Lines We Cross ||Front Man x Reader||

The salty air stung my face as the boat rocked against the gentle waves, a rhythm I found oddly soothing despite the circumstances. The island loomed ahead, shrouded in darkness and mystery, like some fucked-up monster out of a bad dream. I tightened my grip on the pistol tucked into my waistband, the weight of the knives strapped to my thighs a small comfort.

"Alright, Y/N," I muttered to myself, hopping off the boat and into the shallow water. It was cold as hell, but I ignored it, trudging up the narrow strip of sand until the towering cliffs greeted me. "Just another job. Another shitty, life-threatening job."

The place looked abandoned. Silent, still, with only the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks behind me. But I knew better. Places like this weren't really empty; they were crawling with danger, waiting to jump out and fuck you up the second you let your guard down. So I didn't.

I'd scouted this spot for weeks before making the trip, and my gut told me this vent was the key. It took me a while to find it in the dark, hidden behind some overgrown brush and rusted metal grates that looked like they hadn't been touched in decades. But when I got the grate off and stared into the black hole leading god-knows-where, I hesitated. Just for a second.

"You've got this," I whispered, mostly to convince myself. Gripping the edge of the opening, I lowered myself down, my boots hitting the cold metal with a soft clang that echoed in the confined space.

The vent smelled like shit, a mix of rust, mold, and something that reminded me of wet dog. It was a tight squeeze, and every time I shifted, the metal groaned under my weight. "Don't break on me now," I muttered under my breath, crawling forward as slowly as I could. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might break through my ribcage.

It was dark as fuck. The flashlight clipped to my vest was off, and I relied on the faint slivers of light creeping through tiny cracks to guide me. Every sound—a creak here, a clink there—set me on edge. My fingers brushed against the knife at my side, just in case.

About twenty minutes in, I came to a stop. The vent forked ahead, one path leading straight and the other veering sharply to the left. "Great," I muttered. "Fucking great. Eeny, meeny, miny, mo..." I picked the left path, mostly because it seemed quieter. And quieter usually meant fewer surprises, right? Hopefully.

The metal was cold beneath me, biting through the thin fabric of my pants as I moved. My muscles ached from staying crouched for so long, but there was no way in hell I was stopping now. Every time the vent creaked, I froze, holding my breath like my life depended on it. Because, well, it kinda did.

Finally, I saw it. The first opening. A faint glow of light spilled through the narrow slats, casting eerie shadows on the walls. I inched closer, my pulse quickening. The closer I got, the louder the sounds became. Voices, low and indistinct, reached my ears. I couldn't make out the words, but it was enough to confirm one thing: I wasn't alone down here.

I stopped right before the opening, my breath was shallow and quiet. My hand instinctively went to my pistol as I peered through the slats, trying to get a glimpse of what lay beyond. My stomach churned, but I shoved the nerves down.

This was it. The beginning of whatever the fuck I had just gotten myself into.

It ended up being a room. By the looks of it, there was only one person inside. I sized him up from my cramped position in the vent. He didn't seem particularly large or intimidating, definitely a guard, though. I could take him. Years of being an investigator had taught me how to handle myself in a fight. And besides, this wasn't my first rodeo.

After years of training, I could say I was pretty decent in combat. Comes in handy as a detective.

I slid out of the vent as quietly as I could, my knife already in my hand. The man's back was to me, and he was too busy fiddling with some equipment to notice the sound of my boots hitting the floor.

One step. Two. Three. Before he even had a chance to turn around, I grabbed him from behind, the blade of my knife pressing firmly against his throat. "Shhh," I whispered, almost mockingly, as I pulled him down to the ground. He struggled, but I was faster. Stronger. One clean motion and it was over. I slit his throat. Clean cut.

"Fuck," I hissed under my breath, wiping the blade on his shirt. My hands moved quickly, stripping him of his uniform. It was a shitty fit, a little loose in some places, but it would have to do. Not to mention it was pink, my favourite color. The mask he wore had a square on it, which I figured meant something, though I didn't have time to think about what.

I tugged the mask on, adjusting it so it sat snugly on my face, and stood over the guy's lifeless body for a second. "Sorry, buddy," I muttered, though I didn't mean it.

Straightening my new disguise, I headed for the door.