Chapter Text
Taeyong knows that Shotaro and Sungchan have fully acclimated to work within NCT when the two agents show up bright and early one lovely afternoon, carrying a long branch between them. On that branch is a man, wearing a full golf uniform and strung up by his hands and ankles like a lamb ready to be roasted. His eyes are blindfolded and mouth sealed shut with a generous amount of duct tape, and what’s visible of his body is riddled with bruises and searing red welts.
“Good morning, sir!” Shotaro greets, doing his best to bow without dropping the branch. “We have returned from our mission!”
“I can see that,” Taeyong says slowly, eyeing the unfamiliar man the two juniors are holding. This entire scene somehow feels off. Taeyong honestly believes he’d sooner see Donghyuck and Jaemin pulling off something like this instead. “So, who’s our guest?”
“A hitman hired to murder us while we were on assignment,” Shotaro explains with a sweet smile. “We tracked him down after calculating the angle from which he tried to shoot at us. Twice.”
“Uh-huh, and how did you both manage to capture him and bring him all the way back here?”
“Well, sir, we didn’t really have the proper technology to capture and sedate him since we were on a golf course and all, so we had to improvise.” Sungchan raises a bloody seven iron proudly, like the golf club is some sort of grand trophy. “I hope you don’t plan on reusing this one, sir. It’s a bit bent.”
Taeyong has a bad, sinking feeling in his gut, and he doesn’t like it. “Is that one of our disguised golf club rifles?”
Sungchan blinks, looking genuinely confused. “Golf club rifles? What rifles? No sir, this is just a regular old seven iron.”
A regular old seven iron. Taeyong can’t believe this. All those years and money spent for their technicians to develop ingenious ways to conceal their agents’ weapons, and Sungchan had taken a literal golf club and bludgeoned the poor bastard the old-fashioned way. And from the looks of it, he had a ball whacking the man into the next dimension over. Taeyong honestly doesn’t know whether that’s more impressive or concerning.
“How did you two carry him from the course all the way here without having law enforcement called on you?”
Shotaro grins. “I called for the chopper. Nobody really thought too much of it because we were under the guise of rich heirs and all. The hitman wasn’t tied when we brought him on board. He was just knocked out and stuffed into a duffel bag.”
“A duffel bag.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you get him into the bag?”
Shotaro shifts his gaze to the man and bites his lip sheepishly. “Uh...we might have broken a couple limbs folding him in there.”
“A couple limbs,” Taeyong deadpans. “He’s only got four.”
“In that case, we might’ve broken all of them.”
“But in our defense, he’s taller than me and we only got a medium duffel bag,” Sungchan says. “Time was running out. Some things had to give.”
Taeyong is now positive these two have been spending too much time with Donghyuck and Jaemin. “So...why the branch?”
“For theatrics.”
Sungchan nods. “And because, well, we thought Chenle and Jaemin-hyung might get a good laugh out of it once we bring him to the interrogation room for some questions.”
For some odd reason—call it intuition, a gut feeling, or well-honed senses—Taeyong just knows that the interrogation room the juniors spoke of isn’t the actual interrogation room they have a floor above. He’s almost a hundred percent certain that they plan on taking the man to the torture exhibit in the labs so he can be the technician’s next weapons and gadgets dummy.
And knowing Chenle and Jaemin as well as their notorious sadistic streak, that man would be much better off dead. Those kids have less respect for enemy lives than war criminals from the first and second World Wars combined.
' What is wrong with this generation?’ Taeyong wonders as Shotaro and Sungchan lug the man’s unconscious body towards the staircase. ‘These kids are completely unhinged.’
They’ve really done it now. They’ve gone and taken two gentle, innocent boys and turned them into monsters. In less than a month, no less. Taeyong thinks he really should start planning his escape routes before Doyoung and Yuta get wind of what’s happened. Well, Yuta might not care that much. In fact, he’ll probably find the whole thing hilarious. Doyoung, however, will skin Taeyong alive when he finds out what happened to his kids. He’ll hang Taeyong by the balls and skin him alive, titles and positions be damned.
Taeyong pulls out his phone and dials his husband’s number, and Kun picks up on the second ring.
“Yes?”
“Listen, if you don’t hear from me for the next two days, it’s because Doyoung has murdered me and disposed of my body. I hope you still have the funeral plans ready and laid out.”
Kun makes a confused noise. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Shotaro and Sungchan returned from their mission with a hostage. They beat the crap out of the guy with golf clubs and are going to torture him with the technicians.”
“That sounds fun,” Kun says calmly. “Yangyang would definitely enjoy that. It’s a shame he’s on assignment with Yukhei right now.”
“Kun, I’m serious!” Taeyong hisses. “We’ve ruined those boys and Doyoung will kill me! Kill me!”
“If I couldn’t kill you, I doubt he’ll be any more successful, Taeyong. You need to relax.”
Taeyong scoffs and makes his way angrily to his office. “Yeah, you can tell me to relax, because you’re sat in a whole other country and not about to face Doyoung’s wrath any minute now.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I do have the funeral arrangements laid out and ready to be initiated.”
“Oh, I hate you.”
“I love you too, baobei. Now, pull yourself together and face your agent head-on like how you should. I have to go now. Good luck.”
“Kun, I—” The line goes dead, and Taeyong almost throws his phone through the window in his fury. “Fuck. Oh god, I’m fucked. This is bad. This is very bad.”
“What is bad?”
“Fucking hell!” Taeyong whips around and nearly collapses when he sees Taeil standing there, holding a mug of coffee and looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Hyung, don’t do that, damn it!”
“Your door wasn’t shut properly, and I could hear you yelling from two hallways down.” Taeil takes a long sip of his coffee and eyes Taeyong with all the aura of a lion about to tear into its prey. “What seems to be the trouble?”
Taeyong heaves a sigh and throws up his hands. “Have you seen Shotaro and Sungchan when they came in earlier?”
“I noticed it, yes.” A small smile breaks over Taeil’s lips, and it’s the one Taeyong has come to recognize as his ‘see-no-evil’ smile. “It was quite amusing.”
“Hyung, those kids beat a man to near-death with a golf club when they caught him trying to kill them.”
Taeil tsks in mock disappointment as he takes another sip from his mug. “Taeyong-ah, you say that like you wouldn’t have done the same ten years ago.”
Taeyong reigns in his temper before it can land him in trouble with Taeil also. “Hyung, I would’ve at least put the man out of his misery. Those kids are taking him to the torture chamber.”
“We paid for that torture chamber. I don’t see why the young agents and technicians should be prohibited from using it when they see fit. Who knows? They might even extract some useful information from the man as to his superiors and what they know about us.”
“Listen to yourself!” Taeyong exclaims, voice raising an entire octave in his distress. “These are the same kids we confiscate laser blades from and have to keep under constant surveillance in case they start cooking cocaine for fun!”
Taeil chuckles. “Small incidents compared to someone trying to assassinate our agents, wouldn’t you say?”
Taeyong shuts up then, because yes, torturing a hitman hired to kill his agents is better than having two dead agents. If either Shotaro or Sungchan were even remotely injured and Taeyong has anything to do with their safety—which he unfortunately does—Doyoung will launch a bazooka straight into his face. Taeyong knows Doyoung’s proficiency with all types of weaponry. Even if he doesn’t resort to some higher-grade weapons, Doyoung can still have Taeyong dead by the end of the day using nothing but a pen cap and maybe a comb.
He can try to explain his way out of the situation if it comes down to it, but then he’ll need Yuta, Taeil, Jungwoo, and pretty much all the other senior agents available to accompany him. That way, at least someone can try to hold Doyoung back when he discovers just how much his precious mentees/children have been corrupted. Taeyong’s dignity will be dragged through the mud and shat on, but he just might get out of that confrontation alive.
Might.
Taeyong considers calling Ten and Sicheng and having them talk down Doyoung from his homicidal urges, but given what hell Taeyong has put the two agents through, he doubts they’ll be willing to help him. He’s proven right when he calls, and is greeted by one tired, sharp, “What do you want?”
The tone of Ten’s voice startles Taeyong. He’s never heard the Thai agent sound so distraught while sober before. “Agent Ten, it’s Chief Director Lee.”
Ten lets out a little gasp. “Oh, excuse me, chief. My manners. It's been a long day, so please forgive me. I meant to say: what the fuck do you want, sir?”
Taeyong winces. “Would you by any chance be willing to talk down Agent Kim?”
“Which one?”
“Doyoung.”
“Who’d he kill?”
“Well, nobody yet, but he’s going to kill someone very soon.”
Ten bites into something and the crunch it creates makes Taeyong’s skin crawl. “Who’s it gonna be?”
“Me.”
“Oh. Good luck, then.” And then he hangs up.
Yep, Ten is definitely still mad. And knowing Sicheng, he’s only going to be worse. Though, Taeyong can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. He and Kun had been a little unfair in making him and Sicheng help plan out their wedding anniversary as a favor. Still, it stings a bit to know that someone he’s worked with for almost a decade will just leave him to grovel at Doyoung’s mercy.
If he even has any, considering what Shotaro and Sungchan had done.
Taeyong turns to Taeil and hopes his puppy-dog eyes are still effective. “Hyung, can I request a favor?”
Taeil closes his eye and rummages in his pocket before pulling out his foldable cane. He snaps it open and gestures for Taeyong to continue. “Let’s hear it on even grounds, shall we?”
“Not fair,” Taeyong grumbles under his breath. Of course Taeil will pull the blind card on him, that traitor. “Can you make sure Doyoung doesn’t find out about what Shotaro and Sungchan have done?”
“That would be withholding information.”
“Please. My life is at risk. Can’t you edit the video footage from their mission before he reviews it later?”
“That would be compromising information.”
“Can you at least tell him that Shotaro and Sungchan didn’t do anything worth special review?”
“That would be falsifying information.”
“Hyung!”
“You are Chief Director,” Taeil says in that infuriatingly calm way of his. “You should be able to handle your own agents, Doyoung included. A small matter such as this shouldn’t warrant me going against the law. The only way to save your ass is to do it yourself.” He turns and maneuvers his way to the door expertly. “I believe my business here is done. Have a good rest of your day.”
“I hate you.”
Taeil lifts his mug in a salute as his other hand pulls open the door. “Cheers, Taeyong.”
Useless. Everyone around Taeyong is absolutely fucking useless. Why does he even bother anymore? Kun is too far away to do anything in the given span of time, Taeil simply doesn’t care, and Ten would love nothing more than to see Taeyong’s world burn to the ground. Hell, he might even bring marshmallows and roast them over the fiery pit of Taeyong’s corpse.
Fuck it. He might as well roll the dice and take his chances with Doyoung finding out the truth. At most, he has a couple hours to prepare himself to either beg for mercy or fight for his life. At the very least, knowing Doyoung, he can try to explain how Shotaro and Sungchan’s method of conduct isn’t exactly his fault. And to be fair, neither of the boys are hurt. That’s all that matters to Doyoung at the end of the day.
But just to be safe, Taeyong arms himself with three knives and an expandable staff, because something tells him that he might not go home in one piece tonight.
“Gentlemen.” Johnny laces his hands on the table and glares—not look, not glance, but full-on glares—at Taeyong and Doyoung, both seated on opposite ends of the table. Neither men are visibly injured, but Doyoung’s eyes gleam with murderous intent and Taeyong looks like he’s calculating a hundred and two different escape scenarios in his head. “We have something important to discuss.”
“Here we go again,” Mark groans, already sliding down his seat and trying to disappear underneath the table.
Johnny turns his gaze to Mark, and he doesn’t look amused. “Sit up straight, Mark.”
Mark immediately rights his posture. “Yes, sir.”
Under any other circumstances, Johnny probably wouldn’t be so strict with his cousin, but the circumstances called for it. Too much has been going on lately, and somebody has to put their foot down. Johnny sighs and turns back at the agents and directors sitting around the table. “Now, our agenda for today. What is this I’m hearing about the Chief Director and Agent Kim getting into a physical altercation?”
“Director Seo,” Doyoung says, voice steely calm. “The junior agents Jung and Osaki came into the office holding a man like a roast pig. Now, what is wrong with that picture?”
From the far end of the table, both Shotaro and Sungchan hang their heads in shame.
Johnny rubs at his temples. “Worse has happened at NCT Seoul headquarters, Agent Kim. What’s your point?”
“I don’t so much mind them bringing in a man to be butchered, that’s not what I care about,” Doyoung elaborates. “But my concern is the sheer quickness in which their behavior deteriorated to such savage conditions. Not even a month in. A month!”
“It was bound to happen, and you know it!” Taeyong protests. “Try as I may, Agent Kim, not everyone here be kept pure and innocent! Not in this business.”
Doyoung shifts in his seat, and on either side of him, Yuta and Mark immediately grab onto his wrists. “Well, try harder.”
“I can’t control how unhinged our agents are or become!”
“And you’re a fair example for the pack to follow, isn’t that right?”
Ten snorts into his fist and Kun shoots him a dirty glare. Sicheng’s amusement is slightly more veiled, a thin smile gracing his lips as he watches the tension in the room escalate to a near-palpable state.
“Agent Kim,” Taeyong says, voice dropping into the low, authoritative tone he uses on serious business. “You would do well to remember your position here.”
Doyoung’s eyes narrow into knife-edged slits, and now even Shotaro and Sungchan look ready to bolt from their seats to restrain their mentor. “Chief Director, I mean you no offense, sir, but I speak the truth. How many lives, how many mentalities here have been warped under the conditions you put us under? Mark is on anti-anxiety medication around the clock and Jisung is scared to enter the training dome standing up straight because he keeps thinking he'll get a knife through the head! Are those normal behaviors to you?”
“Hey, hey,” Yuta cuts in, rubbing gentle circles along Doyoung’s forearm. “Slow down. Take it easy.”
Mark nods frantically. “Please, hyung. Please calm down.”
Doyoung takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. He doesn’t look any calmer. “You’ve ruined my kids.”
“Agent Kim,” Johnny sighs. “Agents Jung and Osaki are not your children.”
Yuta’s head snaps up at the comment, but it’s Doyoung who speaks first. “Right. Of course they’re not, Director Seo. Just like how Agent Mark Lee here is not your child. And how Agents Liu and Wong aren’t Kun’s children, either.”
A collective gasp echoes throughout the room. Mark looks shell-shocked, face slack and eyes open wide. Kun and Taeyong exchange matching glances of concern. Johnny’s expression is a weird mix between fury and speechlessness. Shotaro and Sungchan look utterly confused.
“I’ve made my point.” Doyoung leans back in his seat. “Make of it what you will.”
“I understand that you’re...protective over the junior agents,” Johnny manages after a long beat of silence. “But fighting won’t solve anything. Haven’t we all learned that from almost dying together once?”
“Yes. At the time, however, I just didn’t particularly care. You almost die once, you almost die a thousand times.”
Johnny drops his head straight down onto the table. “Oh god, oh god, oh god…”
“Well, from what I can see, this blame game has an easy fix,” Jungwoo pipes up from his position by Taeyong. “Why don’t we all just accept that fact that working here will mess you up beyond repair, go get a couple drinks, and move on with our lives?”
Johnny lets out something that sounds alarmingly like a sob. “That might’ve been the most intelligent thing anyone’s said this entire evening.”
“You know where the bar is,” Taeil says, not having looked up from the files he’s reading the entire time. “Help yourselves.”
Ten throws his hands towards the ceiling as he pops off his seat. “Hallelujah.”
Taeyong looks over at the senior director. “But Director Moon—”
“Listen, I’m over the petty arguments and fights this entire agency has bred,” Taeil says, finally raising his eye from the papers in his hands to glance around the room. Everyone freezes as that one sharp, dark eye glosses over them. “And frankly speaking, the only thing that results is a bad reputation on your end and a headache on mine. Now, either we all go get drunk and be one big happy family again, or you get the hell out before I take one of Johnny’s guns and shoot you.”
“Yes, sir,” the entire room answers as one.
Taeil nods in approval. “Good. Now let’s get wasted so we can all forget the stupidity of this entire day by tomorrow morning.”
"Oh," Chenle grins when Shotaro and Sungchan stumbles into the labs the following morning, looking gray. "Looks like somebody has now graduated from another level of becoming a full-fledged agent."
"Not so loud, please," Shotaro whimpers, holding his aching skull in his hands. "Is there water nearby?"
"Water, milk, whatever you want," Chenle replies, pointing to a table laden with breakfast foods and drinks by the entrance of the lab. "It's pancake day. Help yourselves."
"Thanks."
"What happened to you two, by the way?" Jaemin asks from where he's flipping pancakes on the electric griddle. "You both look like Mark-hyung after he almost gets killed. Again."
"Hangover," Sungchan replies, pouring himself a cup of orange juice and Shotaro a glass of water. "We were called to a meeting with the directors and senior agents. It didn't go so well."
A knowing grin spreads over Jaemin's face. "Lemme guess, Director Moon just made everyone drink together and you two were pulled in."
"That's exactly what happened."
"How did you know?"
Jaemin shrugs. "We've all been through it at least once. When shit goes down, the best way to fix things is just to get so fucking plastered you forget what you were even fighting over in the first place."
Shotaro frowns. "I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."
"The world is a large and wonderful place," Jaemin says wisely. "There's many facets to solving our problems that can combine to form a multitude of solutions. Some are more conventional, and some just work better."
"Please don't talk math to us right now," Sungchan groans as he nurses his juice. "I don't think I can even understand Korean properly."
"I can speak English, if you want. Or French. Or Chinese. Wait, hold on." Jaemin leans past Sungchan's frame and shouts over to Chenle, "Lele! How many languages do you speak?"
"Chinese, Korean, English, Spanish, and a bit of Japanese," Chenle yells back. Both Sungchan and Shotaro wince at the volume. "Why?"
"I think Taro and Bambi here might need an explanation on how group bonding exercises here—"
"No, we really don't," Sungchan interrupts before Jaemin can finish. Shotaro nods gingerly. "Please. Just let us suffer in peace."
Jaemin hums and returns to his pancake-flipping. "Suit yourselves. It's part of the process. I can't wait to see what hell you two will raise in a year."
"We've been keeping notes," Chenle adds. "It's even alphabetized."
"And there's always space in the Hall of Infamy."
"Uh..." Shotaro and Sungchan exchange an uneasy glance. "I think...we might be in there already."