Venom | BTS

CHAPTER 1 | Danger

You seem to always be on the run.

Battered black Dr. Martens combat boots slap against wet concrete as you race fiercely, heavy breaths escaping your lips. A tall, burly man is on your tail behind you. Birds flap away in a squawking crowd just as you step on a large puddle.

"Fuck!" you curse under your breath as a crowd of people emerge from the corner of the sidewalk, multiple umbrellas hanging over their chattering figures as they stroll mindlessly. You skid to a stop. Panicked from the sudden roadblock, you glance behind you, then to the alleyway on your left. 'Perfect.'

Dusk cracks over the sky in misty purple fog, scattered dull stars gleaming under a curtain of calm. Or, at least, that's how to would be if somebody wasn't hunting you murderously, just itching to watch you die by his hands.

Darting for the alleyway, the man's heavy footsteps follow yours in the direction. You disregard the strange looks of the group of pedestrians as your eyes are met with murky, cracked auburn bricks. You crinkle your nose, the stench of rotting garbage burning your nostrils as you enter the vast alleyway. The scent is seemingly worse under all of this pouring rain covering the concrete jungle of purple Seoul.

Your [H/T] [H/C] sticks in wet, matted chunks across your forehead as you make a beeline for the rusted latter just inches away. Wheezing as you look behind you in paranoia, the rough texture of the iron bars scratch into your skin as the man grows closer.

Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you scramble to the top of the roof, each click and tap from slender hands grabbing onto the debilitated latter desperately echoing. The man grabs onto the first slim bar a few feet behind you, and you growl a string of curses under your breath once more.

This is life for a woman like you: always on the run, always meddling and plunging yourself into waters of danger and excitement. Twenty-three years old, yet here you are. While others your age spend years grumbling and groaning in crumpling weights of student loan debt and sobbing over the pressures of university, you're slithering and sliding away form any situation, grasping onto the exhilaration of the moment and dashing away with it giddily.

For years it has been this way, but never in a cycle. If there's one thing you may pride yourself on about this life of jeopardy and excitement, it's that it's never, ever left you bored.

The flat gray roof clashes with the emerging Seoul night sky as you reach the top of the latter. Wrapping your arms around the edge and grasping onto it, you attempt to pull yourself up it. You yelp in shock as something tugs on your foot violently.

"Son of a . . . Fuck!" You shout as you shake your foot wildly. 'How did he catch up to me so fast?'

Under the musty and dank atmosphere, you make out a scowl from the burly man's face, a basic black hoodie shading the majority of his features as he tugs harshly. You yank your foot with just as much force, shrieking when you almost fall off the ladder where you stand.