Touch Me Not || Chūya × Fem!Reader

-12

The doorknob was, as any other inside the apartment apart from the entrance door, not lock-manipulated by a radio frequency identification card. In other words, it would be easier to access compared to the card-scanning door, which had high risks of triggering an alarm had it been meddled with the wrong way.

(Y/n) brisk walked back to the kitchen and searched an item akin to the diameter of a needle - not necessarily sharp, just a slim, pointed material that would aid her in dismantling the knob, including a stiff plastic card. Upon opening a drawer did she catch view of a coiled aluminum wire on the dusty corner; she took it out and unwound the first few inches. No later than three minutes, she also spotted an unused rail pass.

Then, she ambled back to the locked room. Behind the exterior knob, on the surface of the slot, her fingers felt for the small hole that she would thrust the sturdy wire in - to which she had perceived and proceeded to do as thought of.

The knob fell to the ground with an earsplitting sound; perhaps paranoia was only enhancing the volume. She slipped in the card on the gap of the door and the wall, penetrating it repetitively while inserting her index inside the beheaded knob and constantly gyrating until the latch bolt soon yielded, much to her contentment.

She pushed open the door without hesitation.

Her eyes widened in utter shock, and, for a quick fraction of a second, there came this unnerving warmth that had run on every limb of her body.

It was an unlit room with three rather large desktop computers, all of which were left turned on, exposed to any who would enter the room. Upon closer inspection, she came to realize that the middle desktop showcased the lock screen, so she shook the mouse to display the home screen - instead, she was met with a password requirement input.

Shit.

She didn't have all day to guess the password, so she started off with the most basic one: Welcome123.

Denied, it said, and so she resorted with primordial guesses: what exactly would Chūya set as a password? Perhaps something crude and incredibly uncomplicated to remember.

portmafia - access denied.

She narrowed her eyes in frustration. If not a basic code which had his affiliation taken to account, it possibly might have been something that he would never let out of his mind. Perhaps something he was fond of, that whenever he would enter the desktop screen, he would be enlightened by such a thought.

Her brows perked up at an idea. One he was fond of and would never forget - it was a mere likelihood, and it would never hurt to try (it possibly might, since the third chance of password process was always the riskiest), but perhaps…

(l/n) (y/n) - access denied.

She sighed exasperatedly. This was being done only to satiate her curiosity; maybe there wasn't any relevance to assisting her escape. Just as she was about to stand up and go out of the room, ridding of any evidences of ever coming in, her eyes fortunately did not miss one aspect underneath the passcode bar, which she discerned to be a hint.

(Y/n)'s birthday.

Her blood ran cold. Just how much of her did he know of!?

But it mattered very little right then, as what did were the contents of the software. Typing (dd/mm/yyyy) validated the access, therefore confirming that his password was indeed her birthday.

The desktop opened abruptly to the library app, giving out the documents and other miscellaneous files. What had caught her eyes in an instant, though, was the folder entitled Individual Identification.

If she were to relate both of the words to a familiar knowledge, it would be the case of the identification and tracking system Eyes of God, owned by a military company that went by the name of Manhasset Security. The case, regarding a brilliant doctor who had been falsely accused to be the culprit of an employee's death done by the hands of the CEO, raised upheaval to the general public who opted to reject all of Manhasset's stocks and thus lead to the bankruptcy of its business.

The detective in charge was a genius, she thought, because the case included the use of the individual identification system that had altered the culprit's body into the fraud.

So why was Chūya in possession of it?

She clicked to see the contents and inside showed only two files: another folder named original, and a fifty-six-second clip, displaying a somewhat familiar front door - which she clicked deliberately.

The first few seconds were rather tedious, exhibiting the door with minor complications of the video quality. As it proceeded, her intuition recognized the door and overall apartment entrance to be that of Rizal's flat, meaning the video's point of view was the closed-circuit television situated on the ceiling. It had certainly something to do with her predicament.

The door in the video opened wide - out came a girl drenched in blood, donned in an overcoat, with dreadfully similar (h/c) hair and distant, calculated hues of (e/c). Her lips then extended into a smirk exceeding vehement madness.

She - (l/n) (y/n) in the flesh - appeared right before her, apparently, lucidly and distinctively the perpetrator of the crime.

Something was out of place, she thought, disallowing the hysteric shock of the discovery to gain control of her current temperament. It was partly because of the unwavering fact that she was certainly not the culprit and instead the investigator of the case, and that there was still a lingering query in her mind that had primordially instigated her doubts of the video: why was this with Chūya?

And so she opened the folder entitled original, and inside exposed a clip with the exact number of seconds as the one prior, to which she clicked with eager sagacity.

It showcased the same door, same quality, and same movements, only with Chūya as the miscreant of the deed.