I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

For me, this downtime is particularly exciting, as it gives me a chance to delve into the case that has haunted me for years - the unsolved murder of my own parents. But as a junior member of the team, my access to the old case files is limited, and I am forced to watch from the sidelines as my more senior colleagues pour over the evidence, searching for anything that might have been missed.

Days turn into weeks, and the monotony of reviewing old case files begins to take its toll. I find myself growing restless, my mind wandering to thoughts of my parents and the justice that has eluded them for so long. The office feels stuffy and claustrophobic, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry insects.

The monotony of the past few weeks is suddenly shattered by an urgent call from the Western District Police Office. Inspector Han, our team leader, listens intently to the voice on the other end of the line, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he hangs up, he turns to us with a grave expression.

"We've got a new case, and it's a bad one," he says, his voice tight with tension. "The Western District has requested our assistance. They're dealing with a brutal double homicide, and they need our expertise."

Han wastes no time in assembling our team, handpicking each member for their unique skills and experience. As I grab my coat and badge, I can feel the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders, the knowledge that the next few days will be a test of everything I've learned and trained for.

The drive to the Western District Police Office is a blur, my mind racing with possibilities as I try to piece together what little information we have. As we pull up to the building, I can see a swarm of reporters and curious onlookers gathered outside, their cameras flashing and voices rising in a cacophony of speculation and rumor.

We push our way through the crowd and into the bustling briefing room, the tension in the air palpable as we take our seats. The room is packed with detectives and uniformed officers, their faces grim and focused as they pour over the evidence that has been gathered so far.

I can feel the urgency of the situation pressing down on me, the knowledge that every minute counts in a case like this. The killer is out there, stalking the streets, and it's up to us to stop them before they can claim another victim.

As I scan the room, my eyes land on a large whiteboard at the front, where crime scene photos and witness statements are haphazardly pinned. The images are gruesome, the brutality of the murders laid bare in stark, unforgiving detail.

I take a seat beside Inspector Han, his face etched with the same determination that I feel burning in my own chest. He gives me a nod of acknowledgment, his eyes scanning the room for any clues or leads that might help us crack this case.

The lead detective, a seasoned veteran with a salt-and-pepper beard and a voice like gravel, steps up to the podium at the front of the room. He clears his throat, his eyes sweeping over the assembled officers before settling on me and my team.

"I know you're all here because you're the best of the best," he says, his voice low and serious. "But this case is going to test every ounce of skill and experience you have. The killer we're dealing with is brutal, merciless, and seemingly without motive. We need to work fast, and we need to work smart, if we're going to catch this bastard before he strikes again."

I nod, my jaw clenched tight as I feel the weight of the task ahead of us settling on my shoulders.

"The victim was identified as Park Min-seo, age 28," he says, his voice gruff and clinical as he flips through a stack of crime scene photos. "She was found by her sister, who came to check on her after she failed to show up for work. The apartment was ransacked, and it appears that the killer made off with a substantial amount of jewelry, estimated to be worth around 20 million won."

I nod again, my mind racing as I try to piece together the clues, to find some pattern or connection that might lead us to the killer. But before I can speak, the detective is moving on to the second case, his voice taking on a note of grim resignation.

"The second victim was a male, identified as Kim Jae-sung, age 42," he says, his words clipped and precise. "He was the owner of a small convenience store in the area, and he was found dead in his home, just a few blocks away from the store. Like the first victim, he appeared to have been beaten to death, his body showing signs of severe blunt force trauma."

I can feel my stomach churning as I listen to the details, my mind reeling with the sheer brutality of the crimes. Two innocent lives, snuffed out in a matter of moments, their futures stolen away by a killer with no regard for human life.

As the briefing continues, the detectives lay out what little evidence they have managed to gather so far - a few grainy security camera images, a handful of witness statements that seem to contradict each other at every turn.

The lead detective, his face etched with frustration, addresses the room. "We've been working around the clock, but unfortunately, we haven't made much progress when it comes to identifying suspects. Our team is currently going through a list of about 500 individuals with similar criminal records, but it's a time-consuming process, and we can't afford to let this killer slip through our fingers."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Inspector Han. With a nod, he hands over a stack of files. "Inspector Han, I'm entrusting this case to you and your team at the Seoul Metropolitan Investigation Unit. Your reputation precedes you, and we believe you have the resources and expertise to bring this murderer to justice."

Inspector Han steps forward, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "Thank you, detective. My team and I will take it from here. We have a plan in place, and we will not rest until we apprehend this killer."

As Han begins to brief the unit on their strategy, a familiar voice emerges in the back of my mind. It's Bundy.

"Look at them, stumbling around like blind mice," Bundy sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. "It's almost pathetic to see how incompetent the Korean police can be."

I try to ignore him, focusing instead on Han's words, but Bundy's voice grows more insistent.

"You're asking yourself what I mean, aren't you? Well, I'll tell you. I've already picked up on two hints about our murderer, and I'm willing to bet your colleagues haven't even considered them."