Blood Ink ✔️

20: This is Not a Drill

You're hungry.

Sitting in a warm room that smells like vanilla and sweetness makes your stomach rumble even worse, the scent reminding you of a bakery filled to the brim with cookies and muffins and cinnamon rolls.

The entire reason you're in this position right now is because of your stupid empty stomach; if you hadn't gone out to get food earlier, you'd still be safely holed up in your ratty apartment with your disinterested roommate.

But you aren't.

Now you're in a crazy expensive house, locked inside with seven hot assassins that may or may not be planning something detrimental to your life and wellness.

And in the end, you still never got any food.

So you're really hungry.

Sighing, you stand up and walk to the door. You don't go out, or even open it yet; instead, you lean your forehead against the door and try to kick the thermal-scanning eyesight you wish you had in gear.

You want to know what's on the other side of the door.

Best case scenario: it's empty, clean and free of the filthy hunk of mouthy aggressiveness that roams these halls, preying on the weak and weary.

Worst case scenario: he's out there now, crouched outside the door with a handgun that's probably killed a lot of people, ignoring Jin's former words and waiting for you to emerge.

If you're being completely honest with yourself, you're hoping for a happy medium.

Considering your luck the past couple of days, you don't think you can get away with a Jungkook-free trip to the kitchen. A small brush-in with him is all your hoping for, tense but uneventful.

Thunking your forehead lightly against the wood, you then hesitantly open it and peek your head out.

An empty, carpeted hallway greets you, and you almost fist pump in excitement.

Your worst case scenario is out; it can only get better from there.

You pad gently down the hall, scanning the area below the stairs as you do, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Luckily, no bloody Jimins or pushy Jins are nosing around at the bottom, and the hallway you stand in continues to remain empty of the hot-headed Jungkook.

Down the stairs and to the right, you remember, recalling Jin's words from earlier. Your stomach grumbles in aching complaint, tired of being empty, and you once again pat it in reassurance. This time, you'll fulfill your promise to the poor organ in getting a good, filling meal.

As you go down, you sneakily double check the front entrance for the presence of a doggy door, but to no avail.

Curses upon those animal-hating people.

Just as the eldest assassin promised, the kitchen door gapes open to the right of the last stair step, revealing within a pristine cream-and-grey kitchen that looks like it hasn't been used in a century.

Hmm.

They must be too busy blowing people's heads to tiny pieces to have time to cook their own food. Being a hitman surely requires lots of late-night McDonalds runs.

Satisfied that you'll most likely remain alone in the unused room, you begin to root around in the metallic silver refrigerator, pleased to find a decent amount of edible ingredients.

"Fried rice it is," you chirp to yourself, pulling various things out of the fridge and setting them on the gleaming marble counters. As you do, a green light blinks in the corner of your vision.