No Signal
Cairo
Yoongi’s fingers danced lightly over the keyboard of a slim laptop, the bright glow of the website illuminating his face beneath the Hahoetal mask. The voting was live, and as expected, the audience was eating it up. Kim Do-hee was leading in the polls, though Kang Sungmin wasn’t that far behind. James Wilson was clearly trailing—a testament, Yoongi mused, to how uninteresting people found diplomats unless there were diamonds or bombs involved.
Behind him, chaos reigned in the form of three very nervous “guests.” The illustrious Minister Kim Do-hee, distinguished James Wilson, and pompous Kang Sungmin sat fidgeting on the set couch.
Barcelona stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, a wide grin playing beneath his mask. He practically radiated smug satisfaction as he circled the three guests like a shark scenting blood.
“You all look so pale,” Jimin said sweetly, voice dripping with false concern. “Minister Kim, are you feeling okay? Or is the idea of people digging into your… offshore accounts making you a little queasy?”
Kim Do-hee’s lips pressed into a thin line, her sharp features marred by a smudge of red lipstick. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” she snapped. “You couldn’t possibly—”
“Couldn’t possibly?” Jimin interrupted, tilting his head mockingly. “Minister, we just streamed your deepest fears to thousands of people, and we haven’t even gotten to the good part. Try again, yeah?”
Yoongi smirked behind his mask but kept his attention on the laptop. The polls were shifting slightly—votes for Kang Sungmin were climbing. The CEO must have realized this too because he suddenly leaned forward, pointing a trembling finger at Do-hee.
“This is your fault!” Kang barked. “If your secrets get out, my reputation—my company—will be ruined just by association! You think the public will spare me when you’re—”
“Oh, shut up, Sungmin,” Minister Kim shot back, her voice like ice. “If anyone here deserves to be exposed, it’s you. How many families did you uproot for your precious Gangnam skyscraper? How many bribes did you—”
“That’s enough!” James Wilson interrupted, his American accent slicing through their bickering. “Do you people hear yourselves? You’re bickering over who’s more corrupt while these lunatics decide which of our lives to destroy!”
Yoongi arched a brow. “Lunatics, huh?” he murmured to himself. He glanced at the screen: the voting for Kim Do-hee was still ahead. Predictable. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing high-and-mighty officials reduced to squabbling children.
Namjoon—Vienna—had been watching quietly from the corner, arms folded. He stepped forward now, his deep voice cutting through the room like a gavel. “Barcelona,” he said, his tone laced with authority, “split them up. Let them ‘rest’ in different rooms for a while.”
“Rest?” Jimin echoed, his voice full of faux surprise. “You mean I have to let them go? But we were just starting to bond.”
Yoongi snorted quietly, earning a brief half-amused glare from Namjoon. Jimin, ever the showman, turned back to the guests with a theatrical sigh.
“You heard the boss,” he said. “Up you go, my little secrets.” He gestured for Havana—Hoseok—to help. The taller man moved forward with an exaggerated roll of his shoulders, his presence alone enough to make Kang Sungmin flinch.
“You first, CEO-nim,” Hoseok said cheerfully, his voice like sunshine and acid. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you a nice cozy room. Maybe one with a view of the… consequences of your actions.”
Kang sputtered, but one look at Hoseok’s biceps shut him up. He stood shakily, muttering something under his breath about his lawyer.
Jimin turned to James Wilson next. “As for you, Mr. Diplomat,” he said, his tone mockingly polite, “you must be tired after all that international travel. We’ll find you somewhere quiet to… reflect on your choices.”
Wilson stiffened but followed Hoseok without a word.
Kim Do-hee was last. She remained seated, her sharp eyes scanning the crew. “You think separating us will make us weaker,” she said, her voice low and controlled. “But you’re wrong. I won’t let you use me like some pawn in your little game.”
Jimin leaned in close, his voice a whisper. “Minister, you’re not a pawn,” he said. “You’re the queen. And right now, the whole board’s watching to see what move you’ll make next.”
Do-hee’s glare could’ve melted steel, but she stood and followed reluctantly.
When the room was finally empty, Namjoon sighed. “Barcelona, stop antagonizing them. We need them scared, not defiant.”
Jimin shrugged. “Scared, defiant—what’s the difference? They’ll all break eventually. People like them always do.”
Yoongi glanced up from his laptop, smirking. “Careful, Barcelona. You might accidentally reveal you have a heart.”
Jimin shot him a mock glare. “And you might accidentally reveal you’re not a robot, Cairo.”
“Unlikely,” Yoongi replied dryly, his attention already back on the website. The votes for Kim Do-hee were climbing again. Clearly, the audience couldn’t resist a scandal involving a high-ranking government official.
Namjoon stepped closer, peering over Yoongi’s shoulder. “How’s it looking?”
“Do-hee’s still in the lead,” Yoongi replied. “But Kang’s catching up. Wilson’s a distant third—guess people aren’t interested in his diplomatic ‘fireworks.’”
Jimin snorted. “Poor James. Not scandalous enough for the internet.”
Yoongi’s surprise simmered beneath the surface as he watched the voting results on HiddenTruths shift suddenly in real-time.
The sudden surge of votes for Kang Sungmin didn’t just reek of foul play—it screamed it. Moments ago, Kang had been struggling to keep up with Kim Dohee and the diplomat, but now his votes were skyrocketing, outpacing the other two by absurd margins.
“This is bullshit,” Yoongi muttered, leaning closer to the screen.
The usernames were laughable in their transparency—each more absurd than the last. VoteForKang123, KangIsKing92, TotallyNotThePolice99. Amateurs. Yoongi’s lips twitched into a sardonic smirk. Whoever was behind this thought they were clever, but they weren’t clever enough. Not for him.
He tapped his keyboard with the precision of a surgeon, bypassing layers of anonymity with the ease of years spent perfecting his craft. The accounts were all tied to burner emails and temporary IPs, but the patterns were there if you knew where to look: identical login times, repeated syntax errors, and a trail of breadcrumbs only a true ghost could follow.
It didn’t take long before the threads began to unravel. The accounts originated from a secure but familiar server. His fingers stilled, his smirk widening as recognition set in. He let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Ghost. Of course, it’s you.”
Yoongi reclined in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he processed the absurdity of it all. Seokjin. His old partner turned cop was behind this pathetic attempt to sway the votes. The irony was almost too rich. Years ago, they’d sat side by side, dismantling systems just like this for their own gain. Now, Seokjin was using those same skills to prop up a corrupt CEO on behalf of the police.
Yoongi glanced at the monitor again, watching the numbers tick upward with every passing second. This wasn’t just a hack job—it was a desperate cover-up. The police were trying to sacrifice Kang Sungmin to protect Kim Dohee and the diplomat. After all, a fall guy was better than exposing the skeletons in their own closets.
“Vienna,” Yoongi called out, his voice dripping with mock amusement.
Namjoon appeared at his side, arms crossed as he raised a questioning brow. “What now?”
“Looks like our friends in blue are getting creative,” Yoongi said, gesturing at the screen. “They’re buying votes for Kang Sungmin. Guess they decided it’s cheaper than letting their secrets get out.”
Namjoon’s jaw tightened, his usual calm veneer giving way to a flicker of irritation. “So, they’re just throwing Kang to the wolves?”
“Pretty much.” Yoongi chuckled, his tone equal parts disdain and amusement. “And the best part? They’re using our platform to do it. Every vote they buy lines our pockets.”
Namjoon’s lips curved into a rare smile. “Poetic justice.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Yoongi said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Guess who’s behind the votes? Our dear friend Ghost. Seems like Seokjin’s traded his badge for a booster seat at the corruption table.”
Without another word, Yoongi opened a blank message window. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he began typing.
Ghost,
Nice try with the votes. Next time, at least make it entertaining. Watching you scramble to clean up their mess is almost as pathetic as the mess itself.
Oh, and thanks for the extra cash. Every vote you buy makes us richer. Keep ‘em coming.
Cheers,
Cairo
Yoongi hit send, the grin on his face widening as he imagined Seokjin’s reaction. He could practically see the other man’s expression—a mix of indignation, guilt, and begrudging admiration.
Turning back to Namjoon, Yoongi leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Think that’ll rattle his cage?”
Namjoon smirked. “Knowing Seokjin? He’ll be fuming.”
“Good,” Yoongi said, his tone colder now. “Let him stew. He needs to remember who he’s dealing with.”
Satisfied, Yoongi turned his attention back to the voting board. The numbers continued to climb, Kang Sungmin’s lead growing wider by the second.
Yoongi leaned back in his chair, watching Namjoon with a sly grin. “Don’t worry, Vienna. Old Ghost and I go way back. This isn’t his first rodeo, but it’s definitely his clumsiest.”
Before Namjoon could reply, Hoseok reentered the room, his movements casual yet deliberate. He wiped his hands together like he’d just taken out the trash. “Guests are tucked in nice and cozy,” he said with a cheeky smile, “though Kang might need a nightlight. Poor guy was shaking like a leaf.”
Jimin chuckled from where he leaned against the wall. “He’s probably scared we’ll ‘accidentally’ expose his shell companies.” His gaze flicked to Yoongi. “How’s the digital warfare coming along? Do we have a winner yet?”
“Oh, we’ve got more than a winner.” Yoongi tapped a few keys, tilting the laptop toward them. The screen displayed the voting results alongside a list of suspicious user activity. “Seokjin decided to play knight in shining armor. He’s rigging the votes for Kang Sungmin, probably hoping to protect Do-hee and Wilson.”
Hoseok whistled low, shaking his head.
“Yeah, but here’s the kicker,” Yoongi added, his smirk widening. “Seokjin isn’t just meddling in our little game—he’s left breadcrumbs, just like the old days.”
Namjoon tilted his head. “Breadcrumbs?”
“Breadcrumbs,” Yoongi repeated, savoring the word. He tapped a key, pulling up a specific IP address tied to the vote tampering. “This little trail leads straight back to our boy. He might as well have signed his work. It’s cute, really.”
Before anyone could comment, there was a message coming back on his laptop. He glanced at the screen, his smirk instantly sharpening into something predatory. “Speak of the devil,” he murmured, opening the message.
The text was brief but unmistakable:
“Dædalus. I see your handiwork. One call, and the cops know everything. Still as reckless as ever, huh?”
Yoongi froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the use of his old alias. Dædalus. His surprise quickly gave way to a low chuckle, the sound rich with amusement. Seemingly Seokjin found the breadcrumbs he laid out for him.
“Looks like Ghost wants to play,” Yoongi announced, his voice dripping with mock delight. “He’s threatening to turn me in. Says I’m reckless.”
Jimin snorted. “Reckless? That’s rich, coming from him.”
“Right?” Yoongi replied, already typing a response. His fingers flew across the keyboard, the words forming with a practiced ease:
“Ghost. So you finally got the message. How’s the badge treating you? Oh, wait—didn’t you trade that in for a moral compass? Must be exhausting, carrying all that self-righteousness around.
Anyway, feel free to make that call, hyung. But just so we’re clear, I’ve got breadcrumbs too. Call me reckless again, and I’ll show everyone just how careful you’ve been these past few years. Fun, right? It’s like old times.
Dædalus.”
He hit send with a flourish, leaning back and folding his arms. “There. Let’s see how our dear Ghost likes being haunted by his own skeletons.”
Namjoon raised a brow. “You’re poking a dangerous bear, Cairo.”
Yoongi shrugged, unbothered. “Bears are only dangerous if you’re scared of them. Besides, it’s not a threat if it’s true. He knows I’ve got just as much dirt on him as he has on me. It’s a tie, and he hates that.”
Hoseok laughed, shaking his head. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am,” Yoongi replied, grinning. “It’s not every day you get to spar with an old friend. Especially one who thinks he’s still the smartest guy in the room.”
Another message drew Yoongi’s attention. This time, the message was shorter but no less biting:
“This isn’t a game, Yoongi. Stop while you still can.”
Yoongi’s grin widened. He typed a quick reply:
“Oh, but it is a game, hyung. And I’m winning. See you at the finish line.”
“Ghost wants to play hero, but he forgets one thing: heroes always fall. And when he does, I’ll be there to catch him. Or watch him crash. Haven’t decided yet.”
Namjoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t let your personal vendetta get in the way of the mission.”
“Relax, Vienna,” Yoongi said, waving him off. “I can multitask.”
Jimin clapped his hands, breaking the tension. “Well, this is shaping up to be more entertaining than I expected. Can’t wait to see how this plays out.”
“Me neither,” Yoongi muttered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s been a while since I’ve had this much fun.
*******
Jungkook
Jungkook was fuming, and not the good kind of fuming—like after an intense workout or catching someone in a lie during interrogation. No, this was the bad kind of fuming, the type where his face was flushed, his fists clenched, and his thoughts ran a loop of: This is a terrible idea. A stupid, idiotic, harebrained idea.
Jungkook glared at his colleague’s back, resisting the urge to throw something. “You can’t honestly think this is the right way to do things.”
Seokjin finally turned, his expression unreadable. “Does it matter what I think? Captain Park gave the order. So unless you feel like staging a mutiny, I suggest you channel that energy into something productive.”
It took everything in Jungkook not to snap back. He hated this—every second of it. It wasn’t just about Kang Sungmin or the votes. It was the principle. Justice wasn’t supposed to be this… murky. But here he was, neck-deep in murk, with Seokjin steering the ship straight into an ethical iceberg.
He was about to argue further when a commotion near the tent entrance caught his attention. Two officers walked in, flanking a handcuffed young man whose disheveled appearance screamed wrong place, wrong time.
“That him?” Jungkook asked, his tone sharp.
One of the officers nodded. The man—Signal, apparently—shot Jungkook a glare but said nothing. He looked young, maybe mid-twenties, with a face that could’ve belonged to someone harmless if not for the defiance in his eyes.
“Set him down over there,” Jungkook ordered, pointing to a quieter corner of the tent. The officers complied, leaving Signal cuffed to a chair.
Jungkook approached slowly, his keen eyes scanning the man for any telltale signs: nervous fidgeting, microexpressions, anything that would give away his role in this mess. But Signal remained stoic, his expression a mix of confusion and stubborn resolve.
“Alright,” Jungkook began, pulling up a chair and sitting down across from him. “Let’s start simple. What’s your real name?”
Signal stared at him, unblinking.
Jungkook leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. “Look, you can call yourself Signal all you want, but we both know that’s not the name on your birth certificate. So why don’t we skip the theatrics and make this easier for everyone?”
Still nothing.
Jungkook sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know, I could make this a lot harder for you. Or you could tell me your name, and maybe I’ll consider not putting you in the worst holding cell we have. Your call.”
Signal’s lips twitched—almost like he wanted to smile—but he remained silent.
“Great,” Jungkook muttered, standing up. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” He turned toward the center of the tent, raising his voice. “Seokjin! Need you over here!”
A few seconds later, Seokjin strolled over, his expression as nonchalant as ever. “What now? Did you finally break the Wi-Fi?”
Jungkook ignored the jab and gestured to Signal. “I need you to identify this guy. He’s not talking.”
Seokjin’s gaze flicked to Signal, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Without a word, he pulled out his phone, snapped a picture, and started typing something into a secure app.
“What’s with the photo shoot?” Jungkook asked, crossing his arms.
“Facial recognition,” Seokjin replied matter-of-factly. “Give it a minute, and we’ll know who he is, where he lives, his favorite pizza topping—everything.”
Signal’s stoicism cracked for the first time. His eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of panic crossed his face.
Jungkook noticed immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his tone mocking. “Afraid we’ll find out you’re just some kid playing spy?”
Signal said nothing, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. Jungkook smirked, feeling the upper hand shift his way.
“Don’t worry,” Seokjin said to Signal, his tone dripping with faux reassurance. “We’re professionals. We’ll find out who you are without you saying a word. Isn’t technology amazing?”
Signal shot Seokjin a glare, but the older man didn’t seem fazed. Jungkook leaned against the table, arms crossed as he watched Signal squirm.
“Looks like the database is processing,” Seokjin announced, holding up his phone. “We should have a match shortly.”
Signal swallowed hard but said nothing. Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. This was going to be a long interrogation.
*******
Interrogation Transcript
Lead Investigator: Jeon Jungkook
Suspect Name: “Signal” (Real name unknown)
Time: 09:36 am
Location: Police Tent, Outside Lotte World Tower
[Start of Transcript]
Jungkook: [clears throat] Alright, let’s get started. State your name for the record.
Signal: I already told you. It’s Signal.
Jungkook: [pauses, stares] Look, unless your parents were tech nerds who named you after a Wi-Fi issue, I’m going to need your actual name.
Signal: [shrugs] It’s Signal.
Jungkook: [leaning back, unimpressed] Fine. Signal it is. For now. But I’m not calling you that forever, so let’s move on. What were you doing near the tower?
Signal: [nervously shifting in his chair] Nothing. I was just minding my own business when your guys came out of nowhere, tackled me, and threw me in cuffs.
Jungkook: [leans forward, voice sharp] “Minding your own business,” huh? Just casually loitering outside a building where one of the biggest hostage situations in the country’s history is taking place? You expect me to believe that?
Signal: [crossing arms] Believe what you want, but it’s the truth. I didn’t do anything wrong.
Jungkook: [chuckles darkly, tilting his head] Right. Funny thing is, we’ve got a clue—a pretty good one, actually. You see, there’s evidence of someone at your exact location. Someone using the name Signal to arrange a shipment. Ring any bells?
Signal: [eyebrows knitting together, panic flickering in his eyes] …Shipment? What shipment?
Jungkook: [leaning in closer, tone sharp] That’s what I was hoping you’d tell me. You know, you’re not in a great spot right now, Signal. Do you even understand how bad your situation is? Do you know what aiding a heist and kidnapping operation means for someone like you?
Signal: [shaking his head quickly] I didn’t aid anything! I’m not part of this! I don’t even know what you’re talking about!
Jungkook: [laughs incredulously, slapping the table lightly] Oh, come on. You seriously expect me to believe that? You think this is all some big misunderstanding? You were exactly where we tracked the activity. I’d say you’ve got about five minutes before I start deciding just how many years you’ll spend in prison.
Signal: [face turning pale, looking terrified] Wait, wait! Okay, hold on—just let me explain!
Jungkook: [smirking, leaning back casually] By all means. Enlighten me.
Signal: [talking quickly, almost frantically] A guy came up to me, alright? I don’t know his real name. He said he needed someone to wait at that spot and keep an eye out. He said I’d get a handsome sum of money if I just… stayed there. That’s all I did! I swear!
Jungkook: [raises an eyebrow, skeptical] Uh-huh. A random guy just shows up, hands you cash, and says, “Stand there, do nothing”? That’s your story?
Signal: [nodding vigorously] Yes! That’s all I know! You have to believe me!
Jungkook: [pauses, staring at Signal like he’s trying to decide if he’s the worst liar ever or the unluckiest idiot alive] You expect me to buy that?
Signal: [desperately] It’s the truth!
Jungkook: [leans forward again, his tone turning serious] Alright, fine. Let’s play along. Who was this guy?
Signal: [nervously biting his lip] I don’t know his real name. But he called himself… uh, Seonsaengnim.
Jungkook: [expression sharpens instantly] Seonsaengnim?
Signal: [nodding hesitantly] Yeah.
Jungkook: [eyes narrowing, voice slow and deliberate] Describe him.
Signal: [opening his mouth, about to speak] Well, he was—
The interrogation is interrupted by the sound of the tent flap opening. Both men instinctively turn toward the entrance.
Jungkook: [snapping his head toward the noise, annoyed] What now?
A figure walks into the tent, their silhouette sharp against the morning light. Jungkook’s focus is briefly drawn to the commotion outside the tent as officers murmur and exchange information with the newcomer.
Signal: [freezes completely, his eyes wide in shock and terror as he stares at the newcomer. His face goes pale, and he seems rooted to his seat, barely breathing.]
Jungkook: [oblivious to Signal’s reaction, turning back to him] Well? Keep talking. Describe him.
Signal remains silent, his eyes glued to the new arrival. His hands are trembling slightly, and sweat begins to bead on his forehead.
Jungkook: [frowning, leaning closer] Hey. I’m talking to you. What’s wrong?
But Signal doesn’t respond, his focus entirely consumed by the figure now standing inside the tent.
[End of Transcript]
*******
Jungkook’s fingers tapped against the edge of the table, his eyes narrowing as he studied Signal, who now resembled a cornered rabbit. Sweat trickled down the young man’s temple, his hands trembling as they rested on the table. Jungkook had been one well-placed question away from getting a description of this Seonsaengnim when the tent flap had opened, drawing his attention to the entrance.
For a split second, Jungkook’s focus shifted entirely, and he almost forgot about Signal. Lee Jaesun stepped into the tent, the stark morning light catching on the fine lines of his impossibly sharp features. He had clearly cleaned up since last night—his face slightly flushed, his dark hair slightly damp and combed back with an effortless precision that screamed money. Even in his casual clothes—a light cashmere sweater and perfectly tailored slacks—he still looked like he’d just walked off a photoshoot for a luxury brand.
Jungkook’s mind faltered. He’d asked Jaesun to come by after the livestream, but between catching Signal and the interrogation, it had completely slipped his mind. Jaesun’s presence caught him off guard, and something in his posture, that subtle air of exhaustion mixed with poise, hit harder than it probably should have.
“Jaesun-ssi,” Jungkook said, standing up a bit too quickly. His chair scraped noisily against the floor, drawing Signal’s nervous eyes. “I—uh, just give me a moment. I’m in the middle of an interrogation. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Jaesun nodded stiffly, his eyes wide and almost too alert. They flickered to Signal, who was still frozen at the table, looking like he wanted to vanish into thin air. “You caught someone?” Jaesun asked, his voice tight, as though he were holding his breath.
Jungkook hesitated. He shouldn’t say much, not here, not yet. “It’s… something,” he said vaguely. “We’re hoping this guy can help us piece together more about the group inside the tower. Maybe even their leader.”
Jaesun’s lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but then he pressed them into a thin line. His gaze lingered on Signal again, his brows knitting together. “I see,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll wait for you when you’re ready.”
“Of course,” Jungkook replied, his voice a touch softer than usual. “This won’t take much longer.”
Jaesun nodded again but didn’t move far. Even seated, he looked elegant and utterly out of place in the chaos of the makeshift police tent, as though he belonged somewhere with chandeliers and soft jazz playing in the background.
Jungkook turned back to Signal, but his focus faltered for a moment. Something about Jaesun lingered in his mind. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it—maybe it was the way the soft light emphasized the sharp angles of his face or the faint scent of expensive cologne that had wafted in when he walked past.
Jungkook tried to refocus, but something about Jaesun stuck in his mind. There was a vulnerability to him, a rawness that felt familiar to Jungkook.
He’s scared, Jungkook thought. Of course, he’s scared—his brother’s still in there. Why wouldn’t he be?
Jungkook’s gaze lingered for a moment too long before he snapped himself out of it. This wasn’t the time for distractions.
He turned back to Signal, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed terror, as though Jaesun’s presence alone was some kind of omen. Jungkook leaned forward, his tone sharp and commanding again. “Alright, where were we? The description. You were about to describe Seonsaengnim. Let’s hear it.”
Signal hesitated, his gaze darting nervously toward the tent flap where Jaesun had entered moments ago. His already pale face seemed to drain of even more color, and Jungkook followed his line of sight with a frown.
“What, scared of the tent flap now?” Jungkook said dryly, trying to snap Signal back to the moment.
Signal blinked rapidly, his breathing shallow. “N-no, it’s… nothing.”
“Focus,” Jungkook ordered, leaning slightly closer. “We’re not done here.”
Despite his best efforts, Jungkook’s thoughts drifted back to Jaesun for a fleeting moment. There was something so fragile about him now, the way he sat there with his shoulders drawn in, his gaze unfocused like he was replaying worst-case scenarios in his mind. Jungkook felt another pang of sympathy—or maybe something more—but he pushed it down. This wasn’t the time for personal feelings. He had a job to do.
“Signal,” Jungkook said sharply, snapping the man out of his stupor. “Start talking. And make it good.”
Jungkook could still feel Jaesun’s nervous energy radiating from the corner of the tent, and it gnawed at the edges of his focus. But he shoved it aside, determined to get to the bottom of this interrogation—even if a small, inconvenient part of his mind couldn’t stop lingering on Jaesun’s wide, frightened eyes.
*******
[Interrogation Transcript]
Jungkook: Let’s pick up where we left off. You were about to give me a description of Seonsaengnim. I need details—now.
Signal: (shifting uncomfortably) Uh… yeah, okay. He, uh… he wore a face mask.
Jungkook: (pauses, leans back, and raises an eyebrow) A face mask? That’s all you’ve got? You’re telling me you interacted with the leader of this entire operation, and the only thing you can describe about him is that he wore a damn face mask?
Signal: (stammering) I—well, yeah! I mean, he did wear one, so I couldn’t really see his face.
Jungkook: (leans forward, voice sharp) Don’t play dumb with me. A face mask doesn’t make someone invisible. Height. Build. Age range. Hair color. Voice. I want everything—every tiny thing—you remember about him. And you’re going to tell me right now.
Signal: (gulps, wiping sweat off his forehead) I… okay, okay. Uh, he wasn’t that tall. Maybe, like… 170 centimeters? And, um, older—like in his forties, maybe?
Jungkook: (scribbling notes with a tight frown) Keep going.
Signal: (hesitates, voice shaky) Uh… blond hair. Yeah, his hair was blond.
Jungkook: Blond? You’re sure?
Signal: (nods quickly) Positive.
Jungkook: (pauses, sizing him up) Go on. What else?
Signal: (fidgeting, avoiding eye contact) Um… he wasn’t, like, skinny. He was kinda bulky—not fat, but, you know, solid.
Jungkook: (drumming his pen on the table) Not tall, bulky, older, blond hair. Anything else? How did he sound?
Signal: (hesitates) Uh, I don’t know… regular?
Jungkook: (incredulous) Regular? That’s the best you’ve got?
Signal: (flustered) I mean, he didn’t sound weird or anything! Just a normal guy!
Jungkook: (clenches jaw, voice laced with irritation) A “normal guy.” Right. You don’t have anything else? Mannerisms? Accent? Tattoos? Scars? Something to narrow it down?
Signal: (visibly strained, rubbing his temples) I—I don’t know, man! He was wearing a face mask and barely talked to me! I told you what I know!
Jungkook: (leaning in, voice lowering dangerously) You’re really telling me that’s it?
Signal: (panicked) Look, I swear that’s all I’ve got! I’m not lying!
Jungkook: (stares him down, tapping his pen rhythmically) You’re walking a thin line, Signal. If I find out you’re holding back anything—anything at all—you won’t see daylight for a long, long time.
Signal: (voice cracks) I’m not! I swear! Can you just… can you take me somewhere else now? Somewhere I can rest? I—I’m done. I don’t know anything else, okay?
Jungkook: (coldly) Oh, you’re “done,” are you? Well, I’m not. Not by a long shot. But I’ll tell you what—you stay cooperative, and I might see about getting you some fresh air. Maybe a cup of coffee if I’m feeling generous. But don’t think for a second that we’re finished here.
Signal: (slumps in his chair, visibly exhausted) Fine… fine. I told you everything I know.
Jungkook: (leans back, smirking faintly) We’ll see about that.
[End of Transcript]