Agent of Destruction

Namjoon heard a crash come from the living room and he pulled his headphones down around his neck. That means something’s broken, he thought tiredly, so he closed his laptop and strolled down the hallway to the living room. “What's going on?” he asked, as if he didn't already know.

Taehyung lay on the floor behind the couch, while Jungkook and Jimin stood frozen on either side. All of them were surrounded by tiny glass shards and Namjoon raised his eyebrows at them questioningly. “Well?” he prodded.

“It was Tae,” Jimin said immediately.

“What?!” Taehyung exclaimed indignantly. “Jungkook’s the one who threw me!”

“After you jumped on his back,” Jimin retorted.

“Just… tell me what broke,” Namjoon cut in.

Another door slammed in the distance and Jungkook paled as footsteps approached.

“What is it with you guys and being loud?” Yoongi demanded as he entered the room. “I'm trying to…” his voice trailed off as he took in their expressions and the glass on the floor. “Is that my bowl?” he asked in a low voice. “My special bowl I got from the last fan meet?”

“Look, before you say anything-” Taehyung started.

“Who got it out?” he demanded. “Jimin?”

Jimin shook his head quickly.

“Namjoon?”

“Hey, I just heard the noise, same as you,” he said, still trying to process the scene before him.

“It was me,” Jungkook confessed. “We were out of clean bowls, so I got it down from the top shelf. I didn't mean to break it, I swear.”

“Technically, Taehyung-”

“Shut up!” Taehyung hissed, giving Jimin a dirty look. He started to get up as the front door opened and Hoseok and Jin came in, bearing bags of groceries. “Don't move!” Hoseok screeched, shoving his bags into Jin’s already-full arms as he ran over to Taehyung.

“Jungkook, help!” Jin gasped, struggling not to drop anything. Jungkook quickly grabbed the extra bags as Hoseok brought over a broom and dustpan and started sweeping up the glass. “You're gonna cut yourself if you don't get the glass up first,” he muttered.

“Thanks Mom,” Taehyung said sarcastically.

Jungkook set the bags on the kitchen counter and tentatively approached Yoongi, who was still staring at the remains of his precious bowl. “I'm really sorry, Slug,” he said gently, putting an arm around him. “Can you forgive me?”

Yoongi sighed and folded his arms. “Yes,” he grumbled, “but you owe me a bowl now.”

“Any bowl you want,” Jungkook said happily, squeezing his friend tightly.

Taehyung got up and brushed a few pieces of glass off of himself. “Finally,” he sighed, stepping out of Hoseok's way. Yoongi punched him in the arm and he yelped in pain. “What was that for?” he demanded, rubbing his arm.

“For breaking my bowl, obviously,” Yoongi replied.

“But Jungkook-”

“Guys, please,” Namjoon said, putting a hand on each guy's shoulder, “can't we just move on? We've got a tour to prepare for, remember?”

“Speaking of, don't you have a meeting with our manager?” Jin asked from the kitchen. Namjoon checked his watch and swore loudly. “I'm late!” he yelled, running back to his room. He jammed on the first pair of shoes he could find and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair before running back to the living room. He went to grab his keys from the bowl by the door, but they weren't anywhere to be found. “Where are my keys?!” he asked, searching frantically.

“Here,” Hoseok said, grabbing them off the counter. He tossed them across the room and Namjoon caught them deftly. “Make sure they don't fight,” he said, nodding at the members now sprawled in front of the TV. Hoseok saluted him and he careened out the door.

By the time he got to Big Hit Entertainment he was twenty minutes late and had three texts from Sejin, their head manager. He's not gonna be pleased, he thought as he ran into the building.

He made it to Sejin’s office and took a second to calm his breathing before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” Sejin called. Namjoon opened the door and found him sitting behind his desk, arms folded contemplatively. His glasses perched on the end of his nose as he stared at an empty wall.

“Sejin?” Namjoon asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Sejin blinked rapidly and turned to face him. “I'm fine,” he muttered in a voice that sounded very much the opposite. “We should go.”

“Go? But I just got here.”

“Our meeting is in a different location today,” Sejin replied, “and unfortunately that's all I can tell you.”

Namjoon was a little taken aback. “I don't mean any disrespect, but it's not like you to be mysterious. Is… something wrong with the tour?”

Sejin merely opened the door for him and his heart sank. This can't possibly be good, he thought as he walked back out into the hallway. They didn't speak as they took the elevator down to the lobby and went out to the parking lot, and Namjoon felt increasingly more uncomfortable. “Sejin, whatever it is, please just tell me,” he begged, but Sejin didn't respond. He brought him over to a silver Honda Civic and gestured for him to get in.

“Why are we taking your car?” Namjoon asked. “Shouldn't we take-”

“Just get in,” Sejin insisted.

They rode in silence and Namjoon's concern only deepened as they wound their way out of downtown Seoul and into the industrial quarter. “Sejin, you're scaring me a little bit,” he whispered. “Tell me what's going on.”

“I'm sorry, Namjoon,” Sejin sighed, “this isn't how I wanted to do things. You're completely safe, I promise, but I'm afraid I can't tell you much more than that.”

They pulled up to a construction site where a half-finished office building sat like a skeleton awaiting skin. There were bulldozers and cranes scattered around it, but the site looked completely deserted. “Are we… filming a video here?” Namjoon guessed.

“Just come with me,” Sejin said, getting out of the car. Namjoon followed him into the site and up into the building itself. The ground floor drywall was up, but the windows were covered with tarps and the floor was littered with construction debris. “Are you sure it’s safe to be here?” Namjoon asked, sidestepping a large metal crossbeam.

“It's fine,” Sejin assured him. “We're almost there.”

He led him up a flight of stairs to the second level and nodded for Namjoon to precede him into the room. This level didn’t have drywall yet, allowing him to see across the entire floor at a glance. The wooden frame work looked like dozens of random toothpicks that had been stuck into the building and forgotten about, and large swatches of yellow insulation hung down from the ceiling like cobwebs.

“Forgive the location.”

Namjoon turned around suddenly. “Mr. Bang,” he said, bowing deferentially.

The Big Hit CEO was a kind-faced man somewhere in his late forties, with neatly combed black hair and brown eyes that looked intently through his stylish glasses. He wore a black suit with a bright blue tie, the only spot of color in the dingy room.

“I know you're confused,” he said, taking a step forward, “but I want to thank you for cooperating with Sejin. We just needed a little more privacy than normal.”

“Sir?” Namjoon managed. A group of men came into view and he took a step back. “Who are these people?” he asked.

“I am Agent Tang Jongyeol,” the first man said, pulling out his badge, “and this is my partner, Agent Kae Chunyong. We work for the government.”

Agent Tang was a tall, muscular man with a piercing gaze, while Agent Kae was shorter and had broad shoulders. Both of them were grim and world-weary, and they wore matching suits with black ties.

Namjoon bowed again. “My name is-”

“We know who you are,” Kae interrupted. “These are our associates, Agents David Porter and Michael O’Hare from the FBI.”

These men pulled out their badges too and Namjoon bowed again. “I'm honored,” he said in English.

“It's okay, son, we're both fluent,” Porter said in Korean. “Well, isn't this cozy.”

“Did they tell you anything?” O’Hare asked. He had dark red hair and an odd accent, one Namjoon couldn’t place. “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “they didn’t tell me anything.”

“Good,” O’Hare said with a satisfied grunt, “that means we get to.”

“Chair?” Porter asked, pulling one from around the corner. Namjoon sat cautiously and waited for one of them to speak.

“We understand you’re… a celebrity, correct?” Porter asked.

Namjoon nodded.

“The thing is, we’ve been working with your government on a sting operation, and we believe you can help us close the deal.”

“Me?” Namjoon asked. “How?”

“There’s a man,” Tang said, stepping forward, “by the name of Song Jihoon that we’ve been keeping tabs on. He’s known as the kingpin of one of the largest Korean trafficking rings in the world. His main enterprise is marketing young Koreans to rich and powerful Americans over in the States.”

Namjoon felt a wave of nausea. “Go on,” he muttered.

“We’ve been keeping tabs on Mr. Song too,” O’Hare said, “and our governments have been working together for over six months to try and bring this entire ring down, but so far we haven’t been able to penetrate much farther than the main entrance. Which is where you come in.”

“We need you to pose as a client,” Kae cut in. “Your status as an idol will appeal to Song Jihoon’s vanity, and it’s likely that he’ll grant you things he wouldn’t normally give. You might even get to meet him in person.”

“It will be hard,” Tang added. “You’ll see and hear things that you could never imagine, but once you work your way up to his level we’ll be able to catch him and shut his crew down permanently.”

“What do you say, kid?” Porter asked.

Namjoon remained silent for a while, mulling over everything they had said. “I’m no secret agent,” he said finally.

“We’re not asking you to be,” Kae said.

“Then why me?” he shot back. “Why me and not someone who’s actually trained for this?”

“You’re more qualified than you think,” O’Hare replied, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “An IQ of a hundred and forty-eight, fluent in English, excellent leadership abilities, able to get results when under pressure.”

“Those are hardly qualifications for being a spy,” Namjoon said pointedly.

“No, but out of all of your peers, we’ve come to the conclusion that you’re the one best suited for the task,” Tang said.

Namjoon folded his arms resolutely. “No.”

“No?” Kae echoed. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“This isn’t a drama,” Namjoon replied, “and I’m not some leading man. Find an agent that actually knows what he’s doing and have him do it.”

“We did!” Porter snapped.

“Porter!” Tang barked, shaking his head at him.

“We’re asking a great deal of him, so we might as well be honest,” Porter argued. He walked over and Namjoon stood up as he approached. “Look kid, here’s the deal,” he said in a low voice. “We did put an agent on it, a nice guy by the name of Chong. He went in on this mission last month, but his cover was blown and he ended up being shot before we could pull him out.”

Namjoon dropped his arms slowly. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It has to be you, kid. If we try to line up someone else, this guy will become a ghost and the ring will keep hurting innocent kids. Think about them, at least. Don’t you want to help your countrymen?”

Namjoon felt conflicted and he sat down heavily.

“We know we’re asking a lot,” O’Hare added, “and yes, there’s quite a bit of risk involved, but this is a chance for you to save lives. We need you, son.”

Namjoon closed his eyes, trying to gather his racing thoughts. I can’t turn my back on this, he realized, but am I really capable of pulling this off?

He looked up at the agents again. “I’m not saying yes, but if I did, how would I do it?”

“It would be during your tour,” Sejin replied, speaking for the first time since they got there. “In fact, the entire American leg of your tour has been planned around the mission.”

“So you’ve known about this for weeks and haven’t said anything?”

“He wasn’t allowed to,” Mr. Bang said quickly. “Don’t be angry with your manager, he did everything that was asked of him.”

“What about my bandmates?” Namjoon asked. “When were they supposed to find out?”

“They aren’t,” Tang replied. “They can never have any idea about this. It will be your responsibility to carry out the mission without making them suspect anything.”

“It’s for their own safety,” O’Hare added. “There’s no reason to involve them in any of this, don’t you agree?”

Namjoon nodded reluctantly. “Tell me more,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Notes