Chapter Text
He snorted contemptuously.
The broken wire gates of the usually busy highway was completely blocked off and sealed shut. He stood on his toes but it did no justice as he was stuck at the size of 5 foot 8 inches- arguably not as short as people say- but short enough for the average male to tower over him.
How many times had he caused havoc and car accidents trying to kill himself?
Probably enough.
The local authorities even posted his face around the area, claiming that he was a danger to society and his self, no surprise in that. He recalled almost running into a lamp post late one night and seeing another face that looked identical to his, it was a poster of him and in big bold letters it said, ‘PARK JIMIN’
It seems the town was also set on revealing his face and identity to the public as well. Yet he didn’t mind, everyone knew him like the new guy next door- mainly- because they pitied him. Most of the closest people who surrounded him knew he was a suicidal maniac, it was a well known fact and Jimin did nothing about it primarily because he could not care less about what people thought about him.
With a heavy sigh, he pulled his sleeves up past his elbow and attempted to climb the newly constructed wall- key word attempted- although he was strong his arm couldn’t reach the next indent on the wall. His fingers barely touched the sharp edge of it and it maddened him to no avail.
“Stupid wall...” He released his grip and awkwardly landed on his feet.
Since there was nothing else to do, he ruffled his unwashed and diluted silver locks and decided to make his way home in his shabby apartment. Maybe once there, he thought, he could drink the rest of his withering self away till his body shuts down from alcohol poisoning.
“You’ll wonder why you even took the job in the first place.” The blank and cold eyes of the sleepy man’s boss slid a piece of paper towards his direction.
He wore a nicely ironed suit that cost the average person’s weekly paycheck- or even more, black tie straight, and slacks rid of any traces of lint. His onyx hair was effortlessly styled and blow-dried with little to no effort, which in reality actually took at least twenty minutes to manage each time he prepared for work. It’s not like he went to a formal gathering each day, it was a part of his job to look and dress professional- if not suave- for his victims before their last waking breath.
The unusual fact of it is that his usually lax demeanor didn’t reflect what he does for a living whatsoever.
He took the paper which had the address scribbled on it- quickly glancing- and shoved it in his pocket, then picked up the gun sitting on the desk and placed it in its rightful holster.
“Hey.” He stopped mid-step, “Don’t miss.”
The man yawned and tilted his head sideways, “I’m Min Yoongi. I never miss.”