Namjoon is sent to the Bellflower Estate, where he begins his new life with six of the deadliest people in all of korea, their motherly maid, and his three(ish) bodyguards.
highest ranking - 2 in bottomjoon
10 i...
and namjoon knew that. it was a cautionary lesson he'd been taught early on in life when he was messing around with a pistol without the safety on, and nearly shot his father in the foot. from that day on he'd been taught the proper way to handle any firearm, and how to aim — how to aim for the kill — even at moving targets.
so that morning when they went down to their shooting range after breakfast, no one was surprised when he hit the target (a silhouette of a man's upper body) dead-center on his first try.
a single bullet hole resided in the center of the target's forehead, and namjoon clicked the safety of the gun back on, lowering his arm back down to his side.
hoseok stepped up next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "impressive, namjoon-ah. you just might replace yoongi-hyung as our sharpshooter."
namjoon's wide eyes flitted between hoseok and yoongi, whose steely gaze seemed to bore into his soul. he spluttered for a response. "n-no, i'm not here to replace anyone—!"
he was cut off by the soft laughter of the elite team, and seokjin pat the top of his head lightly. "relax, namjoon-ah. we're well aware of what your role will be, once you're ready for it."
namjoon's cheeks flushed red, and he scratched the back of his head. "uh, yeah, right."
thee was a slight awkward pause, before yoongi spoke. "here's a small tip, namjoon-ah. when you have a moving target, aim for the chest, not the head. even if you miss their heart, there's a bigger chance of hitting something than if you were aiming for their head." namjoon nodded, gripping pistol just a bit tighter. yoongi then pushed up off of the bench he was sitting on and held up a sniper gun — a Barret M95. "you know how to use this?"
namjoon nodded.
"good," yoongi swapped him the handgun for the Barret, then sat back down on the bench. "then show me. aim for one of the moving targets — their chest, this time."
"got it." namjoon sucked in a deep breath, then turned back toward the targets.
⌲
namjoon stood in front of his misty bathroom mirror, the hot shower water running behind him and whiskey and morphine by alexander jean playing from his phone's speakers.
lips pursed, he started down at the few scars that littered his upper body; the small, round, white concave hole in between his collarbones from accidentally hitting himself with a sparkler when he was five; the logo branded on his right shoulder he got when he was twelve, making him an official part of his father's... organization — the same brand every member got when they joined; the jagged cut on his left side from when a rogue member ambushed him a week after he turned sixteen.
the damage done to his body was minuscule compared to what jooheon's would look like when he was fully healed. luckily, with modern advanced technology, they were already working on finding a way for him to walk again. but the mental trauma, namjoon knew, would take the biggest toll on him.
at breakfast that morning, when wonho brought him down to the dining room in his wheelchair, namjoon could tell his friend was plagued with yet another sleepless night.
he kept telling himself that at least jooheon was alive. but he knew jooheon didn't see it that way, at least not now, despite how positive he tried to seem.
when the song was over, and easily by bruno major started playing, namjoon stepped into the shower, washing up quick before he had to join the others in the meeting room.
it was time for namjoon to learn more about the group — and finally join one of them in a mission.
a/n; the disappointment is real
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