Abducting BTS

Chapter 1- The Concert

The Korean sun burns hot on my back as I stand in line waiting.

I have been waiting six hours already, something as a sub-head of a relatively large and infamously cruel gang, I am not accustomed to. However, a job is a job. This just so happens to be the largest and most visible job I will ever do.

There are very few women in my gang at high enough levels to be trusted with this job. Very few meaning only me. The men would look even less of the part of a BTS fan then I do. They're huge, always muscular and usually in their mid twenties. Not the usual teenage girls that make up the majority of the fan base.

Sure, there are some fans that look like them don't get me wrong, but they'd still be too noticeable. Too visible. Too memorable.

I however, am a plain nineteen year old with with a messy blonde lob. I know there is nothing special about me except for my unusual height at 6'1 and the tattoos that covered a large part of my body. I could hide the tattoos easily,  had made sure of that when I got them, the height however, now that was a different matter altogether.

So I tried all the tricks I knew to be as unmemorable as physically possible when preparing. I'm wearing baggy clothes in dark colours to also try and mask my height. I wear no makeup and only make brief eye contact with anyone. My shoes were as flat as possible to prevent myself from becoming 6'2 and so far all of this was working. No one had really spared me a second glance, and I love it.

Some women want to be beautiful and to stand out, I just wanted to disappear. To have the ability to be a face among thousands. If anyone here was to try and pick me out of a line up, i doubt anyone would succeed.

Finally, after hours of standing in line with thousands of hyperactive teenage girls and guys, we begin to move.

I try to look bored as we go through ticket check before noticing that exactly 0 people look bored. I let some of my nervousness shine through into my movements, I look jittery like everyone else.

I'm rushed through in seconds as I have no bag and nothing that would set off the gate sensors.

I tie my hair up once inside to change my look slightly and search for the staff bathrooms.

My heart beats irrationally as I slip in under the cover of lots of people, hoping that security is too busy to notice someone going to the wrong bathroom.

Once in, I look under the stalls for feet and finding no one, lock the door behind me as silently as I can.

My breath is deep from the anxiety I feel as I walk to the second from last stall and stand on the toilet seat.

The cheap plastic creaks loudly below me making me pause, thankfully the noise from outside drowns it out.

"Second from last, third in, on the left." I chant religiously hoping it's there.

I push up the third in ceiling tile, cringing at the sound of the ceramic grating but thankful it moves.

I slip my hand through the narrow gap created and slap about for the package.

There!

My fingers hit on something wrapped in paper and draw it back. The shape takes form but it takes some struggling to get it through the space.

My watch ticks menacingly on my wrist saying ""three minutes! You're going to get caught! Silly girl three and a half minutes now!"

By four minutes, it's out and tucked in my waste band, by four and a half in out the door slipping into the obscurity of crowds.

Even as a foreigner, I am swallowed and welcomed into the writing mass of 'ARMY'. Hidden from view by so called 'bombs' waved in the air in excitement.

We move forwards as one, pushing to the front of the standing crowd.

I am happy to make my way even to the middle of the crowd through battering elbows,pushes and even the occasional kick. It's better that way anyway, not being at the direct front. If I were, my face would be caught by a camera. Here I am my favourite place to be. Invisible.

I stand stoic as a rock in the rapid stream of people pushing to get closer to the front.

I am generally not pushed or kicked, for when they see me, they decide I am not worth the hassle. The occasional push however does illicit a few glares and choice words. Meaning I generally chose "fuck off."

I begin to calm down as I feel myself slipping. Slipping out of Lucy, and into Lucifer. This is Lucifer's element and I was wondering when she'd rear her head.

I feel my heart slot back into its familiar rhythm as my nerves are replaced with a calm anticipation.

The package I retrieved feels heavy in my waistband but it I a comforting weight. Like a cat sat on your lap. Except the kitten I have doesn't purr, it bites.

I checked whether she was loaded before I left the bathroom of course. You never know who will fuck up, even though her weight was enough to tell. Bullets are heavy. People forget that. They have their own weight, their own feel, their own language.

A language which I have become fluent in.

I pour over every detail in the stage, examining, adapting, checking.

I knew the stage layout of by heart of course, but even the addition of a fence backstage that wasn't shown on the map or that was moved and not returned could throw me off. I couldn't let that happen, too much was riding on this job.

We had spent months planning every second, every movement, every step. It was perfect, if fragile.

We have backup plans upon backup plans but it all still rides on me getting on that stage.

Blaring music interrupts the fan chants as finally, it begins.