Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His rice cooker beeps and beeps and beeps – so Namjoon idly reaches over, and unplugs it hastily.  

He grabs the remote, and turns up the news as he searches for a bowl.

“-seventh murder this year, Investigator Nam Jongdae, the son of Police Chief Nam Goohyun-“

Namjoon pauses, spoon halfway over the steaming pot, and sighs, setting down the bowl to run a hand over the back of his neck.

“Ma’am!”  A Reporter calls onscreen, “What’s being done to investigate the murders?”

“Of course, it’s our top priority to keep ordinary citizens from experiencing violent crimes-“

“But what about serial killings?! What about the recent murders of policemen? What kind of backup plan do you have?”

Namjoon doesn’t have to look to know who’s talking.

“You’re right.”

It’s Seokjin, done up in his uniform. An old friend from the academy, but Namjoon hasn’t seen him since the funeral.

“Inspector Kim-“

“It’s been made clear that we, the police, are too naïve and predictable to cope with crimes of antisocial psychopathic killers. Two thousand policemen and women didn’t choose their jobs to serve 50 million citizens, but to obtain their own job security.”

“Inspector Kim!-“

“They’re not different from the rest of the fifty million citizens.”

Namjoon takes a seat at his kitchen table. The bowl fogs up his glasses, so he pushes them up off his head. There’s shouting onscreen, so Namjoon mutes it.

His phone buzzes on his table. He reads the name and snorts, leaning back to rub at his eyes.

Goohyun is an older, balding man. His eyes are the type that have seen death, which isn’t uncommon around here. Of everyone in the academy, he’s earned Namjoon’s respect the most.

Goohyun pours him a glass of Soju, and Namjoon takes it with a nod.

“A special investigations unit?”

“You heard, right?” Goohyun smiles, and he’s still missing that left tooth.

Namjoon gives a half laugh, and tips back the alcohol. “Seokjin really spares no words, does he?”

“Too naïve and predictable, he said,” Goohyun smiles sadly. “He wasn’t wrong.”

Namjoon sets down the empty glass, and stares at the remanence of liquor in Goohyun’s hands. He looks up to meet his eyes, and asks, seriously, “What do you want from me?”

“To lead,” Goohyun smiles. “You think I don’t know your name? They call you a monster.”

Namjoon snorts, and settles back in the wicker chair.

“I’ve been suspended six times this year.”

“And you have the highest arrest rate in the academy,” Goohyun sets down his glass. “I’m assigning Seokjin to you.”

Namjoon blinks, before he grins, evil, “Oh, this’ll be fun.”

“He will get you what you need,” Goohyun pours another glass. “He only answers to me and you, now.”

Namjoon swallows, tongue tracing the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t respond, out of respect. Considering Seokjin’s old boss is now dead.

 “And what do I get from this?” Namjoon can’t help but ask.

Goohyun smiles, “The satisfaction of capturing Korea’s bottom filth.” He leans forwards, halfway across the table, “And the honor of taking down the fucker who killed my son.”

He slaps a manila folder down against the counter. It’s too early for the pop up restaurant to be busy, and the Han river is too loud for any passerby to hear.

Namjoon nods to the folder, arms crossing.

“This is what I need.” 

“Well,” Seokjin takes a seat, “Hello to you too.” He’s dressed casually, just as Namjoon asked.

“Five.” Namjoon holds up a hand. “Five men. A registered gun, and a box of ankle monitors.”

“Wait, just five?” Seokjin blinks. “Commissioner Nam-Goohyun said you were-“

“I only need five,” Namjoon opens the folder. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Seokjin shifts, “Yes, but show me who you want, first.”

It’s full of files. Namjoon selects one off the top of the pile, and slides it Seokjin’s way.

“Min Yoongi, age twenty-eight, street name: SUGA.” Namjoon points, at the photo, “Ex-mafia. He used to be the right-hand man to Lee-Dookwang, and controlled the entire Incheon district.”

“How do you know all this?” Seokjin flips through a few of the pages, slack jawed. Namjoon shoots him a look, and Seokjin mumbles, “Nevermind.”

“He’s an all-around skilled combatant, and knows the South Korean districts better than anyone. He’s also a trained technician. He built an M8 grenade out of chicken wire, six spoons and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. All while in jail.”

“Good god.”

“Kim Taehyung,” Namjoon slides the next file over. “A contract killer from Daegu. He mysteriously turned himself into the police two years ago, and hasn’t caused much of a fuss since then.”

“And?”

“Have you ever met a hitman?” Namjoon allows himself a half-smile, “Bind their hands, feet, legs, and they’ll still kill you with their teeth.”

The next file is opened. It’s rather empty.

“Park Jimin. He was arrested two weeks ago for leaking six hundred top secret government files.”

“A federal offense,” Seokjin blinks. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-five. He’s only in holding, because they still can’t find solid evidence on him yet.” Namjoon reaches for his drink, and lets Seokjin look through what small information they have. “There’s not much in his background check. I have a distinct feeling he hacked in and deleted whatever dirt we might’ve had. When we finally got a warrant to search his home, we found a home-made computer worth thirty-thousand dollars. ”

“Did he steal the money?”

“He sure as hell didn’t get it working at Panera Bread.” Namjoon sets down his glass. “He’ll be useful.”

“Okay…” Seokjin reaches for the next file. “Fingers crossed this one isn’t a criminal.”

“Jung Hoseok, street name, J-HOPE. Arrested for arson, extreme misdemeanor, trespassing, assault and battery, attempted murder, and murder.”

“God dammit.”

“He’s strong.” Namjoon sips. “Hoseok doesn’t use knives, or baseball bats, or guns. His murder charge was for punching a man so hard, his nose lodged into his frontal lobe, and killed him on contact.”

“This is ridiculous,” Seokjin sets down the file, turning seriously. “You don’t expect to control all these men, do you?”

“Some speculated he worked together with Suga, but there’s very little evidence. He might’ve been an under-the-table guy.”

“Namjoon-“

“Keep going,” Namjoon gestures, lazily. “There’s one more.”

Seokjin cautiously pulls out the last file. It’s of a young man, with dark hair, and cold eyes. He reads aloud, “Jeon Jungkook…”

“He scored a 38 out of 40 on the psychopath exam. He was imprisoned for excessive self-defense, when he found his parents murdered, and faced with the criminals in his home.”

Seokjin frowns, “But that’s self-defense. They murdered his parents.”

“You didn’t see the bodies,” Namjoon slides the files back into the folder.

“But-“

“They were chopped into over three hundred individual pieces,” Namjoon interrupts, and stops Seokjin short. “Three-hundred and seventy-five to be exact.”

“This is mad…”Seokjin whispers. “You’re crazy, we can’t- this- I refuse.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t answer to you, huh?” Namjoon grins, and slaps the file against Seokjin’s chest. “I’ll send you further instructions once you track them all down.”

Seokjin is left huffing and puffing, scrambling to catch the papers that slip out of his hands.

The busses rattle in one by one, each arriving more or less on time.

Each is accompanied by two policemen. The bus door opens, the selections are pushed off, and the bus drives away, cops included.

They’re all in handcuffs, standing around in the tall grass. It's sunny, and a breeze blows by. They're in the middle of nowhere.

“Who are you?” Taehyung stares, pointedly at Yoongi.

“Who are you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Yoongi,” Hoseok smirks. “I didn’t know they caught you.”

“A year ago,” Yoongi blinks. He looks around, and there’s nothing but trees, and some broken down shack off in the distance. “I see they left you to die too.”

“Are we going to die?” Jimin pulls on his handcuffs, rattling them. “Fuck, fuck, where are we?”

“Calm down,” Seokjin stands, approaching from the shack- and it’s not a shack, but an old, old chapel. There’s policemen following him, and he gestures. The policemen approach with keys, unlocking each of their handcuffs.

“Now who are you?” Taehyung stares.

“The Yeongdo bus is late,” Seokjin frowns, as each of the criminals are released. “I guess we’ll have to start without him.”

“What’s going on?” Hoseok rubs at his wrists – and he looks like an animal. Seokjin doesn’t let himself be intimidated.

“We’ll tell you inside,” Seokjin gestures. He starts to walk, and realizes that nobody is following him. He turns around, and raises an eyebrow. “I can call those busses back just as quickly as they came.”

A policewoman raises a semi-autimatic, and suddenly theres footsteps in the grass. Seokjin smiles, and climbs the rickety stairs into the church.

It hasn’t been used in years. A tropical storm destroyed it back in 2002, and it hasn’t been touched since. Vines cover the sides – and many windows are missing, but some stained glass survived, filling some of the pews with color. It smells like old wood.

He gestures for them to take a seat, and they do, cautiously, nobody trusting the other, scrambling like lone wolves.

Namjoon smiles from the short stage. There’s a stand with a corkboard, photos of men and women alike, with notes scribbled on pinned pieces of paper. He steps forwards, and gestures for Seokjin to be at rest.

“Welcome,” Namjoon smiles. “We’re missing one, but we can fill him in later.”

“Are we here to die?” Jimin asks; he’s a short, soft looking boy, but he’s pretty, and already coming up with an escape plan. Namjoon sees it in all their eyes.

“Not unless you try to run,” Namjoon smiles. “But I’m actually here to give you a choice.”

Four sets of eyes fall on him. Seokjin is back outside, waiting for the last bus.

Namjoon points to the corkboard, “A quarter million people live in the Gyeyang district. I’m sure some of you are familiar.” Yoongi shifts in the pew, eyes cold and glassy. “There have been eleven unsolved murders within the last three months. No motive, no lead. Investigator Kim Jongdae thought to have tracked down the killer last month, and was found dead behind a convenience store.”

 “What are you saying?” Taehyung asks, suspiciously.

Namjoon points to the board, “As put by your lovely babysitter –“ Namjoon gestures, “- the taskforce is emotionally incapable of handling serial cases and motiveless murders. However,” he points to a photo of one of the victims, a stab wound in her side, slumped against a building. “I have the distinct feeling this one wasn’t motiveless.”

“Get to the point or kill me already.” Yoongi barks.

“We’ve been given the label Special Investigations Team. We need people to solve what the police cant – and do what the police can’t.”

Jimin grins, “You want to work over the law.”

“And why should we?” Hoseok stands. “What’s in it for us?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung stands too. “You just gonna’ kill us once it’s all over?”

“Maybe,” Namjoon shrugs, taking a step forwards.

“So we’ll do your bidding, because we’re criminals,” Hoseok spits, and steps closer – and so does Namjoon, and soon they’re toe to toe. “Because we’re beasts.”

“Dogs,” Namjoon corrects. “So when I say sit, you sit. When I say fetch, you fetch.”  

Hoseok swings his fist. Namjoon dodges, and jabs him right in the sternum. Hoseok is winded- and Taehyung sees the opportunity to run, so he does.

A cop raises a baton, but Taehyung has her downed easy- Jimin and Yoongi stand to run, Hoseok throws another fast punch, and catches Namjoon in the jaw. Namjoon doesn’t budge, (but it hurt like a bitch, wow) and he takes the pleasure of watching Hosoek panic. 

In under three seconds, Namjoon blocks a third punch, kicks Hoseok in the stomach, knocks him to the ground with his elbow, and steps on his chest to keep him there. He raises a gun, and shoots Taehyung square in the shoulder.

“FUCK!” Taehyung screeches, fingers scrabbling for the wound, tripping. Yoongi and Jimin freeze. Hoseok chokes under his boot.

“I don’t like disloyalty,” Namjoon says casually. “I don’t anticipate your respect right away – or at all – but I anticipate your corporation, seeing as I’m willing to take two years off your sentence, for every culprit you put behind bars.”

“Fuck, fuck,” Taehyung goes down on one knee, blood dripping over his fingers, and down his arms, “You shot me, you fucking freak, you fucker, you fuckin-“

“Oh calm down, I only grazed you,” Namjoon pockets his gun. “If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

“Two years…” Jimin blinks, still in awe.

“Sounds nice, huh?” Namjoon grins. “I heard about your court ruling. An entire life sentence.”

Hoseok grips his nails into his calf, and it burns, so Namjoon steps off him, and kicks him square in the nose. Hoseok screeches, hands coming up to his face.

“So?”

“So?” Taehyung rips off the bottom of his prison shirt, and uses it to wrap around his arm. “I think you’re insane.”

“I have fifty years on my head,” Yoongi says, sitting back down, and crossing one leg over the other. “Don’t act like any of you have something to lose.”

Hoseok sits up off the floor, cradling his nose. He wipes blood off his chin, looks up at Namjoon, and grins, “I would kill you, if I wasn’t impressed.”

Seokjin suddenly throws open the door to the church, and light floods in. He takes a second to stare at the scene in front of him, before he blinks back to himself, and pulls the phone away from his ear in a panic.

“Namjoon-ah. The Yeongdo bus has been highjacked – the two officers were found cuffed to a gas station restroom. Jeon Jungkook is gone.”

Namjoon curses under his breath, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Seokjin, get them a change of clothes.” Namjoon grits his teeth, and turns to the criminals.  “You have your first mission. Find Jungkook, and I’ll take four years off of each of your sentences.”

They look to each other with surprise– but Namjoon grips Hoseok by the collar and barks in his face.

 “But if one of you run off, I’ll kill you all myself.”

“-and, and then he hit me over the head with the toilet lid,” The cop stutters, flinching every so often. He grabs at his shoulder in pain.

“So he asked to use the restroom…and you let him.” Namjoon raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. They stand around the small gas station bathroom, taking in the crime scene.

The other cop barks, “Well what? Were we supposed to let him piss his pants?”

“You were supposed to watch him,” Seokjin barks.

“What else happened?” Taehyung asks, crossing his arms.

“He cuffed us to the stall, and, and took the bus!”

“Be lucky he didn’t kill you…” Taehyung mumbles, kicking open the stall door.

“I need plates run,” Namjoon gestures. “Find that bus.”

“If you get me literally any phone with internet, I can do that for you,” Jimin says, looking to Seokjin.

Seokjin huffs, and pulls on his arm. “Fine.” They walk out of the restroom, Seokjin handing over his phone.

Yoongi, who has been standing silently, suddenly approaches one of the cops, tipping his head like a predator.

“A porcelain toilet lid to the head. Wow, sir. Are you sure you don’t need to sit down?”

“N-No, I’m fine,” he presses a palm to the back of his head and flinches, “Ah-, ow-“

“You know, one time, I was smacked over the head with a vase.” Hoseok holds out his hands, “It was this big, weighed fifty pounds. I had surgery because it split open my skull, from here to here,” he points.

The cop grows nervous, and Namjoon narrows his eyes. He grabs a plunger nearby, and immediately shoves it over the cop’s mouth and nose. The cop sputters, hands reaching for the plunger, but Hoseok grabs one of his wrists and twists it, and the cop screams behind the dirty plunger, desperate for air.

The other cop goes to help, but one look from Taehyung, and he’s back against the wall.

“If you really got hit over the head with a toilet tank, I think you’d have more than a scratch,” Namjoon hisses. “Give me the truth, or I’ll turn a blind eye, and let the dogs have you.”

Yoongi snorts, and Hoseok lets out a laugh. The cop squeals, and Namjoon pulls the plunger away.

“Okay! Guhh- O-Okay! We- we stopped for cigarettes – he – he said he needed the restroom – we, we came to check on him, and he locked us in the stall –“

“Where was he headed?”

“I don’t know! I really don’t know!” He coughs. “He never said a word!”

“I need a personal profile and background check,” Taehyung says. “Mom, Dad, aunts, uncles, extended family. A girlfriend, boyfriend, I don’t care – a twenty-three year old is out of jail for the first time in two years, where do you think he’s going?”

“Home,” Namjoon concludes, with a nod. “I’ll get you that file.”

“Already on it,” Jimin appears, typing into a phone. “No Mom, no Dad. An ex-girlfriend, I think, only because he’s still in one of her photos two years back on Instagram.

“Get me that address,” Namjoon points. “We have a registered Psychopath on the streets of Daegu.”

“Do we meet back at the church?” Yoongi asks.

“On one condition.” Namjoon snaps towards Seokjin, who pulls out a black briefcase. He unclicks it; the case is full of ankle bracelets, beeping with trackers.

“Oh fuck no,” Hoseok steps back. “Only sex offenders wear those things.”

“No way in hell,” Taehyung agrees.

“I won’t – I won’t go around with people thinking I’m some rapist,” Jimin grimaces.

“Put it on, or go back to jail.” Namjoon stares.

“No.” Hoseok crosses his arms. “No way.”

“Oh grow up,” Yoongi steps forward, and takes one. “Four years off your sentence. You don’t hear those words too often.”

Jimin makes a rainbow of expressions, before he grabs the bracelet reluctantly, and kneels down to put it on. Taehyung and Hoseok mull it over, lips pulled up into a sour scowl, before they reach in together, and grab one.

“If you’re not at the church by ten tonight, I’m sending SWAT to exterminate you,” Seokjin lifts up the tracker.

“Fine,” Taehyung spits. “We’ll find your Psychopath.”

Like wolves, they scatter, each to their own lead. Taehyung is the only one who, surprisingly, bothers to stick with Namjoon, and travel to the girlfriend’s home.

“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you for shooting me,” Taehyung says. "This is the best lead."

“Fair enough,” Namjoon shrugs.

Seokjin busies himself with outfitting the team with old flip-phones. He’s not stupid enough to give them anything that connects to the internet.

However, one cop did forget to note that his phone was stolen by Jungkook. Namjoon has the station trace it, and it leads right to the neighborhood of the girlfriend. Taehyung finds it stashed in a bush.

“If he left already, we’re fucked,” Namjoon whispers, and  pulls out his gun, prepared to knock on the front door.

“Shh!” Taehyung listens, and there’s talking.

“You ruined my life.”

“You tried to kill me!”

“How could you-“

There’s a scream.

Namjoon looks to Taehyung. He’s weaponless, but he knows he doesn’t need one. He nods, and Taehyung kicks down the door.

Namjoon goes in, gun pointed – and there’s Jungkook, changed out of the prison clothes, holding a knife to a young woman’s throat.

His eyes turn to them – and Namjoon freezes, feet solid to the floor, goosebumps rising on his arms. Jungkook’s eyes are dark. Emotionless, expressionless, round, red lips pulled into the softest frown, face blank and unfeeling. He’s strangely beautiful, and radiates danger. Like an animal.

The girl wiggles and screams, and Jungkook carefully presses the knife closer.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon calls. “Put the knife down.”

Jungkook’s eyes coolly roll back to the girl, then to Namjoon. He says nothing.

Namjoon cocks his pistol, “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

“He will,” Taehyung pouts.

They’re in a small apartment, but it feels too big, Jungkook pressing a knife to her throat, harder at every second. Her breath comes in ragged inhales, nails digging into Jungkook’s wrist. He doesn’t even flinch. Namjoon's brain runs through a million possible scenarios at once. Shoot Jungkook, get the girl. Miss Jungkook, shoot the girl. Grab the knife, miss and die.

“If you let go of her, and come with me, I’ll forget all of this,” Namjoon says calmly.

Junkook speaks his first words. His voice is surprisingly soft.

“You’ll still kill me.”

“I won’t shoot you in the nose, that’s for sure.” Namjoon’s hands don’t waver. “I also won’t throw you back in jail with another assault charge. Put the knife down, kid.”

Taehyung makes a quick move. He goes for Jungkook’s wrist- and Jungkook rolls away. He goes to swipe at Taehyung, but Taehyung is skilled – he grabs his arm and twists it. They wrestle along the floor, and the girl runs out screaming.

Jungkook is a decent combatant, seeing as Taehyung is struggling to hold him. They knock over a table. Jungkook knees him in the stomach and rolls – and Namjoon shoots at his leg. He misses on purpose, but it shocks Jungkook still.

“Enough,” Namjoon lowers the gun. “Next time it’s your kneecap.”

Taehyung curses, rubbing at his stomach, “Fuckin’ triggerhappy…”

Jungkook drops the knife. His face is completely unreadable, staring at the door, where the girl ran.

Taehyung grips him by the arm, and hauls him to his feet. Namjoon pats for his phone, and goes to call Seokjin.

“We got him.”

They’re back in the church. It’s nighttime, so only moonlight feeds through the ceiling glass-stained windows, casting a few shadows. Seokjin goes around with a lighter, and a few candles illuminate the room.

They’re all sitting in different pews, none near the other. Jungkook is in the back, a shiny new tracking bracelet on his right ankle.

“Well, this isn’t how I wanted this to go…” Namjoon scrubs at his hair, tiredly. “We lost a whole day, thanks to Psycho over there.”

 A few heads turn. Jungkook doesn’t even flinch. It’s off-putting.

“I assume you’ve all made your choices by now,” Namjoon gestures. “If you want to go back to prison, we’ll have a friendly little prison van come pick your ass up by tomorrow. If not, you’re on the team.”

“I’ll need a place to work,” Jimin says.

Namjoon snorts, “You’re looking at it.” Jimin frowns.

“I want to visit my family,” Hoseok grunts.

Taehyung cuts under his breath, what inmate is stupid enough to have family. Hoseok makes a jerky movement towards Taehyung – and the latter dares him to try.

“Cut it out,” Namjoon snaps. “Hoseok, you can see whoever you want when you find the murderer of the Gyeyang case. Seokjin has individual case files with everything we know. This box,” he kicks at the cardboard, “has the profiles of each victim. There might be a connection between each murder that we’re not aware of.”

“When do we start?” Yoongi asks.

“Right now." Namjoon grins, “Go fetch,” and steps out the door. The chapel is left in a deafening silence, as Seokjin hands out the last folder to Jungkook. Wood creaks beneath his feet.

“Jesus,” Jimin rubs his eyes. “Who the hell is that guy?”

There’s a few chorused groans.

Seokjin smiles, leaning back up against the pew.

“A man with the highest IQ in South Korea.”