Lines We Cross ||Front Man x Reader||

I was being dragged, my boots scraping along the cold floor as two guards hauled me through some corridor I couldn't see. My arms ached from their iron grips, and my mind was racing, trying to figure out what the fuck I'd just gotten myself into. I'd been so close, so goddamn close, and now this.

After what felt like forever, they shoved me forward, and I hit the ground hard. The surface was smooth and cold beneath my palms. Marble, maybe. Fancy. Definitely not the kind of place you'd want to be thrown onto your knees.

One of the guards yanked the bag off my head, and I squinted as the light hit me. My eyes adjusted quickly, and that's when I saw him. Sitting in front of me, in an armchair like some king on his throne, was a man in a sleek black outfit. His face was hidden behind a geometric mask, sharp edges gleaming in the light. He didn't move, didn't speak. Just stared at me, or at least I assumed he was staring. Hard to tell with that mask.

As I knelt there, catching my breath, my brain pieced it together. I'd overheard the guards mentioning someone multiple times mid task. The Front Man. This had to be him. The way they stood around him, stiff as boards, told me everything I needed to know. This guy was in charge.

I tried to push myself up, but one of the guards slammed something hard into my back. Pain shot through me, and I dropped down again.

The masked man finally spoke, his voice low and distorted, almost mechanical. "Take off the mask."

I hesitated. My hands hovered near the edges of the mask I'd stolen. What would he do if I didn't? Probably not something I'd enjoy. Still, I wasn't about to just roll over and give him what he wanted.

"Take it off," he repeated, slower this time, the words dripping with warning. Then, without missing a beat, he lifted a gun and pointed it directly at me. The silver barrel gleamed under the harsh lights as he leaned forward in his chair, closing the space between us.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

"Ugh," I muttered, my voice sharp as I reached up. Fuck this guy. Fuck his gun. Fuck this whole situation. Slowly, I pulled the mask off, tossing it to the side. Then I removed the balaclava underneath. My long hair spilled out, framing my face as I met his gaze head-on, defiant.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stared. It was unsettling as hell, the way he studied me like I was some kind of puzzle he couldn't figure out. Finally, he spoke again. "Who are you?"

"Y/N," I said, my voice flat. No point in giving him more than that. My name wasn't a valuable asset to them, I was a foreigner. Suck that. I thought.

He tilted his head slightly, the mask catching the light. "You shouldn't be here," he said, almost casually, like he was talking about the weather. "Do you know what we do to filthy intruders like you?" He leaned forward even more, the barrel of the gun still trained on me. "I kill them. Personally."

I stared right back at him, refusing to flinch. "Go fuck yourself," I spat.

The guards shifted behind me, probably shocked I had the balls to say that, but I didn't give a shit. My life was hanging by a thread anyway. If he wanted me dead, he'd have done it already. He wasn't done with me yet.

The Front Man didn't react right away. Then, slowly, he stood up and crossed the room toward me. The gun never wavered. When he was close enough, he reached down and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so I was forced to look up at him. His grip was firm, unrelenting, and he leaned down so his mask was inches from my face.

"Actions have consequences, Y/N," he said, his voice filled with menace.

I didn't have time to respond before one of the guards stepped forward and clamped a mask over my face. Something sharp and chemical filled my nose. Fuck. Gas.

I struggled, tried to push them off, but it was no use. My limbs grew heavy, and my vision blurred. The last thing I saw before everything went black was the Front Man standing over me, gun still in hand, his voice echoing in my head. It was distorted, artificial. A voice changer.

Then nothing.

As the guards carried my unconscious body out of the room, the Front Man sat back in his chair, his gloved fingers tapping against the armrest. "Put her into the games," he ordered curtly. "Let her see the consequences of meddling in things she doesn't understand."

He watched the guards drag the girl away, the sound of their boots echoing in the empty hall. Once the doors closed behind them, he rose from his chair and began to pace the room. He couldn't shake the image of her face from his mind. There was something strikingly memorable about her. The defiance in her eyes, her features. It lingered with him, unsettlingly significant for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint.

He'd seen countless faces come and go through the games, but hers felt different. It annoyed him, the way she'd gotten under his skin with just a glare and a few words. He clenched his fists, resolving not to let her presence distract him. She was just another piece on the board, and he would ensure she learned the price of defying him.

But despite his resolve, he couldn't stop his mind from drifting back to her face. She burned into his memory. As if she left a scar, for just being there.