Namjoon had always been determined to serve justice and uphold law - but when he's assigned to catch the notorious gangster Jungkook, he knew his principles would be put to test.
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"No... come back! How did you—don't you dare run! Yujin! Open the door!" Jungkook's voice cracked, raw with emotion, as he scanned the room with frantic, desperate eyes. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the weight of fear and helplessness crushing him.
His body jerked toward the door, each step uncoordinated, driven by a gut-wrenching need to stop her. His fists hammered against the wood, a desperate rhythm of futility, each blow reverberating in the air with a hollow echo, as though it was a desperate plea to the universe that would fall on deaf ears.
"Jungkook, stop! Stop it... you're hurting yourself!" Namjoon's voice rang out, a desperate plea, barely able to cut through the chaos. His words were lost in the cacophony of sirens blaring outside, the shrill sound growing louder with every passing second, drowning out any hope of reason. "You can't... hey! Get a hold of yourself!"
Jungkook's gaze remained wild, glazed with a volatile mixture of fear and seething rage. His body moved in a blur of frantic, erratic motion, each desperate attempt to break through the door only met with the unyielding resistance of the solid wood. His muscles burned with the exertion, but the strain only deepened the ache in his chest. His knees buckled under the crushing weight of his own desperation, sending him crashing to the floor with a sickening thud.
Pain radiated up his body as he scrambled to regain his footing, but it didn't matter. His mind was numb to it, his only focus on the door—on the hopelessness that lurked behind it. His heart raced, every beat syncing with the tick of the clock that felt like it was counting down to something far worse than the chaos around them. His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything—anything—that might give him the strength to break through.
His gaze landed on the fallen chair. He seized it with a snarl, muscles straining with raw, pent-up rage as he lifted it above his head. With a feral cry, he hurled it at the door, the wood splintering upon impact, but the door stood strong—unyielding, impenetrable. The chair crumpled to the floor, its remains useless, broken, just like the hope that had briefly flared within him.
He didn't see the tears that streaked down Namjoon's face, nor did he feel the warmth of his arms wrapping around him from behind, trying to pull him away from the door. He was too far gone—too immersed in the turmoil and panic clawing at him from all sides. His chest heaved with every breath, and his heart pounded in his ears, deafening him to everything but the overwhelming sense of loss.
Then Namjoon's fingers brushed something—something strange, something that didn't belong. Thin, almost invisible strings emerged from Jungkook's vest, snaking through the air like tendrils of a dark, creeping force. They seemed to twitch, pulsing with an unnatural energy as if the fabric of the world itself were beginning to unravel. Namjoon's mind raced, trying to understand what he was seeing, but the realization came too quickly.
