Thieves and Thrones: An NCT Mafia Story

Snitches Get Stitches

"Where did she even come from?"

Chaos. Shots. Blood.

The alley walls are echoing with screeching tires in the dead of night. The worn road is still wet from a summer shower earlier that day and Mark, clad in a bulletproof vest with a tech bag slung over his shoulder, is bent over a young woman splayed out near the mouth of the alley, pressing his palms over her abdomen.

He looks past the mint green fabric covered in blood to dark brown eyes wide with fear.

"Get the car! She's losing too much blood!" Mark shouts as the last pop of a gun rings and the sound of an engine fades away.

Mark hears footfalls jog toward him and he quickly picks up the sidearm he tossed on the ground to point it behind him.

Yuta raises his arms, a faint smirk playing on his lips. As usual, he's holstered with two sidearms and the 'extra one just in case' is in his hand. His head-to-toe black on black suit hides the body armor well.

"The Doc is out of town, Mark, "Yuta says, putting his hands down and crouching next to Mark, a sheen of sweat on his brow and small tendrils of bronzed curls falling over his forehead.

"What's your name?" Yuta asks the woman, who is struggling for breath.

"We can take her to the hospital," Mark pleads, looking from the girl to Yuta's calm and collected features.

"And explain this how? We're already being monitored," Yuta argues. "Besides, I don't think she's going to make it all the way across town."

"Then we take her to the compound," Mark demands.

The pair stare at each other for only a moment, Mark hardening his resolve.

"Fine. But you're taking the blame. I'm just driving," Yuta replies, brushing the girl's forehead with a gentle touch.

"Put your hands here," Mark says.

Without delay, he pulls his bag in front of him and tugs at a velcro flap while Yuta presses his palms firmly, but gently on the woman's stomach.

"What's your name?" Yuta asks again as Mark pulls out a small bottle from the pouch in his bag.

"Na–ra," the woman struggles to reply, sipping shallow breaths of air.

"I'm just lifting your shirt to try and close this until we get where we're going, okay?" Mark emphasizes.

Nara nods, tears streaming down the side of her face.

Yuta lifts his hands as Mark pulls up the shirt to reveal blood pooling out of a bullet wound in the woman's stomach.

"What are you doing?" Yuta asks.

"Taeyong taught me this. Emergency triage to stop the bleeding," Mark replies as he wipes the wound with the sleeve of his dark blue shirt shirt and immediately squeezes the clear, viscous contents of the small bottle onto the opening in her stomach.

He tosses it aside and pinches the wound shut. The woman gasps.

"I know. I'm sorry," Mark apologizes, genuine empathy wrapped in his tone.

"Mark, this is super glue," Yuta says, half confused, half intrigued.

"It'll hold it closed until we get there," Mark explains, pinching the wound and exhaling with impatience.

"Please—I—I—my d—

Nara lays her hands on top of Mark's, squeezing them as her face contorts into agony. Mark purses his lips and furrows his brow in frustration.