The radios started buzzing all at once.
The only voices you could hear were the officers talking through static, coordinating their positions.
"Unit 12, take the north exit!"
"Copy that, moving now!"
"Unit 7, cover the platform stairs — don't let anyone slip past!"
Unit 7 officers were already running down the stairs, pushing through the crowd.
Officers from Unit 7 were talking to each other through the radio as they moved.
"Unit 7 moving toward the platform."
Each officer took a different spot — some at the stairs, some near the ticket gates, others waiting at the platform edge.
"Unit 12, blocking the east exit."
Outside, Unit 12 parked their cars across the road, blocking both ends of the street.
Red and blue lights flashed on the glass doors of the station.
Some officers from Unit 12 were already standing near the exit, checking every face that came out.
The train carrying Park Joon-ho hadn't even arrived yet, but they were already questioning passengers, showing the old photo around, asking if anyone had seen him.
"Excuse me, have you seen this man?" one officer asked, holding up the picture.
A young man in a black jacket shook his head fast. "No idea, officer."
An older woman frowned, squinting at the photo. "He looks familiar… maybe I saw him on the news?"
"Ma'am, please keep moving," another officer said, waving her along.
The crowd kept flowing past them — confused faces, annoyed faces, some whispering under their breath.
Inside the station, the train carrying Park Joon-ho slowed down with a long screech, the sound echoing through the platform and making everyone sway a little as it came to a stop.
People started standing, grabbing their bags, stretching like they'd been waiting forever to get off. Someone's phone kept buzzing in their pocket. People started moving right away, bumping shoulders as they tried to stand.
Someone muttered for others to move faster, another squeezed past before the doors even opened.
The doors slid open.
Passengers pushed out one after another, heads down, tired, just wanting to go home.
Some still yawning, some checking their phones, all moving like it was just another night.
Officers waiting near the platform straightened up right away as the train stopped in on the platform.
They moved closer to the yellow line, eyes scanning every door.
"Eyes open! Check every direction!"
One officer near the escalator raised his radio.
"Possible sighting! Middle-aged male, gray hoodie — moving toward the south gate!"
"Keep eyes on him! Wait for confirmation before you move!" another voice answered through the radio.
A second officer pushed through the crowd, photo of Park clutched in his hand.
"Look sharp! Black hair, mid-forties, average height! You see anyone like that — call it in!"
People started slowing down, glancing at the officers with uneasy looks.
Some whispered to each other, some tried to sneak quick photos with their phones.
"Is something happening?"
"Who're they after?"
"Just move, don't stare!" someone muttered, pulling a friend along.
And in that mess of footsteps and voices — a boy in a gray hoodie stepped off the train, hood still low, head slightly down.
Just a few seconds before that—
Hyun Woo stood near the back, quiet, hands in his pockets while everyone in front of him pushed toward the door.
No one looked back.
It gave him enough space.
His lips moved slightly, barely a whisper.
"Time's up."
[ Alias Impression — Deactivated ]
[ Reverting appearance … ]
The change was silent. The middle-aged face faded away, turning back to his real one — Hyun Woo.
He pulled his hood lower, hiding half his face in shadow, and whispered,
"Keep chasing him… I'll be long gone."
He blinked once, checking the faint timer flickering at the edge of his vision.
[ Echo Mask — Cooldown: 5h 42m ]
"Tch," he muttered under his breath. "Figures."
The doors slid open just then, the crowd moving all at once.
Hyun Woo waited for a seconds, then stepped out with them, hood low, blending into the wave of people spilling onto the platform.
Passengers spilled out through the station gates — through Gate A, Gate B, Gate C — each group pushing toward different exits.
Officers split to match them, moving gate to gate.
"Gate A clear!" one shouted into his radio.
"Gate B, check IDs!" another answered.
They scanned faces, held up the old photo, compared features with anyone who looked like Park.
"Show me your ID."
"Sir, step aside for a second."
"Do you have ID on you?"
A woman with grocery bags paused, annoyed. "What's this about?"
"Just a quick check, ma'am. You keep moving mam."
Two officers worked Gate C. They picked people out of the line, polite but firm, flipping through wallets and phones. Other teams covered stairways and escalators.
"Anyone matching the photo?" someone called.
"Negative at Gate A."
"Negative at Gate B."
"Gate C—hold on," a voice came through the radio, louder than the rest. "Possible sighting near Exit 4. Heading there now."
The officer at Gate C moved fast, pushing through the line of passengers coming out of the train. His hand went to his earpiece.
"Copy. I'm closing in."
He slipped past a group of commuters, eyes darting between faces.
There — a gray hoodie. The same build. The same height.
The man was walking slow, head down, blending into the crowd.
The officer's pulse picked up.
"Target in sight," he said quietly. "Gray hoodie, average height, heading toward south stairs."
He started closing the gap, one hand ready to grab his radio again.
"Sir! Excuse me—" he called out, trying not to spook him.
The man didn't turn. He kept walking.
The officer pushed forward harder, brushing past a few passengers. "Sir, hold on a second—!"
He reached out, his hand brushing the man's shoulder—
and the man turned.
A tired face. Wrinkled. Lines under the eyes. The expression blank and dull, like someone who'd just worked a twelve-hour shift.