#navy job recruitment
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dysaniadisorder · 9 months ago
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i hate how normalized military is in the us im gonna rip my hair out
#i just. was talking w friends today#one of them was talking abt how he was almost convinced by the recruitment lady to join the navy and i was like. dude#and i was talking about how messed up it is that they send in people like that and catch kids like him#and my friends were like. you cant really blame her for doing her job. its her JOB like yes. it is her job. its fucking Bad#my best friend got all angry cuz his dad was in the navy. babe idc if he didnt actually fight he shouldnt have done it ♡#''people get drafted'' you have to dodge the draft.#''thats illegal'' yes. this is a requirement for if you are drafted. you Have to just not.#no one said action would be comfortable nor convenient. in fact it is going to be almost none of either#you are gonna have to face that the military murders human beings and your dad is not any better#and people who its ''just their job'' to do it chose that job. and they know#''you cant get mad at the worker woman; you have to get mad at the institution'' no im mad at the individual woman too#just because its your job to manipulate kids and kill Arab people doesnt mean its okay#''not everyone in the military is actively fighting'' no! they arent. but they are helping those that are.#they are not complicit but actively helping. you have to do anything and everything you can to just Not Fucking do that#ANYONE in the military has failed being a decent human 101. being in any part of the military means you are okay with centuries of genocide#and encourage even more. its not 'just your job' you are OK and more for relentless murder and i wish you harm#anyways. sometimes repeating & internalizing the things ur parents say means watch our for road traps and the beatles are good.#sometimes it is US propaganda and just because it is in your own house and coming from a loved one doesnt mean you cant not fall for it#edit not to mention him saying this the day after aaron bushnell died. dude#unethical jobs exist. it is everyones job to bring them down#''its just her job'' was Bushnells sacrifice not fucking enough for you??? and the millions of dead Palestinians????? christ
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defensenow · 14 days ago
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jobscorner · 21 days ago
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Join Pakistan Navy as Sailor - October 2024 Registration
The Pakistan Navy is inviting applications for the position of Sailor for the A-2025 (S) Batch. This is an excellent opportunity for individuals looking to serve in a prestigious institution while pursuing a fulfilling career.
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Join Pakistan Navy as Sailor - October 2024 Registration Available Positions - Technical Branch - Naval Police / Regulating - Marine - Naib Khateeb - Chef / Steward - Musician - MTD / Driver - Sanitary Worker / Khakroob - PT Branch - IT Branch (DAE Qualified - Direct Entry) Location - Jobs available across various locations in Pakistan. Application Process Interested candidates can apply online. Be sure to check the official website for more details on eligibility criteria and application procedures. Important Dates - Date Posted: 20-Oct-2024 - Publication: Express Newspaper Prepare for an exciting journey with the Pakistan Navy! Apply Now Follow us on X, LinkedIn and Facebook for latest posted jobs and stay updated. #JoinPakistanNavy #PakistanNavy #SailorRecruitment #NavyCareer #PakistanArmedForces #October2024Registration #NavyLife #MilitaryLife #DefenseJobs #Pakistan #CareerOpportunity #JoinTheNavy #NavyJobs #MilitaryJobs #PakistanNavyRecruitment Read the full article
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manasastuff-blog · 2 months ago
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Railway NTPC 10+2 Level Notification 2024#trending#viral#rrbntpcnotification
For More Information: https://manasadefenceacademy.com/rail...
Railway NTPC 10+2 Notification 2024 is out, and if you're looking to ace the exam, Manasa Defence Academy is your best bet. As the leading academy providing top-notch RRB training, Manasa offers comprehensive coaching with facilities like physical training by retired Army officers, swimming, gym, yoga, and written exam preparation. Our students also get exclusive SSB interview training, English speaking skills development, and stage speech practice, ensuring they're fully prepared for every aspect of the exam. Plus, our state-of-the-art hostel and mess facilities make studying stress-free. Whether you're aiming for NDA, Navy, Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, or SSC, Manasa Defence Academy is equipped to guide you to success. Join us to not only train for your defence or railway exam but also to complete your higher studies after the 10th, all in one place. Start your journey to success now with the best RRB training at Manasa Defence Academy!
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#RailwayNTPC2024#ManasaDefenceAcademy#RRBTraining#NDA2024#RailwayJobs2024#DefenceAcademy#ExamPreparation#SSBInterviewTraining#PhysicalTraining#bestacademy#trending#viral
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tnsfrbc · 6 months ago
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Indian Navy Recruitment 2024 | Central Government Jobs 2024 Official Website:https://agniveernavy.cdac.in/
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senabharti1 · 1 year ago
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सुनहरा मौका 12000 पदों पर आई इंडियन नेवी आईटी भर्ती 2023, जल्द करें आवेदन Indian Navy SSC IIT vacancy
Indian Navy SSC IIT vacancy 2023🚢 भारतीय इंडियन नेवी एसएससी आईटी रिक्रूटमेंट मै 12000 पदों के लिए जॉब, जो छात्र इस वैकेंसी का सालों से इंतजार कर रहे थे उनके लिए सुनहरा मौका है,तो जल्द करें आवेदन,भारतीय नौसेना अकादमी (INA) केरल में जनवरी 2024 में होने वाला स्पेशल नेवल ओरियंटेशन कोर्स के तहत भारतीय नौसेना सूचना प्रौद्योगिक SSC IIT मैं शॉर्ट सर्विस कमिशन (SSC) के अनुदान के लिए अविवाहित पुरुष और…
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rojgarsamachar · 1 year ago
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Indian Navy MR Recruitment 2023 इंडियन नेवी में 10th पास के लिए भर्ती का नोटिफिकेशन जारी
 Indian Navy MR Recruitment 2023: नेवी में सरकारी नौकरी की तेयारी करने वाले योग्य और इच्छुक उम्मीदवारों के लिए Indian Navy में Metric Recruit (MR) के 100 पदों पर भर्ती का नोटिफिकेशन आधिकारिक वेबसाइट पर जारी किया गया है। जारी किये गये नोटिफिकेशन के अनुसार इस भर्ती के लिए अविवाहित महिला और पुरुष उम्मीदवार अपना आवेदन कर सकते है। उम्मीदवार अपना आवेदन करने से पहले अपनी योग्यता और पात्रता की जाँच कर अपना आवेदन करे।
उम्मीदवारों को अपना आवेदन करने से पहले अपनी योग्यता और पात्रता की जाँच कर अपना आवेदन करना है। इस भर्ती के लिए ऑनलाइन आवेदन करने के लिए उम्मीदवारों को ऑफिसियल वेबसाइट, नोटिफिकेशन, आवेदन लिंक और आवेदन करने से सबंधित जानकारी इस वेबसाइट में दी गई है जिसकी सहायता से आप आसानी से अपना आवेदन कर सकते है। इस भर्ती के बारे में और अधिक जानकारी के लिए आप समय समय पर ऑफिसियल वेबसाइट पर विजिट करे।
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resulttak · 1 year ago
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Indian Navy Agniveer SSR 02 2023 Batch Recruitment | 12वी पास के लिए अग्निवीर नेवी भर्ती
Indian Navy Agniveer SSR 02/2023 Batch Recruitment: दोस्तों यदि आप भी 12वीं पास के बाद इंडियन नेवी मिल सरकारी जॉब करना चाहते हैं वह भी अग्निवीर के रूप में इस पोस्ट में हम आपके लिए लेकर आए हैं इंडियन नेवी अग्निवीर एसएसआर भर्ती 2023 की नई आवेदन की पूरी जानकारी इस लेख में हम आपको बताएंगे कि आप इंडियन नेवी अग्निवीर एसएसआर मैं आवेदन कैसे करेंगे और आपकी एजुकेशन क्वालिफिकेशन क्या होनी चाहिए और भी सभी…
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khabarsamay · 2 years ago
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fresherkiduniya · 2 years ago
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Nainital Bank Management Trainee MTs  Recruitment 2022
The Nainital Bank Ltd has released the advertisement for the recruitment of Management Trainee MTs Exam 2022. Those Candidates Are Enrolled with Vacancy Can Check the Result. For information related to recruitment such as selection procedure, eligibility,
Name of Post: Nainital Bank Management Trainee MTs Result 2022Post Date / Update:12 December 2022 | 10:40 AM Short Information :The Nainital Bank Ltd has released the advertisement for the recruitment of Management Trainee MTs Exam 2022. Those Candidates Are Enrolled with Vacancy Can Check the Result. For information related to recruitment such as selection procedure, eligibility, age limit,…
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manasastuff-blog · 2 months ago
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Indian Navy SSR Medical Assistant Syllabus#ssr#navy#trending#viral#syllabus
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Welcome to our channel! In this video, we dive deep into the comprehensive syllabus for the Indian Navy SSR ( Secondary Recruit) Medical Assistant position Join us at Man Defence Academy, where are proud to top-notch training programs specifically for aspirants to excel in the Navy.
Our instructors will guide you through each segment of the syllabus covering the medical assistant exam. basic medical knowledge and fitness to understand the duties and responsibilities of a Navy Medical Assistant, and ensure every aspect is explained and understood.
Call: 77997 99221 Web: www.manasadefenceacademy.com
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tnsfrbc · 6 months ago
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Indian Navy Recruitment 2024 | Central Government Jobs 2024 Official Website:https://agniveernavy.cdac.in/
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jobtamizhan · 2 years ago
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Agnipath Navy Recruitment 2022 | 1400 Agniveer SSR Vacancy
Agnipath Navy Recruitment 2022 | 1400 Agniveer SSR Vacancy #govtjobs #upsc #ssc #currentaffairs #gk #ssccgl #ias #jobs #governmentjobs
Indian Navy Agnipath Scheme Recruitment 2022 Inviting the Application for the Following Posts dental surgeon. Totally 1400 SSR Vacancies are Available for This Job. Candidates Need to Apply Online Via for These Posts. the Work Location is All Over India, Central Government Official Release The Notification Interested and Eligible Candidate Please Must Check Full Notification Details , Education…
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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months ago
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Arrest Me, But Make it Sexy
Requested Here by @newobsessionweekly! Part 2 Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader
Summary: Tim recruits you to aid in a Metro op. When you ignore his direct orders, you dare him to arrest you, but you have a request.
Warnings: this is pure fluff and banter!! the song reference part is a teeny bit suggestive I guess, but it's completely clean/sfw as always!
Word Count: 1.5k+ words
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
cop cuties, cute and on duty. navy blue booties, go ahead and lock me up. arrest me, but make it sexy.
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You’ve been a patrol cop since you completed your rookie training with Tim Bradford. Throughout the last few years of working alone, you’ve trusted him enough to ask for advice, offer to work for him and reach out when he was injured. Most cops don’t stay close to their TO, but Tim was always more than that. Somehow, against his will, you think, you and Tim became friends. He knew from the beginning of your training that you were going to be a great cop, which is why he decided to recruit you for a new job.
“Officer,” Tim greets as you walk into Wade’s office.
“Sergeant,” you reply. “I take it I’m here to see you and not be yelled at by Grey.”
“Why do you need to be yelled at?” Tim asks, raising his brows as he crosses his arms.
“Absolutely nothing, sir.”
“Sure. Metro is working a forgery operation, and we need an extra set of hands. I think you’re the right cop for this job.”
“You do?” you ask, suspicious of why he chose you over the hundreds of other choices.
“Yes. But you get to decide. Do you want to join the team and complete your first Metro op?”
“Yes, sir,” you agree. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“You still have to prove that I’m right,” Tim reminds you. “Gear up, we’re leaving in ten.”
You nod before you exit the office. Working with Tim is something that you’re used to, but not in a Metro team.
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“Get to the corner,” Tim orders.
You stay in place, watching the forger. He’s in plain view, waiting for something and checking his watch every minute or so. That makes him dangerous and reckless. The overview that Tim gave you and the Metro squad at the station didn’t place the suspect outside of his studio.
“Corner, now,” Tim repeats.
“He’s outside,” you radio.
“And you’re not in position.”
You huff and move your hand off of your radio. There’s no chance of catching this guy if you move from your current position. Tim is still going off the original, incorrect intel. Not to mention, moving could spook him and ruin this operation.
Tim says your last name over the radio, and you wait for him to continue. “Get in position.”
“There’s no point,” you argue.
Tim radios for someone else to cover his position as he moves toward you. His approach is nearly silent, but as he squats beside you, you don’t look over at him.
“You have to follow my orders out here,” he reprimands quietly.
“Even if they’re stupid orders?” you reply without looking away from the suspect.
“That’s not your call. This isn’t rookie training where you get input because you’re learning. You do what I say or you’re off my team.”
“I understand that.”
“Then get in your position at the corner,” he orders again.
You don’t listen but remain quiet rather than argue with him again. Tim sighs beside you and clenches his jaw.
“Do you remember where you’re supposed to be?” he asks.
“Yes, sir,” you answer.
“Then get into that position and be ready for the next phase of this op.”
“No, Sergeant Bradford.”
Tim looks at the side of your face. He’s had enough of you acting like a partner who can argue with him. As much as he trusts you, you’re still his subordinate and this is unacceptable, especially in the middle of a Metro operation. Leading Metro is the most rewarding yet challenging position he has had as a cop, and he won’t let you compromise his position or the trust his team has in him.
“You know I can still make arrests, right?” Tim asks harshly.
You raise your brows and turn toward him to snap, “So, what; are you gonna arrest me? For what?”
“For disobeying direct orders! I can arrest you now and put you on desk duty and break room fridge refills for the rest of the month.”
You look back at the suspect before you stand. Tim follows your movement, and you lean toward him to push your finger against his chest.
As you crowd him, you dare, “Arrest me, Officer Bradford. But make it sexy.”
Tim looks between your eyes before he grabs your right shoulder. He spins you quickly and pushes you against the cinder block wall behind you. He wraps one hand around both of your wrists behind your back as his other hand rests against your hip, just above your holster.
“You want to say that again?” Tim asks.
“Not that I expect you to know what a real Degas looks like, Officer,” you taunt loudly, “but the gallery you just destroyed is worth more than your life!”
“What are you doing?” Tim whispers in your ear.
“Go with it,” you request.
“Excuse me!” the suspect calls as he approaches you and Tim. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I’m an art connoisseur, of sorts. What seems to be the problem?”
Tim pulls his handcuffs from his belt and puts them loosely around your wrists. He pulls you away from the wall and against his side as he turns to face the art forger.
“This woman is an art forger,” Tim answers. “So, unless you purchased a Degas painting from her, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“I fear that’s impossible,” the man replies. “Degas is nearly impossible to forge. The paint age and brush strokes are dead giveaways.”
“Spoken like a true enjoyer,” you say.
“Shut up,” Tim demands. “Sir, if you’d like to have your art checked by our experts, I’d be happy to make that call for you.”
You nod, a small movement you hope will make the man trust you. The art experts know his signature, so if they can get a look at his work, Tim’s work will be done, and another forger will be behind bars. The crime itself seems too white-collar for Tim’s skills, but a successful arrest is a successful arrest.
“I would appreciate that, Officer,” the man answers. “I can give you access to my collection now.”
Tim radios for the art experts waiting nearby to come in. He keeps a hand around your wrist, his pinky occasionally brushing between your skin and the metal cuff. After the experts enter the warehouse, it only takes two minutes before they radio to Tim that they have the evidence they need.
“You’re in luck, sir,” Tim tells the suspect. “Looks like the only forgeries in there are yours.”
Tim moves his hand from your wrist to your waist and pulls your handcuffs from your belt.
“You’re under arrest for art forgery, possession of stolen goods, and unlawful sale of property,” Tim says as he secures your handcuffs onto the suspect.
Another Metro officer rushes past you and takes the man from Tim to lead him to a waiting patrol car. Tim turns to face you and pulls a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket before he puts them on.
“You’re welcome,” you tell him.
“There are better ways to tell your superior officer that a different approach may be better,” he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ignoring orders isn’t it.”
“You weren’t listening!”
“I listened at the end. You did well, but don’t ever do that again.”
You smile and step forward until you nearly hit Tim’s folded arms. “Scared I’ll take your job?”
“You are stubborn, uncompromising, and have no respect for authority,” Tim lists. “My position is safe from you.”
You tilt your head to the side and shrug. Tim radios a code 4, then walks away.
“Are you going to take these cuffs off?” you call after him.
Tim turns and stops a step away from you.
“You’re the one that wanted to be arrested,” he replies. He shrugs and asks, “Was that sexy enough?”
“I mean, yeah, it worked,” you answer. “But defying your orders got you the arrest, so…”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Tim begins.
He continues reciting your Miranda rights as he leads you to his car. His hand trails down your right arm as he puts you in the backseat. Once he gets into the driver’s seat, you realize that the handcuff on your right wrist is loose enough you can get your hand through.
“Defying direct orders is wrong,” you muse. “What if I start a verbal flirtation while you take me to your station?”
“I will arrest you,” Tim threatens.
“With what cuffs?” you ask, spinning his on your finger. “You gave yours away and took mine.”
Tim shakes his head and pulls over. He opens the back door, and you hand him his handcuffs as you climb out.
“If I had to get arrested, I’m glad it was with you,” you say before you round the back of the car to get in the passenger seat.
“I was considering mentioning you for a Metro promotion,” Tim begins as he drives back onto the road. “But after that stunt today…”
“You’ll never see me the same?” you guess.
Tim looks over at you, though you can’t see his eyes past his aviators.
“Something like that,” he murmurs.
“You liked it,” you accuse playfully. “Admit it.”
Tim adjusts his sunglasses and says, “Maybe.”
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kingofbodyrolls · 3 months ago
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Whalien52 (m) | pjm
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you’ve been working for the New World Order as an assassin for years, guarding secrets without batting an eye or asking questions. But when a striking pink haired man shows up at the headquarters stealing information, he makes you question everything. With all of humanity at stake, what will you do? 
→ Pairing: Jimin (kitty gang!jimin) x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, dystopian + angst, fluff and smut. → Tropes: strangers to lovers → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 10.6k → Warnings + triggers: changing povs (between reader and Jimin), action, weapons, guns and swords, blood (it’s not in extreme detail or anything, but blood is mentioned a few times), death (people are dying, but no important character dies!!!), wounds, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, sickness (cancer due to radiation), mention of a cure and treatment for said cancer. Explicit smut in the form of unprotected sexy, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, degrading names, multiple orgasms, creampie, kissing. → Author’s note(1): okay, so I’ve been struggling a lot with this one too, lol. I miss writing sappy romance I think. This isn’t sappy, and I’ll hardly call it romance, well, it’s in there, but there’s honestly so much action in this one, compared to the Yoongi one. It’s also more fast paced, and shorter. I hope it’s alright! It was fun to write, even though I know nothing about writing action, I hope I did it well! And to everyone who’s scared or reluctant to read it because there’s angst and it’s kinda heavy/dark themed— IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING. There, I spoiled the ending for you 😇 + This story is a gift for my friend @remmykinsff! Thank you so much for sharing your Kitty gang Jimin folder with me, and letting me use you for motivation and inspiration to get out of my writer’s block 💜 → Read on AO3? [link]
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[navi]*: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue *this story is technically a stand alone one-shot (and can be read just as is), but it is also a spin-off from another one-shot (that got a sequel, so a two-shot?). The characters and the story are the same, but the first two stories takes place before this one, and it’s with Yoongi x reader (not the same reader though).
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It’s raining again. Lately, it’s always raining. The rain is everlasting, it seems, drenching the city in a ceaseless, oppressive downpour. The Capital is perpetually shrouded in darkness and gloom, a place where the sun is a distant memory. You’ve grown accustomed to it, ever since you were recruited by The New World Order to guard their secrets. You’ve been trapped in this godforsaken city ever since. Do you like it? Not really, but it’s a job that pays well. They give you a roof over your head and enough to survive—luxuries in this ravaged world.
You came from nothing, clawing your way up since the war began, fighting for every scrap of existence until The New World Order caught you. They gave you a choice: die or work for them. You chose to live, naively hoping that working for them wouldn’t be so bad. But it turns out, it can be quite bad. You’ve done unspeakable things to keep their secrets safe. You’ve killed for them, just as you had killed for yourself before they found you. Now, you don’t even flinch when you have to eliminate someone who gets too close to the truth. Part of you wonders what these secrets are, but you’re not interested. It’s just a job, nothing more.
Tonight is another shift. You head to the New World Order building, ready to patrol the city under the cover of darkness. First, you gear up: leather pants, a basic white shirt, and a black leather biker jacket. A belt around your waist for support, with a strap around your thigh that holsters your gun. A small knife is sheathed at your back, just in case.
You glance out the window. The world outside is as bleak as ever; night has fallen, and the rain taps a morose melody against the glass. You sigh, watching the neon signs flicker, casting a purple and blue glow that dances across your room. Grabbing your keys, you lock the door behind you and sprint down the stairs. This apartment is nothing special, but it’s a step up from the streets where you once lived before the war. It’s a small comfort in a world gone mad.
The rain soaks your skin, but you don’t bother with an umbrella. It’s just rain. You run down the dimly lit main street, the few wandering souls avoiding eye contact as they scurry to obey The New World Order’s curfew. Your boots splash through rain puddles on the unpaved, muddy road. It doesn’t take long to reach the towering New World Order building—its looming presence still sends a shiver down your spine, but you step inside anyway. Scanning your security card, you brace yourself for another night of duty.
You start your shift monitoring security cameras and patrolling the eerie hallways for any sign of suspicious activity. As you return to the front desk, you catch sight of a man attempting to bypass the card reader.
“What are you doing here?” you growl, your hand instinctively hovering near your gun.
The man fumbles with the machine, clearly lacking a security card. Desperation edges his voice as he yells, “I want the data that The New World Order is keeping from us!”
“You’re not getting that,” you reply coldly, assessing the intruder. He seems harmless, more frustrated than dangerous, so you relax, slightly.
“Do you even know what it is that you’re protecting?” he spits, abandoning his futile attempt to climb the machines as the alarm blares. The piercing sound echoes through the corridor, and you quickly pull out the phone issued by the New World Order to silence it.
“I don’t care what I’m protecting. You’ve got no business here. Now leave,” you say through gritted teeth.
“You shouldn’t be so blind to the secrets you’re safekeeping for them,” he hisses, making another hopeless attempt to scale the security machines.
His efforts are laughable, a pathetic display of defiance. A dark chuckle escapes your lips. “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.” This is his final warning. If he doesn't heed it, he’ll meet the cold, indifferent justice of your gun. So be it.
He freezes, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he gauges your resolve. Your unwavering stare breaks his spirit, and he quivers in fear before backing off. Without a word, he turns and bolts, likely retracing his steps. Fool, you think, watching him flee. 
The encounter leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s not the first to suggest you should question your work and the secrets you guard. Maybe you should. But you know the moment you do, you’re dead. You’ll lose everything you’ve achieved and everything you hold dear. That fear keeps you in place, and you reckon that’s the point of it all—the New World Order instills fear in everyone, ensuring their control remains absolute.
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“Are you sure you’re okay to go in there alone?” Bora asks, her voice tinged with unease. It’s understandable—years of meticulous planning and reconnaissance are culminating in this moment. Whalien52 is about to attempt the impossible: stealing the cure for cancer that The New World Order keeps hidden away.
Jimin isn’t scared. He’s accustomed to these kinds of missions, though this will be his most significant one yet. A good kind of nervousness tingles through him, a mix of excitement and determination. “Yeah, Hobi’s done plenty of research. I know exactly which room to hit,” he says, flashing Bora a reassuring smile.
He gets why she’s scared. Bora and Yoongi have been through hell, and with both of them sick, finding the cure is personal. Yoongi’s condition has worsened over the years, a stark reminder of the injustice that The New World Order perpetuates by hoarding the cure while people die from radiation-induced cancers. The thought makes Jimin’s blood boil.
It’s this anger that led him to join Whalien52 after meeting Jungkook in the wasteland, a desolate remnant of what the bombings and wars left behind. The new government organization threatens to transform the remnants of humanity into a dystopian nightmare—if it hasn’t already.
Jimin thrives as an assassin, driven by a relentless quest for truth. The thrill, the chase, the stealth—it’s all part of the adrenaline rush he lives for. But beneath the excitement lies a deep-seated hatred for the rich elites who hid in their bomb-proof bunkers, safeguarding their technology, only to reemerge and rebuild a civilization for themselves amidst the ruins. Their swift reconstruction of the Capital stands as a bitter reminder of their enduring power.
The injustice has turned him bitter. It’s why he’s vowed to do everything in his power to change the world, to help Whalien52 make knowledge free and accessible to everyone, not just the rich. The gap between rich and poor has become a chasm, with only the vetted elite allowed to live in the Capital. The rest of humanity is left to fend for themselves, struggling for survival in a world that hopes they’ll destroy each other.
Jimin won’t stand for it. This mission isn’t just about stealing a cure, or getting data on possible treatment—it’s about justice, about leveling the playing field, about giving hope to those left in the dark. And he’ll see it through, no matter the cost.
Yoongi comes up to him, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m serious. You don’t have to do this for me,” he coughs, his voice so raspy it sounds like he’s been smoking forever.
Jimin places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, his gaze shifting briefly to Bora before settling back on Yoongi. “We are doing this for you. But I’m also doing this for everyone else,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion and a glimmer of hope. “You’re not the only one suffering from cancer because of the radiation. We want to help everyone; we can’t just let people die.”
Yoongi flashes a soft smile and sits down to rest, the effort of standing too exhausting for him now. Jimin will do this for him, for Bora, and for the rest of humanity. He doesn’t mind risking his own life in the search for a cure—he might need one later himself.
“I’ll go get ready,” he says, turning away from Bora and Yoongi. He walks past Jungkook and Taehyung in the dimly lit hideout and heads into his room. He pulls on his leather pants, a white shirt, and then his favorite leather bomber jacket, adorned with pink, silver and purple sparkles. The jacket complements his pink fluffy hair perfectly. He retrieves his gun, tucking it into his back pocket—risky, he knows. Then he picks up his katana, swinging it over his back into its sheath. The sword, his preferred weapon, feels reassuringly familiar.
Now he’s ready. Ready to infiltrate the fortress of secrets and retrieve the cure. Ready to fight for a future where knowledge and healing aren’t hoarded by the few. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the mission ahead, a mission that could change everything in this dystopian nightmare they call life.
He says goodbye to everyone, hugging each of them tightly, aware that any moment could be his last. This mission is perilous, and while he has infiltrated The New World Order before without getting caught, this time is different. He will be venturing deeper into their stronghold than ever before.
After bidding farewell to his friends, Jimin strides outside to his motorcycle. The powerful machine, stolen from the Capital, gleams with a sleek, futuristic design. Its pale metal body has an industrial look, and its size dwarfs Jimin as he mounts it. Neon lights flicker to life as he revs the engine, the bike purring beneath him. With a flick of his wrist, he speeds towards the Capital, sand flying from the back wheel.
He knows he must be cautious once he enters the city. Stealth is crucial to avoid detection and successfully infiltrate The New World Order’s building. Failure means everything will have been for nothing.
The rain is endless, a perpetual downpour that defines the Capital. He doesn’t know why it always rains here, only that it does. The empty streets are illuminated by the neon signs adorning the various buildings, casting a colorful glow in the darkness.
He parks his motorcycle near the New World Order building, at the secluded back entrance where security is minimal. This is his best chance. 
Taking a deep breath, he opens the door. 
It’s all or nothing.
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It’s getting late, and the monotony of patrolling the building is wearing you down. The nights are usually quiet, save for the occasional curious stranger trying to access the information you guard. You sigh and head back to the surveillance room, your eyes scanning the screens for anything unusual. Suddenly, you spot a figure moving on one of the monitors. A shot of adrenaline surges through you, breaking the dullness of the night. 
The absence of triggered alarms tells you the intruder is a professional. No amateur could bypass the sophisticated security systems. The thought excites you, your heart rate spiking as you dash through the corridors, your hand hovering near your gun. You search each room hastily, growing more anxious with every empty space, until you reach the final room—the one that holds the most guarded secrets.
You pause outside the door, peeking in cautiously.
Inside, a well-defined man with pink, fluffy hair, leather pants, and a sparkly bomber jacket stands with his back to you, working at one of the computers. This is the information hub, where all vital data is stored. This is bad, but you have the element of surprise. Steadying your breath, you draw your gun and step into the doorway, your voice commanding, “Freeze!”
The man doesn’t freeze. Instead, you watch as he swiftly pulls a USB drive from the computer, moving with a grace that is almost dance-like. Before you can react, he glides across the floor and stands before you, a sword at your throat. A thrill of excitement runs through your body.
You stand still, a smile twisting on your lips, locked in a standoff with the pink-haired intruder. He’s chosen the wrong weapon to threaten you with. “You brought a sword to a gunfight?” you laugh, despite the blade pressing against your throat, your gun aimed at his chest. Who really has the upper hand here?
“Oh, I have a gun too,” he smirks, his voice sweet but laced with danger.
“What are you doing here?” you seethe, standing your ground.
“Getting information,” he replies matter-of-factly, not even breaking a sweat.
“You’re stealing. I can’t allow you to leave,” you spit, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Do you even know what kind of information you’re guarding?” he challenges, his words striking a chord. He’s not the first to ask you this today, and it makes you pause. “I know nothing, and I don’t care,” you respond after a moment’s thought.
“You really should,” he says, stepping closer until your gun is pressed against him. He doesn’t seem afraid, almost as if he’s an adrenaline junkie like you. But no, he’s not scared. He’s reckless. Your finger hovers near the trigger, but something makes you hesitate. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t like it.
His eyes, dark pools of obsidian, glint with amusement. He chuckles, and before you can react, his boot slams into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the cold, hard floor. Your gun slips from your grip, clattering away.
The man towers over you, his boot pressing down on your pussy, the katana poised at your throat, its cold blade grazing your skin. You raise your arms in a defensive pose, trapped and weaponless. He smirks, waving your gun tauntingly.
“You’re guarding information that can save humanity. What you’re doing is sick,” he spits, pressing his boot harder into you. Why does that feel hot? Why do tingles shoot through your body? Damn it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you growl back, genuinely confused. Your mind feels hazy with adrenaline and something else.
“The cure for cancer,” he snarls, his anger palpable.
Your eyes widen. The cure for cancer? You’ve heard whispers, but you didn’t know that’s what you were guarding. You know there’s treatment, but the New World Order has been hoarding those as well, making treatment inaccessible for the common people.
He presses his boot into you even more, a mix of pain and pleasure surging through your body.
“Oh my god. Are you getting turned on right now?” His voice drips with dark amusement, mocking you.
“Fuck no!” you yell, even as your body betrays you, responding to the pressure of his boot. You know you’re aroused, but you refuse to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that.
“I can smell you from here. There’s no point in lying,” he chuckles, lifting his boot from your crotch, though his sword remains at your throat.
You hate how observant he is, and you need to change the subject, to find a way out. You growl, “I’m not. And you’re not getting away. I don’t care if it’s the cure for cancer or whatever you’ve stolen.”
“I have my katana at your throat. I’m sure I’ll make it out just fine,” he replies, his dark chuckle sending shivers down your spine. “I’ve got what I came for,” he says, smirking down at you. “I’m flattered you’re turned on. Maybe if we met under different circumstances,” he adds, his eyes glinting with dark lust. “You should look into the secrets you’re guarding,” he says, withdrawing his katana and retreating, tossing your gun far out of reach.
You scramble to your feet as soon as he’s gone, snatching up your gun and bolting after him through the corridors. He’s silent, almost ghost-like, but you chase him nonetheless. He can’t leave with the vital information. The New World Order will have your head if they find out. You hear the click of a door—it’s the backdoor. You rush outside, the heavy rain stinging your face as the neon lights flicker on the deserted street. You catch sight of his motorcycle’s tail light disappearing into the rain. 
Fuck.
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As soon as he crosses the threshold between the Capital and the dystopian suburb, the rain ceases abruptly. He twists the throttle of his motorcycle, speeding through the desolate landscape back to the hideout. His heart pounds, but he doesn’t look back. He doubts he’s being followed.
The journey back is swift. As the hideout comes into view, he decelerates, parking his bike with a sense of triumph. He’s relieved not to return empty-handed and, more importantly, to have survived the mission. Reflecting on the encounter, a smirk forms on his face. You were easier to deceive than he anticipated. A part of him hopes to see you again, intrigued by your reaction to seeing him. 
He wonders if he could sway you, make you see the truth about the secrets you’re guarding for The New World Order. Could he enlist you in his cause? The thought intrigues him, though he doubts it. You seemed too ignorant, too indifferent to the atrocities made by the regime.
The night is still young as he dismounts his bike and strides toward the door. It opens easily—unlocked, as usual. They really should lock it; you never know who might come by.
He’s greeted by a flurry of curious eyes as his friends jump up, their eagerness palpable. “Relax,” he gestures, “sit down.” Reaching into the pocket of his leather pants, he pulls out the USB drive. The tiny piece of tech holds the key to saving the world— the cure for cancer. Something they had all doubted, but had uncovered through relentless investigation, exposing the dark secrets of The New World Order.
He strides over to Namjoon, whose eyes glitter with excitement, his fingers itching to grasp the device and run an analysis. Jimin hands him the USB drive with a proud smile. “Here,” he says, “I hope everything’s on there. I was interrupted while pulling the data.”
“Thank you,” Namjoon responds, already heading into a back room, eager to delve into the contents.
Jimin collapses onto the spot Namjoon vacated, feeling the weight of their stares. 
Bora clears her throat. “You said you were interrupted?”
“Ah, yeah,” he chuckles, revealing his crooked teeth. “A security guard. But she was easy to handle.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Yoongi grunts, his voice strained and raspy.
“It was,” Jimin shrugs, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. In truth, it had been almost too easy. He can’t shake the thought: had he overlooked something, or was fate simply on his side this time?
Jungkook’s questioning stare pierces through Jimin, but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to share how you made his blood boil with adrenaline and lust. He doesn’t even know your name, but you ignited something within him, a cocktail of emotions in mere moments. He’s both intrigued and captivated by you.
Time blurs as Jimin waits, lost in his thoughts until Namjoon reenters the living room. The look on Namjoon’s face is enough: it’s not the cure.
“This data isn’t complete,” Namjoon groans, frustration etched across his features as he waves the USB drive. He paces anxiously, “It has some information on cancer treatment, but the data on the cure is fragmented. Jin, can you take a look at it? All I see are molecules. I don’t know what to make of it,” he adds, his voice tinged with nervous laughter and defeat.
Jimin’s stomach sinks, a heavy weight of disappointment and anger settling in. He had hoped to secure all the needed information, but now they’re still unable to help Bora, Yoongi, and countless others suffering from the cancer that The New World Order likely caused. The thought sickens him. It wouldn’t surprise him if they were behind everything—the war, the slaughter of mankind. Sometimes it feels like The New World Order is playing a sick game of battle royale with the world’s population. People fight desperately, both for information and survival, in a world where information and treatment are hoarded like treasures. 
Jimin’s mind races, thoughts swirling with the grim reality: when people are dying and sick, they become desperate, willing to do anything to stay alive. He feels a bitter mix of anger and sadness, questioning if he was delusional to think it would be easy to obtain the cure or even secure vital treatment information. The hope that things could change for the better feels like a distant dream.
Jin takes the USB drive, slipping it into his pocket, and gives Jimin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading to his patient and study room. Jimin feels a gnawing sense of inadequacy, berating himself for getting caught and distracted by you. He wonders if he should attempt to sneak back into the New World Order building, determined to obtain the missing data they desperately need.
“I’ll go back and see if I can get the remaining data in a few days,” he declares, his voice tinged with deflation but underpinned by a strong current of willpower. He can’t afford to fail again. The mission is too important, the stakes too high.
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It’s been a few days since the pink-haired guy infiltrated the New World Order building undetected, slipping through your fingers like sand. The incident has left you feeling weird and anxious. You expected The New World Order to contact you, reprimand you, or worse, eliminate you. But there’s been nothing—no messages, no ominous visits. Maybe they don’t know about your slip-up yet? Or perhaps they’re biding their time.
Your phone, a sleek piece of tech courtesy of The New World Order, vibrates in your hand. You unlock it, and a text message glares back at you.
New World Order: Come to the headquarters in 15 minutes.
That’s all it says, nothing more, nothing less. You gulp, feeling your palms grow sweaty. This is it. This is how you die. Thrown off the tall building. You’ve heard stories, and they’re not nice. The tales of disappearances and silent executions run through your mind, making you shiver with nerves.
You lace up your boots with trembling hands, each loop a countdown to your potential demise. Trudging down the stairs of your dark apartment, you step into the rainy street. The city around you is a dismal sprawl of neon lights and shadows, a perfect reflection of your inner turmoil. You try to calm your racing heart, but it’s a futile effort. Every step feels heavier, every breath more labored as you make your way to the New World Order headquarters, fearing that this is the end.
You reach the New World Order headquarters, a monolith of cold steel and glass looming above the city. For a moment, you let the rain caress your face, cleansing you of your sins. Maybe they won’t mention anything? Clenching your fists, you walk into your workplace, passing through the security scanners, the impassive front desk, the sterile halls, and finally to the elevators. You step into one, the doors closing with a cold finality. The elevator ascends, a silent reminder of the 30 floors that separate you from potential death should you be pushed out. You close your eyes, banishing the thought.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing an amble-lit hallway adorned in red and gold. The color scheme feels both luxurious and ominous, a blend of future opulence and ancient dread. The red rug underfoot seems out of place, a relic amidst the high-tech surroundings. It suddenly hits you—it might be there to hide a certain color of liquid. No, you shouldn’t think about it. Nothing’s going to happen to you.
Each step down the hallway feels like walking through a graveyard at midnight, the silence thick and oppressive. Your breath quickens, your hand hovering over the handle of the door at the end. This is it. Just get it over with.
With sweaty hands, you push open the door and step inside. A tall man in a black suit stands with his back to you, staring out of the tall windows. The view overlooks the bleak, rainy city, a desolate wasteland stretching to the horizon. The room is deathly silent, save for the patter of rain against the glass. You feel a shiver run down your spine.
He doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, his presence as cold and unyielding as the cityscape beyond. You gulp, your heart pounding in your chest, waiting for him to speak, waiting for your fate to be decided.
You clear your throat, the sound echoing in the tension-filled room. The man’s attention snaps to you, and he turns on his heels with a sinister smile. “Y/N!”
The way he says your name sends shivers down your spine, raising the hairs on your body. An urge to flee or jump out of the window floods your senses, but you force yourself to steady your resolve.
You recognize him as the head of the organization, though his name remains a mystery, like everyone else’s in this godforsaken place. Faces are familiar, but names are a dangerous luxury.
“Glad you could make it. Take a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of his imposing wooden desk, an artifact of richness you could never dream of affording.
You gulp, a slight ringing in your ears accompanying your erratic heartbeat. Your palms are slick with sweat as you move to sit down.
“Nervous?” he asks, his voice calm and commanding as he paces the room.
“Yes,” you manage to say, gulping again as you track his movements.
“Good,” he replies, looking down at you with a predatory glint in his eye.
“I saw the surveillance footage from the break-in a few days ago,” he begins, his eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity. Fear knots in your stomach, paralyzing your muscles as you brace yourself for whatever comes next. You remain silent, too scared to speak, knowing that he already knows everything that happened.
“You’ve gone soft. If this happens again, shoot the intruder, or you’ll be the one staring down the barrel of a gun,” he says, his voice sharp and precise, each word like a blade against your throat. A chill runs through you, and you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You’ve messed up, but somehow he’s letting you off with a warning—something you didn’t expect. A small part of you dares to breathe a little easier.
“Now leave before I change my mind,” he hisses. You flinch, your body reacting instinctively as you rush to the door. Bowing quickly, you slip out without a word. Outside, you realize you’ve been holding your breath and you gasp for air, your hands trembling.
You know you have to do your job better if you want to survive. The threat lingers in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder about the secrets you’re guarding. What could be so important? Maybe it’s time to investigate—time to find out if this job is truly worth risking your life for.
Your boss won’t find out, right? You gulp, pushing the thought away. You need to know. You’ve done your job blindly for so long, but the time has come to uncover the truth. You know the higher-ups won’t give you any information, even if you asked, which is why you find yourself downstairs in the control room.
You locate the computer you usually use, turn it on, and log into the company drive. Your fingers tremble as you navigate through multiple folders, delving deeper into the rabbit hole. You uncover information you never imagined existed. Details about how and why the war started shock you—who knew a failed peace treaty could lead to such global devastation? The realization hits you hard: the war was actually orchestrated by a few countries aiming to seize power when the peace treaty collapsed. Those people now form The New World Order. A chill runs down your spine.
You stumble upon a folder detailing the side effects of radiation, studies on various cancer treatments, and ultimately, a cure for cancer. Disbelief floods your mind as you stare at the words on the screen. You blink, hoping the text will change, but it remains. The next document reveals their sinister plan: to keep this life-saving information hidden, ensuring only the rich survive while letting the rest of humanity rot and die.
This is what the pink-haired man wanted you to know. Regret and anger churn in your gut—you should have listened, should have questioned everything from the start. You feel sick, overwhelmed by the weight of the truth. You close the computer, resolve hardening within you. 
As you leave the control room and head home, your mind swirls with thoughts. You need to figure out what to do with this explosive information before your shift tonight. The rain continues to fall, each drop a reminder of the world’s decay. You realize now that your role in The New World Order’s scheme is far more sinister than you ever imagined.
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Jimin has to obtain the missing piece of data his group needs for the cure for cancer, or at least information to develop new treatments. Ever since the war started, all research and treatment for cancer have been inaccessible. Late at night, at their hideout far from the Capital, Jimin prepares for his mission. He looks at Bora and Yoongi—Yoongi, in particular, has deteriorated, and Jimin fears he doesn’t have much time left. The urgency gnaws at him; failure is not an option.
He doesn’t know whether he hopes to meet you at the New World Order headquarters or not. The thought of you makes his heart race, but he knows that if you get in his way, his mission might fail. He sighs, waving goodbye to the group, then steps outside. The night is oppressive, the air thick with the scent of decay and rain. He puts on his helmet, the world narrowing to the visor’s view, and straddles his bike. The engine roars to life, vibrating through him, merging with the adrenaline surging in his veins.
It’s now or never.
He twists the accelerator, the bike surging forward into the darkness, toward the lifeless, desolate Capital. The neon lights flicker ominously as he speeds into enemy territory, a lone figure against the backdrop of a crumbling dystopia.
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The room is dark—just the way you prefer it. Your eyes, adept at seeing through the gloom, catch every detail, including the pink-haired intruder hunched over a computer terminal, stealing vital information from your employer. Silently, you watch him, observing his methodical movements as he navigates the screen. The monitor casts a ghostly blue light, making his hair shimmer with a surreal purple hue. You can’t deny he looks striking.
Tonight, you decide not to intervene. After your own clandestine investigation into your employer, you understand why he’s after the data—why so many risk everything to steal it. The New World Order’s secrets are dark and twisted, and the pink-haired man’s quest suddenly seems justified.
Minutes tick by in silence, the intruder’s focus unbroken. His sparkly bomber jacket gleams faintly in the dim light. Finally, he seems satisfied, pulling a USB drive from the terminal. The moment he turns around, you flick on the lights.
Yellow fluorescent tubes flicker to life, bathing the room in a harsh, sickly glow. He freezes, one hand instinctively hovering over the katana strapped to his back, the other gripping the USB drive.
“Fancy meeting you here,” you smirk, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, blocking his escape.
He hisses, scanning you up and down before his features relax into a smirk. “Where’s your gun? Aren’t you gonna try to stop me again, pretty?”
Your eyes sparkle at the compliment, much like his jacket, and you chuckle softly. “Nah,” you shrug, but straighten your posture, exuding confidence.
He quirks an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Why?”
You take in his appearance—black leather pants hugging his thick thighs, lace-up military boots, and that unmistakable sparkly bomber jacket. With a soft, yet sultry smile, you reply, “I finally opened my eyes to what’s really going on. What’s truly been happening, and I don’t like it one bit.”
His shoulders relax further, and his hands withdraw from the katana and the gun stashed behind his back. He eyes you with a mixture of caution and intrigue, seemingly pleased by your revelation.
“So, you’re just gonna let me go?” he asks, ensuring he hasn’t misheard.
“Yeah. But actually…” you begin, drawing out your words to capture his attention as you step closer, batting your eyes at him. “I have more information back at my apartment that you might want to see. I can take you there. Show you.”
You can’t help the way your body responds to him—you want him, and you want him bad. It’s true, you do have valuable information at your place, but your ulterior motives are undeniable. The risk is immense. The moment you make this move, you’ll become a wanted criminal, hunted by the New World Order. But the thought of remaining complicit in their schemes sickens you. You crave freedom, and he might just be the key to it.
For a flicker of a second, you catch him stuttering, but he quickly collects himself, smirking back at you. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips in a teasing move, and you feel a tingle between your legs.
“Let’s go then,” he says, brushing past you and out the door. You follow closely, aware of the cameras tracking your every move, but you don't care. Time is short; the New World Order will come after you soon, so you need to be quick.
The pink-haired man leads the way through the dim, familiar halls to the back door. The green emergency light flickers ominously overhead. He pushes the door open, and the bleak night greets you with flickering neon lights. His sleek silver bike stands nearby. As you approach, he hands you his helmet and lets you straddle his bike, taking the place behind you. His body presses close against your back, and a surge of arousal courses through you.
You turn the bike on, and it roars to life. With a swift movement, you speed through the empty, rain-soaked streets back to your apartment. His arms wrap securely around your torso, and it feels nice. His head rests against your shoulder, and you catch a whiff of his scent—like fresh cotton on a summer's breeze, something you haven’t smelled in a long time. You long for it.
It doesn’t take long to reach your apartment. You turn off the bike, parking it out of sight from prying eyes. He gets off first, then you remove the helmet and jump down. Neither of you speaks as you walk up the stairs to your first-floor apartment. You quickly unlock the door and push into your dark space. The lights are off, and the place is messy with clothes strewn about, but you don't care. The apartment is a tiny one-bedroom, an open space where the kitchen, living room, and bedroom blend together. It’s small, but it’s home.
“Welcome,” you whisper, closing the door behind you, sealing both of you in a cocoon of secrecy and danger.
The tension between you feels thick as you make your way inside, heading straight to your desk and rummaging for the flash drive you’ve hidden. The man’s eyes follow your every move as you open a drawer and pull out the drive, smirking as you wave it in the air. “This has more information on it that I think you’ll need.”
He stalks closer, his smirk widening. In the minimal light, he seems even more predatory than before. The look in his eyes suggests he wants to devour you right then and there.
“What’s in it for you?” he asks, standing mere millimeters from you, your noses almost touching. His warm breath fans your ear and neck, sending shivers down your spine.
“Take me with you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. His eyes roam your body, lingering on your eyes, cheeks, nose, lips, and collarbone.
“Hmm,” he hums, his hands landing on your hips. You feel the warmth of his fingers through your leather pants.
Your breath quickens, and you feel like you’re crumbling beneath his stare, utterly aroused for this man whose name you still don’t know. The mixture of arousal and adrenaline makes you feel almost high.
You close the gap between you and kiss him. It’s quick and needy, and he responds immediately, pressing his body hungrily into yours, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your waist above your pants. His lips are soft, but his moves are hard and hungry.
He moves his lips to your ear, kissing and licking it, then trailing down to your neck. He marks it with his teeth, eliciting a needy moan from you. The world outside your darkened apartment fades away, leaving only the desperate, electric connection between you.
“You’re really something,” he pants into your ear, his breath sending tingles down your spine and all the way to your core. “I want to taste you, and I don’t even know your name.”
You chuckle, the sound strained and laden with lust. “It’s Y/N,” you manage between pants. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Jimin,” he murmurs, his tongue tracing your neck before biting gently.
Fuck.
“I want you, Jimin,” you groan as he pulls back slightly, his pupils blown wide with desire.
“But we don’t have much time,” you say breathlessly, the urgency of your situation seeping into your voice. “The New World Order will be looking for me soon.” You fumble with your pants, dragging them and your panties down to expose yourself to the cool air of the apartment.
In one fluid motion, Jimin drops to his knees, looking up at you with a teasing lick of his lips. “No worries, I can be quick.” Without another word, he dives in, his mouth sealing around your wet heat.
You gasp his name, your legs turning to jelly as your hands find purchase in his pink locks. His tongue is relentless, strong and skilled as it laps over your clit and teases your entrance. The obscene noises he makes against you only heighten your arousal, your breathing growing shallow as you lose yourself in the sensation.
Your back meets the wall, and you do your best to hold yourself up as he devours you from the floor. His mouth works you expertly, sucking and licking, driving you closer to the edge. The coil in your stomach tightens, your body trembling with the impending climax.
Jimin grunts into your cunt, his teeth grazing your clit, and the world shatters around you. He sucks hard, creating a perfect seal around your sensitive nub, and the coil in your stomach snaps. You come undone on his tongue, panting furiously as waves of pleasure wash over you.
Even as you orgasm, he doesn’t stop, his tongue continuing its assault, his nose pressing against your clit. You grab his hair, trying to pull him away as your sensitivity peaks, but he holds you there, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation and back into the abyss of pleasure.
His face glistens with your slick, and you think he looks beautiful, so you grab his sharp jaw and pull him up for a kiss. You don’t care that you taste yourself on his plush lips.
You break away and say, “I really want to return the favor,” your hands toying with his pants as you brush against his already erect dick.
He pushes your hand away gently. “It’s okay. You said to be quick, so you can do that another time.” He kisses you again, trailing down to the other side of your neck, then up to the shell of your ear. “I really just want to fuck you now.”
You’re drenched, dripping with arousal. His words render you speechless; you bite your bottom lip and nod, anticipation coursing through you.
The sound of his zipper sends a thrill down your spine as he opens his pants. He drags his boxers down, and his cock springs free. It’s thick and of an average length, and the sight makes you salivate. You wish you had time to take him into your mouth, but that’s a pleasure for another time, like he promised.
The head of his cock is red, with a bead of precum at the tip. It looks beautiful, and your pussy clenches around the emptiness, eager to be filled. You can’t wait to have him stretch you, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex. It’s honestly been years, and as you realize this, you think he should have prepared you more. But you don’t get to mull over it for long; you feel the tip of his cock against your folds, and in one fluid motion, he pushes inside you.
You moan his name as he grabs both of your legs and wraps them around his waist, driving himself deeper into you. You feel so fucking full, it’s delicious.
“Fuck. I forgot about a condom,” he pants, slamming you hard against the wall. He stays inside for a moment before beginning a relentless rhythm of thrusts.
“It’s okay,” you reassure him, “I’m clean, and I can’t get pregnant.”
He just grunts in your ear, then starts nibbling on it. The pace he sets is quick, hard, and dirty—unforgiving. But you don’t mind; you're pressed for time anyway. The pleasure is intense, and the way he growls into your ear makes the knot form in your stomach again.
“You’re a dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he growls, thrusting hard and deep. “You wanted this right from the start, didn’t you?” His voice is low, dangerously so, making you even wetter because he’s so right.
“Such a fucking slut for cock,” he pants, his tongue trailing along your neck. “No one in this godforsaken city to satisfy your needy pussy.”
You clench around him, your hands gripping his shoulders, fingers digging into the back of his sparkly jacket.
“Fuck. You’re so tight,” he groans, his hips working overtime to pleasure you, and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.
“Are you gonna come?” he asks, a wicked glint in his eyes.
You moan in response, releasing a wave of liquid around his cock, making the glide even smoother.
“Fuck. You’re gorgeous,” he says, licking your neck again. “I’m gonna come too.”
With a rapid burst of thrusts, he spills his warm seed inside your still-pulsating pussy. For a moment, you rest your foreheads together, panting for air. Your legs remain wrapped around his waist as he hungrily kisses your lips.
You feel a mixture of your essences trailing out of you, pooling on the floor or your panties—you don’t really care.
As you struggle to steady your breathing and rapid heartbeat, a pounding on your door shatters the moment. It's not gentle—it’s hard and oppressive, sending a terrible shiver down your spine. The New World Order. Your mind turns razor-sharp, senses heightened. Jimin quickly softens inside you, then pulls out, your legs falling to the floor, dripping semen as he pulls up his pants and grabs his gun and the hard drive.
You do the same, hastily pulling up your pants as the banging continues. The door handle rattles, but it doesn't open. Thank fuck you locked it.
“We have to leave,” you pant, your heart in your throat. You fumble for your phone, then throw it into your room—you don’t need it; they can track you with that.
“No shit,” he grunts, running a hand through his disheveled pink hair.
“We gotta jump out the window,” you say, fear in your eyes. You know it’s only a matter of time before they break down the door.
You grab Jimin’s hand and pull him to the window beside your bed. Thankful that you live on the first floor, you make the jump first, landing on the dirty ground. Jimin follows, landing more gracefully. You hear the brute force of the door breaking, and you startle, fear coursing through you. But Jimin is quick, pulling you to his bike, shoving his helmet onto your head. He straddles the bike, and without much thought, you climb on behind him.
You lean against him, feeling the rapid beating of your heart. He turns on the bike, and you hear shouting and gunshots from your apartment as Jimin speeds down the rain-soaked streets. You lay your head against his back, closing your eyes against the chaos behind you.
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Jimin parks his bike in front of the Whalien 52 headquarters, and you dismount first, removing the helmet and handing it to him. He follows suit, and you both stride into the building. It’s well past midnight now, and as you walk into the headquarters with Jimin, all eyes turn toward you. The tension in the room is palpable; they’ve likely been anxiously awaiting his safe return.
“Hi,” he says casually, plopping onto the couch with a soft thud.
“Who’s this?” Taehyung strides up, pointing at you with a raised brow.
“Oh, that’s Y/N. The woman who got in my way last time,” Jimin shrugs as if this is information everyone should already know.
“So you decided to take her home?” Taehyung asks in disbelief.
“I helped him gain extra information. And I want out of the New World Order,” you say, crossing your arms, not flinching under their scrutinizing stares.
“You’re the enemy though,” Yoongi joins the conversation, his voice strained with a cough.
“She really isn’t. Do you even know how much she’s risked just by coming here?” Jimin retorts, defending you without fully understanding why. He knows you can defend yourself just fine.
“I have a target on my back now. So I want to help you guys. Make things right in the world. That’s what you want to do, right?” you ask, scanning the open living room space.
The room falls silent, the weight of your words sinking in. The dim, flickering lights cast long shadows, amplifying the room’s tension. Each member of the group seems to wrestle with their thoughts, eyes flicking between you and Jimin. Finally, Seokjin steps forward, his gaze steady and thoughtful.
Seokjin approaches Jimin with an intense gaze. “Did you get all the data?”
Jimin nods silently and hands over both the USB drive and the flash drive you gave him in your apartment. Seokjin’s eyes light up with a rare glimmer of hope as he takes the hardware and retreats to his makeshift lab.
You slump down beside Jimin, exhaustion finally catching up with you. Jungkook steps forward, extending a hand. “Welcome to Whalien52, Y/N.”
You shake his hand, offering a tired smile, then lean back against Jimin. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, you both allow yourselves a moment of rest. But Jimin’s mind races with concern. How quickly will the New World Order track you down? Did they follow you here?
Time becomes a blur in the dimly lit room. You drift off to sleep on Jimin’s shoulder, and his eyelids grow heavy as well. Just as he’s about to succumb to slumber, Seokjin bursts into the room, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.
“I’ve sequenced a cure from the data,” he announces, his voice brimming with joy. “And treatments for various cancers too.”
The room erupts in cheers and laughter, a collective sigh of relief and celebration filling the air.
“I’m preparing the cure for Yoongi and Bora now,” Seokjin adds, his pride evident.
Jimin feels a surge of relief and accomplishment. They’ve finally done it. You’ve secured the cure for cancer. Now Yoongi and Bora can be saved. And perhaps, just perhaps, they can save the rest of civilization. But first, they have to deal with the looming threat of the New World Order. 
The battle is far from over.
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It’s been a few days, and the absence of the New World Order’s presence is unnerving. You expected them to chase you and Jimin out of the city, but they haven’t. This silence feels ominous, a dark cloud hanging over your newfound sanctuary.
You’ve settled into the daily routines of Whalien52, where hope and caution dance a tense waltz. Seokjin tirelessly crafts cures and treatments. Yoongi and Bora, the first recipients, show promising signs of recovery, their improvements a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty. The group celebrates these small victories, buzzing with a cautious optimism that almost feels too good to be true.
In these days of uneasy peace, you’ve found roles within the group. Namjoon introduced you to his intricate tech—ingenious weapons and machines designed for survival. Taehyung showed you around the small town that Whalien52 calls home. On the horizon, the Capital looms like a dark sentinel, a constant reminder of the lurking threat.
Despite the calm surface, the air is thick with anxiety. The lack of action from the New World Order feels wrong. Yoongi polishes weapons with a grim focus, and you’ve all had tense conversations about the impending attack you’re sure is coming. Jungkook echoes your concerns, insisting on readiness.
Hoseok monitors the New World Order’s communications, but all he gets is an unsettling silence. This lack of intel twists your stomach into knots. Each passing day, the tension ratchets up. The quiet eats at you, turning every creak and rustle into a potential threat.
Weeks pass, and the tension in the headquarters is palpable. You’re all on edge, constantly looking over your shoulders. Every sound is magnified, each one making you jump, hearts racing with the fear that the New World Order has finally come for you.
Everyone is exhausted, sleep deprived and on edge, each day a relentless battle against the looming threat of the New World Order. You long for an end to this tense limbo, for the chance to truly rest.
Yoongi’s condition has worsened, and Seokjin’s latest research scatters your fragile hopes. “This isn’t a cure,” he admits, deflated. “It’s just a temporary fix, a treatment.”
Yoongi coughs weakly but manages a smile, hugging his girlfriend Bora tightly. “But it helps,” he says softly. “A cure was always a dream. There’s never been a real cure for cancer, and maybe there never will be.”
Bora kisses his forehead, her eyes glistening with determination. “The treatment is helping,” she insists, caressing his cheeks. “Maybe Seokjin can alter it, make it better, stronger?” She turns to Seokjin, who nods, already lost in thought, considering how to enhance the treatment. You all want to help, driven by a fierce collective will to save Yoongi.
You walk over to Jimin, giving him a soft kiss, seeking a moment of solace. Suddenly, the sharp crack of a gunshot shatters the room. Bora screams in pain, and chaos erupts. You all drop to the floor, hearts pounding in sheer panic. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence, broken only by Bora’s agonized cries. You can’t see her or Yoongi, shielded by the couch.
Frantically, you search for Jimin, and his hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. The connection is a lifeline, a brief reassurance amidst the terror.
More gunshots pierce the air, and you hold your breath, praying Bora is alright. Your heart races, the reality sinking in: the New World Order is here, ready to kill you all.
With steely resolve, you clench your free hand, feeling the cold metal of your holstered gun against your thigh. 
It’s time. 
Time to make a stand. 
Time to fight back.
You look at Jimin, your eyes wide with panic as your heart pounds in your ears. He army crawls to your weapon stash, grabbing an arsenal: a rifle he slides over to Yoongi, a gun for himself, and his sword, which he straps on while still lying on the floor. Jungkook, with his tattooed hand, clutches a rifle down his length of his body. You scan the room for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok, but they’re nowhere to be seen.
Bora’s screams have diminished to grunts of pain. Yoongi drags her towards Seokjin’s room, leaving a trail of blood. An eerie silence falls as you watch them. You hear Yoongi's voice from Seokjin’s room, explaining that Bora’s wound is a flesh wound, pleading for Seokjin to take care of her. Yoongi crawls back into the living room.
“Is Bora okay?” you ask, sweat beading on your hairline, your breathing quick and shallow.
“Yeah. Seokjin’s got her. Namjoon, Tae, and Hobi are in there too,” Yoongi grits his teeth, his face pale with anger.
Jungkook crawls over to join you, “I guess it’s the New World Order knocking down our doors.”
“We have to fight back. Or die trying,” Yoongi spits, his anger palpable. “I’m sick and tired of them. We need to overthrow them,” he says, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. You’re all on high alert, fighting for your lives.
The door bursts open, a harsh light from outside flooding in as heavy boots stomp on the floor. You count six people by the rhythm of their steps and then a seventh, moving slowly and deliberately. Ominous, and just by the sound of the boots, you know who it is—the leader.
A cold shiver runs down your spine as your fingers curl around the trigger of your gun. The footsteps grow louder, the moment drawing closer. You roll onto your back, raising your gun for the inevitable confrontation.
Suddenly, you’re yanked by your legs, sliding across the floor with a yell, losing your grip on Jimin’s hand. The leader looms over you, a shadow of dread, as you prepare to fight for your life.
“Well, well. What have we here? Y/N. Nice to see you,” the man sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. You don’t know his name, but you remember him all too well—the leader of the New World Order, the man who had last spoken to you in his office after Jimin’s initial attempt to steal information from your former employer.
You gulp, pointing your gun at him.
He tuts dismissively, “You know that’s useless,” and with a swift kick, he sends your gun skidding across the floor.
“You’ve been a bad, bad girl,” he hisses, his hands casually resting in his pockets while his men, guns trained on you, stand menacingly behind him.
“What you’re doing is sick,” you fume, anger bubbling within you.
Suddenly, Jimin rises, his gun aimed directly at the man before you.
Recognition flickers in the leader’s eyes, “Ah,” he chuckles darkly, “so this is the man you left me for.”
Jimin grunts, “Hands off her.”
“Protective, huh?” he laughs, a cold, mechanical sound that sends chills down your spine.
Your eyes dart between Jimin and the leader, anxiety tightening your chest. You don’t know who will be quicker on the trigger. You hold your breath, terrified for Jimin’s safety. Your heart pounds so loudly it nearly deafens you.
A gunshot echoes through the room, followed by a heavy thud. Your heart sinks as you see the leader still standing. Fear grips you, paralyzing you from turning around to check on Jimin. You feel a scream or a sob rising in your throat, maybe both.
Then, you hear the sound of someone standing up and Yoongi’s voice cuts through the tension, “You are one sick bastard. Keeping vital information to yourself, letting people die of cancer and radiation.” His voice is thick with anger and disdain.
The leader turns his attention to Yoongi and chuckles again, a sound you’ve come to loathe. “Only the elite deserve to live. I don’t mind letting people die to create the perfect world.”
You scoff, the revelation of his twisted ideology making you nauseous. The horror of being part of such a sick scheme churns in your stomach.
As you try to glance over your shoulder to see Jimin, one of the leader’s men grabs you, yanking you into a sitting position. Panic surges through you, but determination hardens your resolve. It’s time to fight back, no matter the cost.
Finally, you spot Jimin lying on the floor. There’s no blood, thankfully, and his hand is giving you a thumbs up. Relief floods your body, momentarily pushing back the fear.
“You are so sick,” Yoongi spits, his voice a raw edge. “You killed so many people, for what? Utopia?”
Your old boss nods, chuckling darkly. “Too much freedom breeds murder and chaos. I needed a clean slate,” he shrugs, strolling past you towards Yoongi, who keeps his rifle trained on him. “People need order. Someone to follow. When the weak and poor have died off, I’ll guide the rest into a New World Order.”
Yoongi spits on the floor, “Over my fucking dead body.” His index finger twitches towards the trigger, his stance solid and ready. 
You stop breathing.
Yoongi fires, but your old boss is faster, landing a shot in Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi hisses, dropping the rifle to the floor.
“I told you it’s useless,” your old boss sneers, chuckling. “Next time I’ll aim for the head.”
Time stretches and warps as he paces the room, taking stock of you all. You’re at a standstill, trapped in the crosshairs of his malevolent gaze. Jimin remains prone, waiting for an opportunity. Yoongi grunts in pain, clutching his wounded shoulder. Jungkook lies still, eyes flicking between you and the leader. 
It feels like game over. 
You’re all going to die.
Your old boss paces slowly, chuckling, reveling in your predicament. “I wonder who I should kill first…” he muses, dragging out the words as he turns towards you. “Your boyfriend, maybe? How do you feel about watching him die?”
Your heart pounds wildly. 
You struggle against the grip of the man holding you by your hair, pain searing through your scalp, but the thought of Jimin’s death is unbearable.
The leader strides towards Jimin, raising his gun. Your breath catches in your throat, terror gripping you as you watch. You scream with all the force in your lungs, a primal sound tearing through the air as you close your eyes, bracing for the worst.
Bang. Bang. Bang. 
The sound of three gunshots fills your ears, and you scream even louder, tears streaming down your cheeks as you call out your lover’s name. More gunshots follow, and the man holding your hair lets go, dropping you to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Tears blur your vision as you struggle to blink them away, desperate to find Jimin.
But you don’t see him.
Panic surges through you. Where is he?
Your gaze shifts, and you see your old boss, his head snapped back from a point-blank shot, blood pooling beneath him. You gasp, turning your head just in time to see familiar lace-up boots moving purposefully across the room. Chaos reigns. Bora stands in the hallway, a rifle trained on the lifeless body of your boss. She was the one who shot him?
Jimin moves through the room like a lethal dancer, his katana slicing through enemies with precision. Jungkook is on his feet too, methodically picking off the men from the New World Order. Amid the chaos, you see Bora approach Yoongi, who is clutching his shoulder.
“Are you okay, babe?” she asks, her voice strained but determined as she examines his injury.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he pants, noting the bandage on her thigh, stained with blood. “You should lie down.”
“I could say the same to you,” she chuckles, raising her rifle to take aim at another man.
How many are down now? You scan the room, counting seven bodies sprawled on the floor.
“Is it over?” Seokjin calls out, peeking from his room down the hall.
“I think so,” Jungkook replies, clapping his hands together, trying to shake off the tension.
The room falls into a tense silence, the aftermath of the battle settling over you like a shroud. You push yourself up, your body aching and adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Jimin meets your gaze, and you feel a flicker of hope amidst the wreckage. 
For now, you’ve survived.
You rush over to Jimin, pulling him into a tight embrace, relief flooding through you. “I’m okay, babe,” he murmurs, kissing you softly. Thank God.
“We need to take the fight to their headquarters. They’ll be coming for us anyway. Better to surprise them,” Yoongi declares, his voice grim.
“Don’t you think they’d anticipate that?” Jungkook counters, eyeing Yoongi critically. “And you’re in no condition to fight, hyung.”
“The fuck I’m not. It’s just my shoulder. I’m fine,” Yoongi pants, picking up his rifle.
“Let’s go,” Bora interjects from behind Yoongi, her voice determined.
Yoongi spins around, his mouth agape. “You’re staying, babe. Your leg—”
“This is as much my fight as it is yours, and Seokjin patched me up,” she retorts, her stern look brooking no argument. Yoongi deflates, conceding to her resolve.
You all huddle together, gathering weapons for the imminent battle. Taehyung, Namjoon, and Seokjin stay back, while the rest of you head outside to your vehicles.
You and Jimin mount his bike, while Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora take the car. Jimin hands you a helmet, then puts on his own before revving the engine. The bike purrs to life, and with a roar, he accelerates toward the Capital, Jungkook and the others following in the car.
The journey is a blur, the rain pouring down in relentless sheets as you navigate the desolate streets. The Capital looms ahead, a monolithic reminder of the oppressive regime you’re up against. You skid to a stop in front of the New World Order headquarters, jumping off the bike with Jimin close behind. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Bora emerge from the car, weapons in hand, steely determination etched on their faces.
The rain-soaked mud reflects the harsh glow of neon lights, casting eerie shadows as you steel yourselves for the fight. The headquarters stands ominously before you, a fortress of tyranny that has caused so much suffering. You take a deep breath, fingers tightening around your gun.
It’s time to end this.
“Follow me. The building is massive,” you say, leading the way into your old workplace. Navigating the familiar lower floors is swift; they’re almost deserted. Jimin dances with his katana, each swing mesmerizing, cutting down any opposition with ease. 
Clearing the lower levels quickly, you ascend the stairs, banging open doors and moving through the less familiar upper halls. The men from the New World Order fall easily; many surrender, unwilling to defend a crumbling regime. 
Finally, you reach the top floor, the office of your now-dead boss. Stepping inside, you look out through the tall windows overlooking the city. 
“What do we do now?” you ask, your voice echoing in the silence. 
The horizon flickers with a strange yellow glow. 
Jimin, his katana sheathed on his back, joins you. “Is that the sun?” he asks, his eyes following yours.
“I think it is,” Bora says, intertwining her fingers with Yoongi’s.
“Now that the New World Order is gone,” Yoongi muses, “won’t another group try to take its place?”
“Maybe,” you respond, lost in thought.
Jungkook chuckles beside you. “We’ll make sure no one does. All information will be free and accessible.”
“Aren’t we just like the New World Order then?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow.
“No,” Jungkook replies firmly. “We’ll let people live freely, with no ‘order’ imposed.”
You all hum in agreement, turning your gaze to the horizon. For the first time in a long while, the oppressive clouds of the Capital part, slowly revealing the sun. The relentless rain stops, and you feel the air shift—this is a new beginning.
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→ Taglist: @jeonsbabygirlsworld @11thenightwemet11 @haru-jiminn → Disclaimer: the photo of kitty gang Jimin is a concert photo by a fansite, and I’ve been trying to reverse google search the image to find the fansite/photographer, but without luck. I can see on the original that the fansite name is something along the lines of ‘CelestialYM9999’ but that show on results on google either. If you know the fansite, please let me know so I can credit properly (my photography brain really wants to give proper credit). → Author’s note(2): what do you think? Please let me know! A big shoutout and thank you to @manipulatedstars for having the idea to make Jungkook run a survivalist camp 🥳💜 Now, I can’t wait to write something that isn’t action— back to my sappy romance writing! I think one of the mermaid fics is next on my list ✨
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romcomxdd · 4 months ago
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AU where Mav n Ice managed to convince Bradley not to join the Navy.
(stick with me there’s hangster in here i promise-)
Instead of pulling Bradley’s papers, Mav and Ice sat down with Bradley and explained his mother’s wishes and their concerns. Really, they just had an adult conversation about it. Of course, Bradley was pissed, but more so at his mum than Maverick or Ice. Eventually he agreed, much to the older men’s relief, though Mav did feel a bit guilty about it. He knew Goose would have loved to see his son take after him.
Bradley took a few weeks to explore some other career options, he knew he still wanted to fly in some capacity. With his dads all being pilots, he’d had plenty of off the book lessons from them and all his honorary uncles. He had a knack for it. And he knew he wanted to help people. He had volunteered at his local fire-station for a few years and had acquired his basic first aid qualifications through that. But beyond that, he was lost.
Until he heard about Wilderness EMT’s. It was at at a careers expo Ice had dragged him along to after school and he really didn’t want to be there.
They wandered the expo for a while, until the first responders area caught his eye. Bradley looked through the police and fire rescue stalls first, took some pamphlets and asked a few questions, but nothing really struck him.
As Ice wandered off to look at the Navy section out of curiosity, Bradley lined up to look at the Paramedics stall. As he talked to the lady at the front for a bit, they got onto the topic of the specifics of her career. Before she had taken a job in recruitment, she had been a Wilderness EMT, basically a branch on paramedics where she was trained in search and rescue, providing medical aid to remote areas. This immediately sparked Bradley’s interest, it had the adrenaline he had been looking for, all whilst making a real difference for real people.
By the time Ice had returned, he had quizzed the lady for almost an hour and to say that he was excited was an understatement. The teen was practically bouncing out of his seat on the drive home.
‘I just need to get my general EMT certification, then do a wilderness specific training course as the basics.’ Bradley was grinning ear from ear. ‘Then from there I can do swift water, high angle rescue training and disaster response training. And a bunch of other short courses- but I can do those quickly- And that’s not even the best part!’
Ice bit his lip and kept quiet. He was happy for Bradley, of course, it was nice to see him so excited about something, but this sounded dangerous. It wasn’t the Navy, but still.
‘She said I can finish getting my pilots license and use that for search and rescue. And if I can get my helicopter license I can still fly!’ He grinned. ‘And it’s not gonna be dangerous like your job, but it’s still so cool.’
Ice nodded, still worried, but Bradley seemed serious about this. They’d already stopped him from one career opportunity, if they told him he couldn’t do this, Bradley may never talk to them again.
And as it turned out, he was dead serious about it. Within three years, Bradley had flown through his Paramedics degree, and got a job as a regular EMT. Whilst he worked, he continued with his helicopter license, and began ticking off the required courses. Another two years later, he was a fully qualified Wilderness EMT.
It had taken a while for Mav to get on board with the idea, but after seeing the fufillment in Bradley’s face when he came home after saving a life, he could help the pride that flowed through him. Goose would have been over the moon.
Bradley quickly excelled at his job, showing just how disciplined he was, both in the field and with the patients. His bedside manner was impeccable and had an incredibly cool head under pressure. He progressed fast, becoming a team leader in no time. There wasn’t as much room for advancement as there was in the Navy, but Bradley did what he could.
He loved his job and though it had one of the highest burnout rates in the country, he couldn’t see himself quitting anytime soon. He lived for the adrenaline of his work. Every day was different, he could be providing help to flooded communities, or hiking mountains in search of a missing person. It could be anything from pulling someone from an avalanche, or airlifting someone who’d twisted an ankle and didn’t feel like walking out.
And the sense of satisfaction he got after saving a life. Made him feel like he was in control. Like he could make a meaningful difference in someone’s life by getting them home safe.
Of course there were hard days. When someone died in transit, or they just couldn’t get them out in time. When their missing person just didn’t turn up. It could be traumatising, but he made sure to talk with Ice and Mav about it, or his work friends, there were so many people around him who knew how to cope. He figured it out pretty fast.
One day Bradley’s team got called to a pretty notable rescue. An F18 had gone into a flatspin during training somewhere over a mountain and the pilot had ejected. A pilot by the name of Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. Hangman had ejected safely, but the descent through the trees had fucked up his ankle, and he couldn’t walk.
The Navy’s equipment hadn’t been advanced enough, so they had called on the WEMT’s, whom for this kinda mission was their bread and butter. (shush i’m taking creative liberties)
They found him quickly and Bradley was the one to cut him out of his parachute and bring him up to the helicopter. Just imagine Jake being half unconscious as a handsome moustachioed angel leans over him and tells him everything’s gonna be alright.
The ride back included an ever exasperated Bradley and a lovestruck delirious Hangman who had decidedly not injured his mouth and would not shut up. As they reached the hospital, Jake asked him out. Bradley surprised even himself by agreeing to it, he hadn’t been in a serious relationship in years, it could be nice to get back out there.
They grew close, fast. Though Bradley never explained why he knew so much about Jake’s job. Not until Jake was finally invited around to ‘meet the parents’. Just imagine his surprise when he walks into the Admiral Kazansky’s home, who is apparently married to his instructor. Bradley thought the look on his face was hilarious and he would bring up the moment at any opportunity for the next few years.
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