0.8

                                    

                                          
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The tires squeaked as the motorbike came to an abrupt halt as soon as the small airfield building appeared between trees further down the empty road.
Yoongi didn't want to attract anyone's attention and decided to leave it there behind and walk the rest, using the plants as cover.
It seemed to be one of those private airfields used by hobby pilots or private jets. And this noon, the small airfield seemed to be in use as indicated by the parked van in front of its entrance and the people scattered in a circle around the hanger at the very end of it.
Yoongi cut a whole in the fence with his sword and was about to sneak in as the building was probably hosting even more surprise guests, when his phone quietly vibrated in his pocket and he picked it up quickly. Making sure no one was near to have heard anything.
"What?" he asked in a hushed tone, not even having checked the caller ID.
It was silent for a moment and he wondered if he had declined accidently when Jimin finally spoke up. "Where are you? I'm at your apartment but you obviously not."
"I'm.. out."
It wasn't hard for Jimin to pick up the distress in his friend's voice though. "What's going on? Did something happen?"
"W-why are you at my apartment anyway?" Yoongi asked in a desperate attempt to change topics. Eyes narrowing when seeing the men entering the hanger. Something having startled them but he couldn't tell what.
"I came because of our conversation yesterday. I'm not an idiot, I know you and I know you won't ask for help even if you need it, which is clearly the case right now. You won't tell me what's going on though I can clearly tell y-"
"It's nothing, Jimin, seriously. Go back home," his voice softened. Trying his best to sound as casual as possible and for anyone else it might've been convincing enough, but not for Jimin. And he heard his younger friend sigh on the other end of the line. 
"Fine, if you don't wanna tell me.."
A sad smile spread on Yoongi's lips hearing his disappointment. "Don't worry. It's nothing." And he hung up.
I can't let you get involved in this.
Dragging out a breath, he shook his head and decided to redirect his attention to his plan instead. So he slid through the hole to the airfield. Carefully nearing the hanger by always staying close behind buildings and objects so no one would take notice of him. The fact they were still there meant Soyeon had to be somewhere near as well, which was soothing, but not soothing enough.
Five.
He counted five men dressed in cheap suits and sunglasses walking in and out the hanger.
Best case scenario, it was only them. Worst case scenario there were more either inside the hanger or the building - or both.
His dark eyes darted a guy who isolated himself from the rest, standing at the side and smoking a cigarette. Taking a long drag, he let the grey smoke evaporate into the warm air. 
With slow but steady steps Yoongi drew closer, nearing him from behind. After a few more drags, the man had finished his cigarette and tossed the butt to the ground, stepping on it with his heel. He was about to return inside when suddenly Yoongi's arm hooked around his neck and forced him to his knees. The katana's blade dangerously close to his throat, making him wince in agony.
"Don't do anything dumb like calling for help," he whispered into the man's ear, "How many are there?"
The man refused to tell, wiggling and trying freeing himself but Yoongi's leg pressed down on the back of his bent knees, preventing him from doing so. The blade almost slipped and touched his neck now. And the man immediatelly stopped when sensing its cool touch, his pulse picking up.
"Twelve. We're twelve," he eventually choked out, screwing his eyes shut. Content with the information, Yoongi knocked him off with a hard hit on the back of his head.
Twelve.
Minus one, eleven.
Eleven against one wasn't good.
Even if he was skilled, even if he had two different weapons with him, it wouldn't be easy without help. But he couldn't ask for any. 
It wasn't pride nor egoism. It was concern that wouldn't let him.
He cared too much for his friends to ask them for help, although he was certain they'd be upset and perhaps offended if they knew what was going on, but that was a consequence he preferred over any alternative outcome.