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“Lights, Camera, Hostage Situation! Seoul Police Hand Out Sleeping Bags While Secrets Spill”
Seoul Inside
Author: Kang Jun-seo
11.11.2024 – Lotte World Tower Chaos
What was supposed to be the event of the year has turned into the scandal of the decade, with Seoul’s police force firmly establishing itself as the most useless wedding crasher of all time. The high-profile nuptials of tech tycoon Lee Sanghoon and influencer queen Han Yejin were hijacked—literally—by a group of masked bandits straight out of a K-drama nightmare. And what are the police doing? Watching. Just watching.
Let’s set the scene: the glittering ballroom at the Lotte World Tower was packed with Seoul’s elite, streaming live for millions of eager fans. The couple’s big moment was building to a crescendo when, just as the parents’ speeches were about to start, a group of mysterious figures in Korean Hahoetal masks stormed the venue. Suddenly, Seoul’s most exclusive guest list became unwilling participants in a hostage drama.
The bandits didn’t stop there. No, these criminals have taken the chaos to the next level by turning it into prime-time entertainment. They’ve started hourly livestreams, spilling the dirty secrets of the rich and famous for all to see. Forget Netflix—this is the most shocking show in town.
Celebrity Secrets, Now on Sale!
The first bombshells dropped like fireworks at midnight. Actor Woo Jungho, the nation’s heartthrob, was exposed as having a tangled financial connection to Han Yejin’s family. But the real gasp-inducer? Actress Yoo Harin—her pristine public image shredded to tatters as the livestreams revealed her secret ties to the narcotics trade. Yes, folks, the queen of the red carpet might also be the queen of the underground.
And it doesn’t stop there. The kidnappers have promised even juicier revelations, turning their sights on the bride herself. Last night, they announced an auction for Han Yejin’s darkest secrets, with bidding open to anyone willing to pay the price. The result? An online frenzy, as the whole world waits to see what skeletons the glamorous bride has stuffed in her designer closet.
Seoul Police: Sleeping Through the Scandal?
What are the authorities doing while this circus unfolds? Oh, they’ve been very busy…handing out sleeping bags to the kidnappers. Yes, you read that right. Instead of storming the building or making meaningful progress, Seoul’s finest have decided to roll out the red carpet for the criminals, providing “comfort items” to ensure the masked marauders get a good night’s sleep.
It’s been 12 hours since the chaos began, and the police have yet to make a single move. No announcements, no strategies, no visible attempts to diffuse the situation. It’s almost as if they’re tuning into the livestreams themselves, popcorn in hand. Meanwhile, the nation watches in stunned disbelief as the elite hostages remain at the mercy of the masked invaders.
The Real Question: Who’s Behind the Masks?
Speculation is running rampant about the identity of the kidnappers and their motives. Are they political activists? Disgruntled employees of the Lee family empire? Or just garden-variety criminals with a flair for drama? The only thing that’s clear is that these bandits are as organized as they are theatrical.
Their masks—traditional Korean Hahoetal—are already becoming a symbol of defiance. And their calculated moves, from the livestream reveals to the auction, suggest this isn’t a spur-of-the-moment heist. No, this is a meticulously planned operation designed to humiliate Seoul’s elite—and the police force that’s supposed to protect them.
A National Embarrassment
As the hours drag on, public outrage is mounting. Social media is ablaze with memes mocking the police, with hashtags like #SeoulSleepingForce and #HeistLive trending worldwide. Citizens are demanding answers, but so far, all they’ve gotten is silence.
The question on everyone’s lips: how long will this go on? And how much more dirt will be aired before someone—anyone—steps in to stop it?
For now, one thing is certain: the once-golden image of Seoul’s elite has been permanently tarnished. And as the secrets keep spilling, it’s hard not to wonder—are the real villains in masks, or were they seated at the wedding tables all along?
*******
Jungkook
Jungkook’s body felt heavy as he leaned back into the driver’s seat, his eyes gritty from two hours of fitful sleep that barely made a dent in his exhaustion. The cold shower had shocked him awake, but the effects were wearing off as the early morning gloom of Seoul crept over the streets. The dashboard clock read 5:00 a.m., but he couldn’t afford to think about the time. Not when three hours was all they had before those masked lunatics went live again to drag the police’s name through the mud.
The roads were quiet, unnervingly so, a sharp contrast to the chaos that had consumed the Lotte World Tower and the police tent stationed just outside it. The windshield wipers swiped away the mist gathering in the crisp dawn air as Jungkook drove, his thoughts as relentless as the rhythmic sound. The kidnappers weren’t just criminals—they were showmen. Every move they made wasn’t just strategic; it was theatrical, calculated to humiliate the authorities and keep the public hooked.
And it was working.
As he turned onto a busier street, his headlights caught the bright colors of a newsstand. Even from the car, he could see the newspapers freshly stacked for the morning rush, and his stomach twisted. He already knew what they would say, what everyone would be talking about. The heist. The hostages. The utter failure of the Seoul police.
The car screeched to a halt at the curb as Jungkook braked abruptly, his instincts overriding his exhaustion. He shoved the door open and strode to the stand, the early chill biting at his face. The vendor barely looked up from his seat as Jungkook grabbed one of the papers, tossing a few bills onto the counter before retreating to the car.
Settling into the driver’s seat, he flipped open the paper, his gut tightening with every word. The headline screamed at him in bold, mocking letters:
“Lights, Camera, Hostage Situation! Seoul Police Hand Out Sleeping Bags While Secrets Spill”
Jungkook clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. His fingers tightened on the edges of the newspaper as he read, each line a carefully sharpened barb. The article didn’t just critique the police response—it tore it to shreds, painting them as inept spectators in a show directed by the kidnappers. And the photograph—God, the photograph—was worse.
It showed two of the masked criminals accepting sleeping bags from uniformed officers, their expressions hidden behind the traditional Hahoetal masks but their body language oozing smugness. It was humiliating. Jungkook could practically hear the jeers of the public, see the hashtags trending online: #SeoulSleepingForce, #HeistLive, #HostageCircus.
The words blurred as anger flared hot in his chest. They didn’t know what it was like on the ground. The decisions that had to be made in the moment. The calculated risks. But none of that mattered now. This photograph, this article—it was all anyone would care about. The police force wasn’t just failing to solve the crisis; they were becoming a national embarrassment.
Jungkook slammed the newspaper onto the passenger seat and started the car again, the engine growling as he hit the gas harder than necessary. The streets passed in a blur as his thoughts churned, anger and frustration battling for dominance. He hated this feeling—the helplessness, the way it clawed at him from the inside. He wasn’t used to being stuck in place, unable to act. That’s what this entire situation felt like. A trap.
The masked criminals were always one step ahead, taunting them with their livestreams, their carefully planned reveals. And the police? The police were scrambling to keep up, always reacting instead of taking control. Jungkook hated reacting. He wanted to act, to make them pay for turning this city into a circus. But every lead had turned into a dead end, and the clock was ticking louder with each passing second.
By the time he reached the police tent, the early dawn light was creeping over the skyline, but it did nothing to soften the tension in the air. He parked haphazardly, not caring about the crooked angle, and stormed inside. The familiar sounds of muted voices, clattering keyboards, and shuffling papers greeted him, but it did little to ground him.
Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He went straight to Captain Park’s desk, the newspaper still crumpled in his hand. The older man looked up, weariness etched into every line of his face.
“Sir,” Jungkook started, his voice tight, “this is what’s circulating right now. Everywhere. Look at this.”
He slapped the newspaper onto the desk, the headline glaring up at them both. Captain Park’s eyes scanned the page, his brows furrowing as he took it in. Jungkook didn’t wait for a response.
“They’re making a mockery of us,” he continued, his tone rising. “Sleeping bags, sir. They’re saying we’re handing out sleeping bags to criminals like it’s some kind of charity event. Do you know how this looks? How this makes all of us look?”
Captain Park’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. Jungkook pressed on, his frustration boiling over.
“The public thinks we’re incompetent. No, they know we’re incompetent, and this—this headline? It just proves it. We need to do something. A press conference, a statement—anything to show we’re not just sitting here while those masked freaks run the show!”
The captain sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “And what exactly do you suggest we say, Jungkook? That we’re ‘working on it’? That we’ve got a secret plan we can’t reveal? Because I don’t think anyone’s going to buy that right now.”
“We need to take back the narrative,” Jungkook argued. “Let the public know we’re not backing down, that we’re doing everything we can to end this. Even if it’s just words, it’s better than letting them think we’re doing nothing.”
In the corner, Seokjin looked up from his laptop, where he’d been monitoring the livestream archives. He picked up the newspaper, his lips quirking into a faint smirk as he read.
“They’re not wrong, though,” Seokjin said, holding up the offending photograph. “This is a terrible look for us.”
Jungkook shot him a glare, his patience fraying. “Thanks, Seokjin. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
Seokjin shrugged, unbothered by the tension. “Just saying. Whoever took this photo had a good eye for drama. Almost impressive, if it weren’t so infuriating.”
Jungkook turned back to Captain Park, his voice hard. “Sir, we can’t afford to sit on this. The next livestream is in three hours. If we don’t act before then, it’s over. The public will lose what little faith they still have in us. We have to do something. Now.”
The captain studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll call for a briefing. But Jungkook…”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’re leading it. You’re the one who seems to care the most about how this looks, so you can be the face of our response. Get your arguments straight and be ready to speak to the press.”
Jungkook froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden responsibility. Then he straightened, determination hardening his expression. “Understood, sir.”
As the captain began making calls, Jungkook turned to Seokjin, who was still scrolling through the livestream footage with infuriating calm.
“You coming, or are you just going to sit there and critique the media coverage?” Jungkook asked, his tone sharp.
Seokjin grinned faintly. “Relax, Jungkook. I’ve got your back. Someone has to make sure you don’t say something that’ll make tomorrow’s headlines even worse.”
Jungkook didn’t respond, already pacing as he began mentally preparing for the briefing. He hated the spotlight, but if stepping into it was what it took to salvage their reputation—and his pride—he’d do it. Because failure wasn’t an option. Not for him. Not now.
*******
Seokjin - Ghost
Seokjin sat hunched over his laptop in the corner of the bustling police tent, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he scrolled through hours of audio logs. His screen was a chaotic mess of lines, timestamps, and sound waves, each one representing hours of bugged conversations from inside the Lotte World Tower. His headphones sat slightly askew on his head, one ear uncovered to catch the ambient noise of the tent in case someone called for him. Not that anyone ever did unless they needed a status report—or to complain about how slow everything was going.
“Seokjin.”
The chair next to him scraped noisily as Jungkook sat down without waiting for an invitation. Seokjin sighed, resigned, and finally turned his attention to the younger man. Jungkook looked like he hadn’t slept in days—not that any of them had—but there was a sharp determination in his eyes that Seokjin recognized all too well.
“Got a minute?” Jungkook asked, his tone brisk.
“Sure,” Seokjin replied, gesturing for him to sit.
What’s the status on the bugs in the sleeping bags? Anything we can use?”
Seokjin leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “Depends on what you mean by ‘use‘. The crew’s been keeping things quiet, mostly resting. They’re careful—barely say anything unless it’s necessary. But there’s something.”
Jungkook leaned forward, his sharp eyes locking onto Seokjin. “Go on.”
“There are four voices we keep hearing,” Seokjin explained, bringing up a log. “They aren’t addressing each other by real names—just codenames. Barcelona, Havana, Vienna, and Cairo. They seem to be the main players inside.”
Jungkook frowned. “No mention of Seonsaengnim?”
Seokjin shook his head. “None. So far. Whoever this guy is—he hasn’t come up in their conversations. Either he’s not there, or he’s using some other method to communicate with them. But as far as I can tell, they don’t refer to him at all.”
“That’s strange,” Jungkook muttered. “He’s the mastermind. You’d think they’d need to talk to him constantly.”
Seokjin hesitated before responding, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe he’s like one of those invisible bosses in video games. Just lurking in the shadows, waiting to ruin your day.”
Jungkook didn’t react to the joke, his mind clearly elsewhere. “What else do we know about these codenames?”
“Well,” Seokjin began, scrolling through the notes he’d compiled, “Barcelona and Havana seem to be managing the hostages. They’re the ones interacting the most with the people inside. Havana’s got a loud, confident voice—seems to be the one keeping things calm but firm. Barcelona, on the other hand, is… smooth. He’s got this way of speaking that feels both charming and dangerous.”
Jungkook nodded, absorbing the information. “And Vienna?”
“Logistics,” Seokjin said. “You can tell he’s the planner. The way he talks—methodical, deliberate. He’s the one making sure everything runs on schedule. Probably the guy behind their escape routes.”
“And Cairo?”
Seokjin hesitated, his throat tightening as the name hit him like a punch to the gut. He forced himself to keep his tone even. “The tech guy. He’s the one handling their systems, keeping them one step ahead of us. Whoever he is, he’s good. Scary good.”
Jungkook frowned, sensing there was more. “What aren’t you telling me, Seokjin?”
Seokjin shook his head, forcing a smirk. “Relax, Jungkook. It’s nothing. Just professional jealousy. You know how it is—being the smartest guy in the room isn’t as fun when there’s competition.”
Jungkook didn’t laugh. He just stared at Seokjin, his gaze unrelenting. Seokjin shifted uncomfortably, hating how transparent he felt under Jungkook’s scrutiny.
He quickly added. „But seriously, the guy’s a problem. If he finds out about the bugs, we’re screwed.”
“Then let’s make sure he doesn’t,” Jungkook said firmly. He stood, his voice rising as he addressed the rest of the tent. “Everyone, listen up! The press conference is set for 7 a.m. That gives us less than two hours to finalize our reports. I want detailed summaries from every department. No excuses.”
The officers scrambled to action, the air in the tent crackling with urgency.
Seokjin turned back to his laptop, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Cairo’s message still lingered in his mind, a dark reminder of the stakes. If Cairo really did know who he was—if he exposed his past—Seokjin would lose everything.
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no room for doubt. He wasn’t Ghost anymore.
But as he clicked on another audio file, the mocking tone of Cairo’s message echoed in his memory. Wouldn’t it be only fair if Seokjin also knew the identity of that bastard?
*******
Vienna
The tension in the Lotte World Tower had mellowed into an uneasy quiet. The hostages, draped in tailored suits and designer dresses, were huddled together in miserable discomfort. Their carefully curated lives had likely never prepared them for this—a cold marble floor instead of memory foam mattresses and silk sheets. Namjoon watched them with a mixture of amusement and disdain. This was an elite crowd, the kind that bought their way out of trouble and stayed comfortably numb to the world’s chaos. Tsk. A little floor time won’t kill them.
Nearby, Barcelona stretched lazily, switching spots with Havana to keep an eye on the group. Jimin’s signature smirk lingered on his lips as he surveyed the room, his charisma still managing to radiate menace despite the fatigue creeping into his features. Hoseok, ever the optimist, rolled his shoulders, stretching with an ease that belied his capability to break someone’s nose in one smooth motion.
Cairo, on the other hand, was dead to the world. Arms interlaced, head tilted against the wall, he looked like he hadn’t moved in hours. His laptop was balanced precariously on his lap, the screen dimmed to conserve battery. He wasn’t asleep, not really. Namjoon knew the hacker well enough by now to understand that Yoongi‘s version of resting involved a half-conscious state where his brain probably kept solving algorithms in his dreams.
Namjoon? He hadn’t slept.
But that was nothing new.
Years of military missions, extended operations, and sleepless nights had honed his body to store energy like a well-oiled machine. He didn’t need much rest, just bursts of quiet focus to recalibrate. And right now, he was tuned into the low murmur of the local online radio show filtering through their earpieces. Seonsaengnim’s creation.
“…the weather this evening will be cold, with a slight chance of drizzle. Perfect for staying indoors and keeping warm, don’t you think?” the voice over the radio said cheerfully.
Namjoon’s lips curled into a subtle smile. There it is.
The weather report wasn’t a weather report. It was a command.
Seonsaengnim’s voice came next, casual yet brimming with authority, buried beneath the guise of a friendly announcer. “Looks like we’ve got a storm rolling in—not outside, of course, but right here. Time to test those windows and see what cracks under pressure. Let’s make it interesting, shall we?”
The message was clear. Distract the police.
Namjoon’s mind was already working. He glanced around the room, ensuring no one else was within earshot. The sleeping devices the crew used—standard issue, but bugged with police surveillance—would be their weapon. He motioned for the others to follow him, away from the sleeping bags and into a corner by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul’s skyline.
“Vienna,” Hoseok drawled, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned against the glass. “You look like you’re about to make us do something messy.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Namjoon replied dryly. His tone was calm, but his eyes gleamed with purpose. “Seonsaengnim wants the next move. Distraction. Something to make the cops chase their tails while we stay ahead.”
Yoongi opened one eye, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Let me guess. We use the bugs?”
“Exactly.” Namjoon nodded. “We feed them a story—something big enough to pull their attention, but subtle enough that it doesn’t look like a trap. They’ve been listening to us sleep; let’s give them a nightmare.”
Jimin’s smirk widened. “I love a good performance. What’s the play?”
Namjoon crossed his arms, lowering his voice. “We make them think we’re working with someone outside. An accomplice they haven’t accounted for.”
Hoseok raised an eyebrow. “You mean like Seonsaengnim?”
“No,” Namjoon said firmly. “This is different. We’ll plant a conversation—mention a drop point outside the tower, coordinates, a coded handoff. Make it sound like someone’s sneaking in to help us escape.”
Yoongi straightened, his interest piqued. “I can code a fake transmission to back that up. Something they’ll intercept if they’re sniffing around our signals. But we’ll need a location that makes sense.”
Namjoon gestured to the laptop. “Find somewhere near the perimeter—just close enough to be plausible, but far enough to make them waste time.”
“On it,” Yoongi muttered, already pulling his device closer and typing rapidly.
Meanwhile, Jimin leaned closer to Namjoon, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And the dialogue? Want me to sweet-talk the bugs?”
Namjoon smirked. “I think you’re overqualified for this one. Keep it simple. Something like, ‘The package is at 37.5112° N, 127.0988° E. Wait for the signal before you move.’”
Hoseok let out a low whistle. “Sounds official. They’ll eat it up.”
“They will if we’re careful,” Namjoon said. “Once we’ve planted it, we act normal. No second-guessing. They can’t know it’s bait.”
Yoongi looked up, his expression blank but his tone amused. “Coordinates ready. Want me to add a little noise to the signal? Maybe a police scanner frequency to make it sound legit?”
“Perfect,” Namjoon said. “The louder, the better.”
As the crew dispersed to execute the plan, Namjoon glanced out at the city skyline, the lights glittering against the dark sky. The police would take the bait—he was sure of it.
And if they didn’t?
Well, there was always a bigger storm waiting in the wings.
*******
Havana
Hoseok stretched his arms over his head, letting out a dramatic groan as he leaned back against the glass wall. His sharp eyes scanned the room, though his face betrayed nothing but boredom. The hostages shifted uncomfortably on the cold floor, and he bit back a smirk. Poor things. Probably used to their soft, overstuffed memory foam mattresses and silk sheets. Now they had to deal with reality—hard floors and nerves stretched tighter than a violin string.
Jimin caught his eye from across the room, a faint twitch of amusement on his lips as he leaned lazily against a chair. Hoseok winked, tossing him a grin, before his attention shifted to Namjoon.
Vienna gave the subtle signal, a barely perceptible tilt of his head. Showtime. Hoseok rolled his shoulders and pushed off the wall, strolling toward the bugged sleeping bags. He made it look casual, throwing in an exaggerated yawn for good measure. Behind him, the rest of the team followed suit, drifting toward the area with practiced ease.
Hoseok crouched by one of the bags, picking at its zipper like it had personally offended him. “You know,” he said loudly, “I’m starting to think this spot is a little too exposed. What if someone sees?”
Jimin didn’t even look up, but his voice was laced with playful irritation. “Relax, Havana. The signal’s solid. Unless you’ve suddenly developed X-ray vision, no one’s seeing through three floors of concrete.”
“I’m just saying,” Hoseok grumbled, tugging harder at the zipper. “Feels risky. What if it goes south, huh? What if the guy outside screws up? What’s his name again? Package Boy?”
Jimin’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “It’s Signal,” he corrected, his voice low but edged with mock annoyance. “Don’t call him Package Boy.”
“Oh, my bad.” Hoseok held up his hands in mock surrender. “Signal. Sure. Because that’s not the name of a guy who gets lost on his way to the drop point.”
Yoongi, sitting nearby with his laptop perched on his knees, didn’t even look up. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll call him ‘Your Replacement.’”
“Touchy, touchy,” Hoseok muttered, his grin widening. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the hostage situation.”
Namjoon’s voice cut through, calm and measured. “Enough. The drop point is set, and Signal knows what he’s doing. Seonsaengnim vetted him personally.”
Hoseok made a show of squinting at him, like he was trying to detect any hint of doubt. “Yeah, and how many people has Seonsaengnim vetted, huh?”
Jimin snorted, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Hoseok shrugged. “What can I say? I have trust issues. Comes with the job.”
Yoongi, still typing away, added, “And yet we have to trust you to keep the hostages in line. Life’s full of mysteries.”
Hoseok barked out a laugh. “Fair point, Cairo. But let’s be honest, the hostages like me. I’ve got that… approachable vibe.”
Namjoon’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Sure, if ‘approachable’ means ‘constantly threatening them with zip ties.’”
“Hey,” Hoseok shot back, pointing a finger at him, “you can’t argue with results.”
With that, Hoseok knelt back down, muttering under his breath just loud enough for the bugs to catch. “37.5112° N, 127.0988° E. Better not mess this up, Signal. Seonsaengnim’s counting on you. We all are.” He threw in a dramatic sigh for good measure, shaking his head like he was genuinely worried.
When he rejoined the others, his grin was practically splitting his face. “Well, that was fun. Think they’ll buy it?”
Jimin crossed his arms, his smirk confident. “Oh, they’ll buy it. Hook, line, and sinker.”
Yoongi finally looked up from his laptop, his expression as unimpressed as ever. “If they don’t, I’m officially giving up on law enforcement as a concept.”
Hoseok clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, Cairo, don’t give up now. You’d miss all this excitement. And me. Admit it, I’m your favorite.”
Yoongi just rolled his eyes, but Namjoon was already speaking, his tone calm but satisfied. “They’ll bite. And when they do, we’ll be three steps ahead.”
Hoseok leaned back against the wall, hands behind his head. “Man, I love this job. You think the cops enjoyed the show? I hope they had popcorn.”
Namjoon glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t matter if they enjoyed it. What matters is they’re chasing ghosts now.”
Hoseok chuckled, his laughter echoing softly through the room. “Well, in that case… let’s hope they run fast.”
*******
Seokjin - Ghost
Seokjin leaned back in his chair, a hand hovering over the volume knob as voices crackled through the bugging device. Hours of their chatter filled the small room, but this particular exchange had him sitting upright. The tone of the conversation had shifted—it wasn’t just banter now.
“Havana, you’re unbelievable,” a smooth voice said, his tone dripping with exasperation.
“I’m just saying this spot feels a little too exposed,” Havana shot back. “What if someone sees?”
The other person sighed loudly, clearly irritated. This must be Barcelona. “The signal’s solid.”
Signal. Seokjin’s ears perked up.
“Feels risky,” Havana grumbled. “What if it goes south, huh? What if the guy outside screws up? What’s his name again? Package Boy?”
Barcelona voice dropped, suddenly sharp. “It’s Signal. Don’t call him Package Boy.”
“Oh, my bad. Signal. Sure. Because that’s not the name of a guy who gets lost on his way to the drop point,” Havana quipped, clearly enjoying himself.
Another voice cut in, calm and razor-sharp. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll call him ‘Your Replacement.’”
Seokjin’s stomach twisted. This was him. Cairo.
Seokjin couldn’t shake the feeling. He didn’t know Cairo’s face, but the cadence of his voice was like an echo from a life he’d spent years trying to bury. It was impossible, wasn’t it? He shoved the thought aside and forced himself to concentrate. If he wasn’t careful, someone might notice his reaction.
But Cairo’s voice struck him like a hammer—steady, cold, and dripping with confidence. It carried an arrogance he recognized but couldn’t place. He leaned closer to the receiver, straining to pick up every syllable.
“Touchy, touchy,” Havana muttered, his grin practically audible. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the hostage situation.”
Last but not least. Vienna’s voice joined in, calm and measured. “Enough. The drop point is set, and Signal knows what he’s doing. Seonsaengnim vetted him personally.”
Seokjin grabbed his notepad, jotting down every detail. Signal. Drop point. Seonsaengnim vetted him. He could practically feel the gears in his mind turning.
“37.5112° N, 127.0988° E,” Havana muttered under his breath. “Better not mess this up, Signal. Seonsaengnim’s counting on you. We all are.”
The coordinates made Seokjin’s hand freeze mid-scribble. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him as he replayed Havana’s muttered words. This was actionable.
He rewound the recording, focusing again on Cairo’s voice. He didn’t know why, but it gnawed at him. There was something about it—something just out of reach. It wasn’t familiarity exactly; it was more like recognizing a melody without being able to name the song.
Who was he?
Seokjin shoved the headphones off his ears and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Cairo’s voice lingered in his mind, swirling with questions he couldn’t afford to answer. For now, he needed to focus on the coordinates. Anything more would lead to questions he couldn’t answer.
He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his notes, and walked to the bullpen, masking the unease that coiled tightly in his chest.
“Captain,” he said evenly, stepping into the room where Captain Park and Jungkook were deep in conversation.
Both men turned to him, their eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“I was monitoring the crew’s bug feed,” Seokjin began, holding up his notes. “They let something slip. They’ve got someone on the ground, an operative called Signal, stationed at these coordinates.” He handed the paper to Captain Park, tapping the circled numbers.
Captain Park’s face lit up as he scanned the page. “Finally,” he muttered, then raised his voice. “Finally, a lead we can act on.”
Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he read over the notes. “Signal. Why does that sound like bait?”
Seokjin shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. “It might be. But if they’ve stationed someone there, it’s worth the risk. If Signal is handling a shipment, it could be critical to their operation.”
Captain Park nodded decisively. “Good. Jeon, contact the special ops team. We’ll hit this location fast. If Signal’s there, we’ll grab him and whatever he’s transporting. This could be our first major win in this case.”
Jungkook straightened, already reaching for his phone. “I’ll have them mobilize immediately.”
“And include it in the press conference,” Captain Park added. “The public needs to see we’re making progress.”
Jungkook just nodded.
Seokjin stepped back, watching as the team began to mobilize. The coordinates were a lead, but his thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in the rasp of Cairo’s voice. Who are you, Cairo? And how the hell do you sound like someone I should know?
Seokjin felt the faintest flicker of dread. If Cairo was as dangerous as he suspected, this wasn’t just a lead. It was the start of a bigger storm.