"Power to the women who are venom."
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A rivalry between a secret anti-government organization and its deviant counterpart; will seven boys and a girl lead justice to be served?
2034 has brought upon the presidency of Allison Diggory, a woman both l...
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Fingers drum along the hollow opening of a car door window, rhythmically going thump thump thump, belonging to a man who watches the sight before him like a hawk. Tires screech to halt, aching from tight, fresh rubber that squeezes the circular metal in the center. Surrounding the wheels is a sleek exterior of black, catching the sun in spontaneous places when it drives and half-blinding the people who ogle in its direction. The new 2021 Ferrari could cause simply anybody to quake with envy at the mere sight of it.
A man with a clean-shaven face, spotless pale skin and a mean snarl curling his upper lip, stares out in the driver's seat. His crisp tuxedo hugs his large biceps; he loves to stay in shape. Where else would his son get it from?
A woman sits stiff beside him in the passenger seat, her narrowed eyelids, coated with a shimmering sepia dust, silver glitter meeting the hue in the middle, are cradled by thick false eyelashes, just as ebony as her withered soul. The woman is his wife.
"So this is where they've taken shelter . . .?" The man growls, his finger-tapping never ceasing.
"God-knows-why," the woman, with firm, fawn hair in an updo, snarls. "Our boy is awfully bad at hiding his pestering involvement with these . . . ruffians."
"Do you think they're hiding from the police, Kyungmi?" the man replies, speaking the words with a unnoticeable wince. He then adds, "I can't believe it . . our son of all people."
"He's always been a good boy," the mother almost-coos. Her voice then returns to a persistent hiss, enunciating her words with malice. "Those thugs likely kidnapped him! Horrifying."
"How long do you think he's been hiding it?" the man ignores his wife, eyes picking out every detail of the run down abandoned storage building, its cracks and ivy growth, to even its shattered windows where even if he squints longingly, he cannot catch a glimpse of his son—He's not even sure he wants to.
"Being in a gang?" His wife visibly twitches.
The man stays quiet.
"Years," the woman replies. Then she groans, throwing her makeup-caked face into her hands. "This is awful. I would've never imagined . . . !"
"Keep it down!" The man seethes. His head whips back to the warehouse again, his finger-drumming, which momentarily stopped, beginning once more. "They'll discover us." He sighs shakily through his nose before reluctantly responding, "They must have been together for a while, whoever they are—and I'm guessing this refuge they've held themselves up in is not the first."
"So what about the place we went to before this, Jeongho?" the woman cries, this time lowering her tone. "The warehouse! Do you think that could have been their base for all these years?"
"That place was destroyed," the man snaps. "It couldn't have been. Or if it was, somebody came along and discovered them, evicted them, and then exploded the place so that they could have never returned."
