Texas was always hot. She remembered taking a two-hour ride from Austin to Houston every Saturday evening. Even then, the air would be stifling. It didn't matter if the sun had set; the concrete held onto the day's heat, radiating it back at everyone.
Han Bo-young gripped the steering wheel of her car, the air conditioning humming a high-pitched tune. The car was already beat up. She would get a new one in November. She didn't use the cars provided by the police department—a choice she had made a long time ago. They were too easy to spot. Because she was a national treasure, the Korean government was willing to oblige her preferences.
The heat outside of the morgue reminded her of those nights in Texas: stagnant and heavy with the scent of dust and exhaust. She reached into the compartment, her fingers brushing past a stack of old receipts, burger wraps she'd scribbled notes on, and bundles of business cards, before grabbing a cold plastic bottle.
She shook two white tablets into her palm and swallowed them dry. The bitterness made her lips twitch. She readjusted in her seat, searching for comfort. Her stomach wound had been restitched, but she needed to take these pills for quick healing. As the car idled, she stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were sharp. The skin beneath them was shadowed. She looked unremarkable, like she had a constant hangover. All to be a detective. Pathetic.
She pulled the stolen envelope from her inner coat pocket. It wasn't heavy. She opened it neatly with a blade, her fingers barely touching the edges. Inside was a single photo and a folded slip of paper. The photo showed Yoon-a and Ryu Hye-ji on a boat, likely in Switzerland. Yoon-a was looking away, her face gaunt, while Ryu Hye-ji looked directly at the camera.
On the back of the photo, a date was scrawled in black ink: June 19th. The second item was a prescription slip from the Edelweiss Institute for a neuromuscular suppressant to be taken in high dosages.
Han Bo-young exhaled, a sharp, dry sound. Ryu Hye-ji had been a "companion" monitor. The envelope wasn't a smoking gun, but it confirmed the hypothesis: Ryu Hye-ji was alert, defensive, and hiding the true nature of Yoon-a's "rehabilitation."
"You're just a witness," Han Bo-young whispered, locking the envelope in the glovebox.
"Just in. Popular K-pop celebrity and daughter to Senator Lim Ji-won, Yoon-a, has been confirmed dead..."
Han Bo-young turned up the radio.
"Despite previous concerns by the public about her whereabouts..."
She smirked. Someone at the broadcasting station had just made a scoop. The Senator would be hard-pressed to hide the details now.
The morgue felt colder than usual. Dr. Woo was hunched over a microscope, the fluorescent lights reflecting off his glasses. The smell of alcohol was thick, stinging the back of her throat.
"Tetrodotoxin-S1," Han Bo-young said, skipping the pleasantries. "The stabilizer. Explain the neuro-mapping link."
Dr. Woo straightened his back and pointed toward a digital monitor displaying a magnified view of the victim's nerve tissue.
"Regular tetrodotoxin blocks sodium channels," Dr. Woo explained. "It shuts the system down. Total paralysis. But this variant, S1, uses a synthetic protein bridge which stalls the neuron."
Han Bo-young leaned in. "If you stall the signal without killing the neuron, you can monitor the brain's reaction to stimuli in real-time. You can map the neural pathways of specific sensations."
"Exactly," Dr. Woo nodded. "Usually, pain. To map the human 'pain map,' you need a subject who is conscious but physically unable to move. It's a technique used in experimental neuro-rehabilitation for paralyzed patients. But here..."
"Here, it was used for torture," Han Bo-young finished. She straightened, her face contorting in thought. "The stabilizer in the toxin. Where is it manufactured?"
"It's custom-synthesized. Only three labs in the country have the equipment. One is the University Hospital. One is a government defense lab."
"And the third?" She asked.
"The Lim Foundation's private research facility."
Han Bo-young felt a shiver.
"Dr. Woo," she said, her voice dropping. "Keep this detail out of the official digital log. If the Senator sees this connection before I'm ready, this investigation ends in a 'suicide' or a 'closed case.'"
Dr. Woo stared at her for a long moment. "You're asking me to falsify a federal report, Detective Han."
"I'm asking you to protect the truth," she countered. "You said it yourself, they're dead, that's all that matters. Don't let her death be a footnote in a Senator's PR campaign."
Thirty minutes later, she was in the Mapo district. The Lim Foundation's high-rise tower loomed over the Han River.
She sat in a restaurant, observing the building. A scrawny young man dropped a laptop onto her table with a thud.
"How much do I make?"
"How much does Lim Ji-won have?" Han Bo-young replied.
"I'll have the Jajangmyeon," he muttered, already typing.
Han Bo-young ordered food only for herself; she knew that once he started, he wouldn't stop until he was finished. Her bland taste buds were momentarily revitalized by the tteokbokki she was eating. In fifteen minutes, he raised his head.
"I couldn't get a map of the top floor, but this is the rest of the layout." He turned the screen toward her. She took out her phone and took multiple photos of the screen from different angles and left after paying the bill.
In her car, she changed into a lab coat, a long black wig, and clear-lens glasses. In a corporate environment, a lab coat was often more effective than a badge. She walked past the security desk with her phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapid-fire English.
"I told the Zurich team the samples are degraded. I'm heading up to the cold storage now," she snapped into the dead phone. The guard saw the coat and the focused, irritated expression of a high-level researcher and looked back at his monitor.
The elevator required a keycard for the top floors. Han Bo-young waited in the lobby's café, watching the floor indicator. When a group of technicians exited, she slipped in before the doors closed. She waited for the elevator to return to the last authorized floor: the 22nd.
The doors opened to a sterile, recessed corridor. She moved quickly, reading the plaques: Bio-Mechanical Interface. Neural Diagnostics. Pathology Synthesis.
She stopped at the third door. This was where the S1 variant would be handled. The lab was dark, but the blue LED lights of several centrifuges were active. She nudged the door. Locked. Biometric. Han Bo-young took a deep breath and looked at the emergency fire alarm next to the door. Breaking it would call the fire department and trigger a building-wide lockdown. Too loud.
She looked at the ceiling tiles. They were standard acoustic panels. She dragged a heavy plastic chair from a nearby desk, stood on it. She pushed a tile up and climbed into the crawlspace.
The air was hot and thick with dust. She crawled over the steel supports, her fingers grazing bundles of fiber-optic cables. When she estimated she was over the Pathology lab, she pushed a tile aside and dropped down.
She landed awkwardly. She took off her lab coat, shook off the dust, and put it back on. She found the terminal and inserted a high-speed data-ripper, a tool she'd bought from a black-market contact in Itaewon.
The screen flickered.
Inventory: Tetrodotoxin-S1.
Quantity: 500mg.
Status: 200mg withdrawn.
Authorized by: Dr. L.
"Dr. L," Han Bo-young whispered. She clicked the user profile. No photo. Just a string of credentials and an internal employee ID.
The heavy click of shoes on marble sounded from the hallway. Han Bo-young pulled the ripper out and ducked behind a cabinet. The lab door hissed open. The lights hummed to life.
"I told you the Senator wanted the mapping data by tonight," a voice said. It was calm and professional.
Han Bo-young held her breath, her heart rate steady. This wasn't the first time she had been in a situation like this.
"The subject was... uncooperative," a second voice replied. "The muscle fibers ruptured before the mapping was complete. We need a more resilient subject for the next phase."
Han Bo-young's eyes widened. She recognized the second voice.