↳ 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹: 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

𝙆𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙃𝙚𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙜 - 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦

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[ any reader ]

Checking over your shoulder as you make your way through the trees, you follow the trail illuminated by drops of silver moonlight. A bridge comes into view not too far away. Locked gates and a fence, however, prohibit you from travelling any further.

So you trap your flashlight between your teeth and scale up it with ease, climbing over the top and quietly hopping down. You remove the flashlight from your mouth to shine it along the walls of the building. Thick smoke pumps out from one of the chimneys, clangs echoing from inside, mounds of scrap metal lining the perimeter.

Another glance over your shoulder tells you you're not being followed. You locate a door on the side of the factory and carefully push it open. It's humid inside. Thick heat with nowhere to escape, flames tangled inside furnaces and hot steam being coughed back out from thumping machines.

The door to an empty office is left ajar until you cautiously push it open wider to peer inside the room. You walk straight over to the cabinet to scan the contents. A few boxes of ammunition accompanied by a gun. Good condition, not been used from what you can tell.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's wrong to steal?"

You face the man situated in the doorway, leant against the frame and calmly smoking a cigar. The gun you just discovered and stored away in your bag was empty so you retrieve your own from behind your back. He doesn't bat an eyelid when you aim it between his brows.

"The hell are you doing in my factory?" It's more tired than curious or enraged. Like he's asked the same question numerous times before. Given the unlocked door, it wouldn't serve as a surprise if strays found themselves wandering in his territory on the daily.

"Hiding." You answer earnestly.

"From?"

"None of your business."

"You made it my business when you set foot on my land. Start answering my questions."

"Or what?"

He scoffs. "Always the young ones."

A wave of his hand forces metal to clasp around your wrists and binds them behind your back, the gun digging into your spine from the uncomfortable angle. You lick your lips and watch him through your lashes when he approaches.

"You're not afraid." He observes aloud.

"Do you know how many times I've been in this position before?"

"Who are you hiding from?"

"People who want to kill me."

"Why do they want to kill you?"

"Let's just say I'm not a nice person."

"Neither am I." He shrugs.

Your eyes narrow. "Are you challenging me?"

"No, because I'd win." He leans against a workbench by a scratched window, exhaling another cloud of smoke from his scarred lips. "See it as more of a threat than a challenge."