeping wouldn't hurt anyone. The voice was getting closer. My mind was falling into sleep more. Just a little sleep...