#Operation Judgment

“Ugh, bored. Youngjun, coffee?”

Detective Kim Gyeongseok stretched as he asked Detective Park Youngjun, who was on call duty.

Up on the rooftop, the ones high on drugs were in the middle of having sex.

For a full five hours they’d been pounding and getting pounded, sucking and licking—complete chaos. Even a vigorous young man, exposed that long to stimulus and drugs, wouldn’t be in his right mind. On top of that, they’d been pounding booze like crazy.

He was worried sick they’d cause an accident.

He could accept calling the Crew to the rooftop. He knew they’d start running the boys hard from week two, and since that was what they were actually doing, he’d taken it as a continuation of the plan.

It was a pervert sex party anyway, wasn’t it?

Up to now it had been nothing but perverse while the actual number of sex acts had been low, so Kim Gyeongseok—who’d worried a little—judged that the group sex on the rooftop fit the project’s direction perfectly.

If it hadn’t, he would’ve been on guard.

But he never thought they’d really serve alcohol.

“Until the main Party, it’s nonalcoholic.”

Thinking of A, who’d said that with confidence, Kim Gyeongseok smacked his lips.

Drugs and alcohol. And sex.

It was a damned fatal combo.

“Iced americano?”

“Yep, thank you!”

Leaving Detective Park, who didn’t spare him a glance, behind, Kim Gyeongseok stepped out of the shabby office.

From the outside it looked like an ordinary insurance office, but in truth it was where a covert operation was underway. There were never more than three people stationed there; unlike other teammates who worked in two shifts, Kim Gyeongseok lived in the office, stuck to it like a fixture.

Operation name: “Judgment.”

A largest-scale covert operation with seven undercover agents inserted.

Five years of planning, and they’d barely kept it alive through all kinds of trial and error and the loss of six lives.

If not this time, there would be no chance.

This really was the last. Which made him all the more desperate.

They’d prepared that thoroughly.

Chef A, Trainer B, Swimming Coach C, IT Specialist D, and Security E—and Officer Choi Minjae and Sergeant Yoon Jiwon as F and G. They planted undercovers throughout the project.

They’d poured unthinkable effort into getting A through E hired incognito as staff. Compared to that, the infiltrations by Choi Minjae and Yoon Jiwon felt easy; for years it had been a headache.

To crack the project and easily grasp the internal situation, staff insertion was essential, so every time they got bounced at an interview, they pushed in another guy, and another. They brute-forced it with manpower until it worked. Not everyone infiltrating as staff was a cop, but they were reliable enough.

Of course, the seven didn’t know about one another. He had no intention of telling them.

Kim Gyeongseok believed that would decide the success or failure of this covert op.

[Let’s each do our best in our own positions.]

That’s how he soothed the undercovers.

Anyway, since the start of the Paradise Project, A through E had been communicating with headquarters very safely and smoothly.

They could do that all thanks to IT Specialist D.

D was a so-called white-hat hacker who took charge of finding system vulnerabilities to strengthen and maintain security. Obviously, he was just as capable of doing the opposite.

But his real value lay in video manipulation.

For example, the appearance of the first rat they ever saw—that was it. The figure in that footage, which caused such a ruckus that Security mobilized, didn’t actually exist. D took an existing video file, composited in a phantom person, then sent it out as if it were live footage.

Since he mainly hacked empty corridors at dawn or secret spaces no one went in or out of, nobody doubted it was recorded.

The second ghost was the same.

The rat the managers saw at the moment Sergeant Yoon Jiwon was about to be kidnapped and gang-raped by three Crew members was also D’s work, and the rat called a ghost for not wearing a bracelet was another fabricated person D created.

They were chasing ghosts.

Thanks to D’s exploits, the project was rocking hard.

Then, a message came from Security E that some childish game called “Hide-and-Seek” would be starting.

He’d laughed it off, thinking after a Manito game, why not Hide-and-Seek too; but the vibe turned off. Right after hearing that, contact with Security E was cut, and the CCTV feed from the Board Quiz Show they’d been receiving went dark.

By the time they scrambled to make contact, the ceiling on Basement 3 had already collapsed. Of all places, Crew Zero, the team Sergeant Yoon Jiwon belonged to, was trapped there.

If that friend got hurt, the plan would take a major hit.

Knowing it wouldn’t just end with being expelled, he thought it’d be better to die than be injured.

Nervously waiting, he then heard the news that all of Crew Zero were safe.

Calling that life damned tenacious, Kim Gyeongseok let out a sigh of relief.

The CCTV feed resumed the next day—today around 1 p.m.

Having bought three iced americanos at a nearby mall café, Kim Gyeongseok drank one on the way in and entered the office.

Detective Park still had his nose buried in the monitors.

On day ten since the project started, everyone fell into a funk and would nod off, but Detective Park never eased his tension. Especially when he was on communications duty, he’d wait like he was ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) about to get sucked into the screens.

“Drink and work.”

As he set the coffee down, Detective Park started and turned around.

“Kid. Loosen up a little.”

“Ah, yes.”

Detective Park scratched his head, sheepish. Soon he only brought his lips to the straw and slurped the coffee.

With the remaining coffees, Kim Gyeongseok went to sit in the corner with three monitors.

Since what came in was mostly indecent scenes you couldn’t show anyone, he always left the monitors off when he stepped away.

He reached out, powered them on one by one, and sat down.

On screen, the parade of flesh was still in full bloom.

“Fuck, they’ve got stamina.”

He griped, but it would be a lie to say he wasn’t envious of their youth and vigor. If he were ten years younger, I’d be up there too, he thought, taking a bland sip of coffee.

Beep-.

At the same time, the alarm on the digital watches worn by Kim Gyeongseok and Detective Park sounded, signaling 6:00 p.m.

Yoon Jiwon had long since vanished off-screen after enjoying the water to his heart’s content.

Thankfully, Choi Minjae was in clear view. Limbs bound, he was being abused. And yet he stayed hard, and he kept ejaculating.

Do people really like that?

If you had to categorize him, Kim Gyeongseok was closer to a sadist. If you had to.

It had only been interesting at the beginning; after watching the same footage for hours on end, it was boring.

Thirty minutes ago, Chef A reported he’d tidied up the rooftop and gone down to the kitchen. But the swim coaches stayed on the rooftop for the safety of the drugged and drunk Crew playing in the water.

“Is it the drugs, or are those bastards insane? How do they stay hard for five hours? Seriously. Wow, my stomach’s turning. Even a real animal would cry and leave.”

Swimming Coach C had complained, saying he was going crazy with disgust at the first orgy of his life—fifteen minutes earlier.

On screen, the CCTV D was sending was playing the same as a moment ago.

It was Kim Gyeongseok who sensed something off.

Wait a minute. Wait....

I feel like I saw that scene ten minutes ago.

His heart dropped.

It was a live feed. The timestamps on the monitors matched both his wristwatch and his phone clock.

But the video felt familiar.

That kid Choi Minjae—bound hand and foot, taking all kinds of humiliation and enjoying it—had definitely been released right before he went to buy coffee. Curious how they’d undo knots tied that tight, Kim Gyeongseok had watched with interest. He’d stared so closely that each shot was vivid.

Yet Choi Minjae was tied up again, and one guy was coming over to untie him. From the back of the guy approaching to the knot’s position and color, to Choi Minjae’s expression—every shot was nearly identical to the earlier footage.

No way... no way?

“Youngjun, get D on the line, now!”

He shouted, urgent.

“Sir?”

“Call D!”

“Ah, yes!”

Detective Park, clueless, did as Kim Gyeongseok ordered and placed the call.

Five minutes felt like fifty.

“Did you reach him?”

At Kim Gyeongseok’s question, Detective Park Youngjun shook his head.

“No response at all.”

“Call again. It’s urgent.”

“Sir?”

“I said it’s urgent, kid.”

Startled by the scolding, Detective Park tensed up and worked the mouse and keyboard quickly.

It was still too early to conclude something had happened.

Wasn’t it only that the footage matched what they saw twenty minutes ago?

Another five minutes passed, and still no reply from D.

“Sir, looks like the comms network is cut.”

“Comms network?”

Ah. The comms.

Only then did Kim Gyeongseok squeeze his eyes shut and recall the tip that when Hide-and-Seek started, they’d cut outside contact first.

It seemed the game had kicked off as a surprise.

And I didn’t even know—Jesus.

“Yeah? Got it.”

He acted like nothing was wrong, but he felt foolish for no reason.

“Looks like Hide-and-Seek has started.”

He regained his composure and said it lightly.

“Ah. Is that so? An ambush.”

Detective Park’s face, which had gone ashen along with Kim Gyeongseok’s fussing, brightened quickly.

Like the Manito game, Hide-and-Seek had started out of the blue.

They’d pick a seeker from the Crew, the rest would hide, and when the seeker found the hiders, they’d scrap among themselves.

(Up to that point, Kim Gyeongseok) complacently thought D would get back in touch after the game ended.

“Sir! Sir!!”

He must have nodded off.

At Detective Park’s urgent cry, Kim Gyeongseok opened his eyes. Wiping saliva, he asked, bored, “What?”

“E got in touch.”

“E? What’d he say?”

Brightening at contact from Security E, with whom they’d lost touch since yesterday, Kim Gyeongseok asked.

“So, uh....”

Detective Park relayed the comms he’d just received.

[Hoodudukallkindsofpigsareswoopingin]

Fuck. What is this?

“Is that really a message from E?”

Kim Gyeongseok straightened up.

“Yes. It’s the ID E uses, and the cipher checks out.”

“Are comms restored?”

He asked as he stood.

“I’m not sure. We still can’t reach D.”

Detective Park answered and shook his head.

“Let me see.”

Leaving his seat, Kim Gyeongseok went over to Detective Park’s desk.

While Detective Park, still standing, pulled up the comms he’d just received, Kim Gyeongseok took out his phone. His hand shook as he entered the passcode; it took three tries to log in.

No way. No. It has to be a joke.

Since Hide-and-Seek had begun, even if comms had been restored, D might be too busy to respond. It wasn’t the first time, so Kim Gyeongseok didn’t voice the suspicion and anxiety rising in his chest.

He opened the manual he kept on his phone.

D himself had made a comms manual for operation participants who knew how to use a smartphone but were ignorant of exact IT terms or technology, and later he’d given separate instruction to a limited set of people on how to identify and interpret the comms cipher.

Detective Park could parse the comms without a manual, but Kim Gyeongseok deliberately used one. It took time, but it was the most by-the-book way to reduce errors, so he always did it that way.

As always, he began checking in the order written in the manual.

As Detective Park said, the ID, the password, and the cipher matched. Especially the cipher, which was updated three times a day—so it was safe to assume the person who’d sent it was E.

“Ah, that bastard. Scared the shit out of me.”

When Kim Gyeongseok judged it a prank, Detective Park’s stiff face relaxed too.

“That bastard must be bored out of his skull. Ask him what he meant by that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Still standing, Detective Park grabbed the mouse.

He clicked the cross-shaped icon; a command prompt window popped up on the monitor, similar to what they used to call DOS.

It was the secret comms application D had built.

D had secretly embedded his covert comms app into the internal-communications tablets issued only to resident staff on the Paradise Project. The same app was installed on every tablet used by not just the infiltrators but also staff and managers, but if you didn’t know how to use it, it was worthless, so the chance of discovery was slim.

Best of all, since it was the very app actually used as the internal messenger, it didn’t arouse suspicion. In other words, infiltrators didn’t have to fret or take risks to communicate with HQ. Needless to say, he’d taken measures to ensure nothing remained on the server.

All of this was possible thanks to Director Kim Hansoo. His exceptional decision, for this Paradise Project, to stream video to the outside had been a stroke of genius.

No matter how many layers of security you stack, when the guy who built the system is inside, ironclad security is useless; and even if he were outside, as long as the network is connected, hacking is always possible if you want it.

Anyway, though he’d been seeing what he’d only seen in movies for a while now, that screen still amazed Kim Gyeongseok. He had no idea how the hell you could communicate with that, but if you typed commands there, an answer came back after a moment.

Please... let it be a joke.

It went beyond a joke, but since the guy loved jokes, it was possible.

Still, this was too much.

Thinking he’d have to give him a good scolding just this once, Kim Gyeongseok watched the monitor, anxious.

Soon, strings of characters streamed down the prompt window.

While Detective Park scanned the screen fast, Kim Gyeongseok began cross-checking the manual and the strings in order.

Pigs, have you still not figured out the situation? You’re fucked.

Next came the real names and affiliations of four of the infiltrators, listed one after another.

Detective Park clapped a hand over his mouth, and, checking the contents a beat late, Kim Gyeongseok collapsed into his chair with a face like he’d seen a ghost.

“Fuck. We’re blown.”

Kim Gyeongseok groaned.