Joker (7)
“W-Who are you?!”
The woman in jeans clutched her chest and screamed at him. The spacious interior was big enough for a dozen kids to play hide-and-seek. On the dusty desk inside the warehouse sat a large bag that looked like a camera case, while farming tools like sickles and rakes hung haphazardly on the walls. Aside from towering stacks of fertilizer bags about three meters high in one corner and the woman right in front of him, there was no one else.
“Who might you be?! Sorry for barging in, but are you the owner of this warehouse? If so, I apologize. I'm not some weirdo or anything. I was just passing by coincidentally...”
The woman waved her hands frantically, rambling incoherently. Gu Cheon-hee glanced down at his outfit. A luxury suit paired with cheap sneakers and medical vinyl gloves—hardly the look of a rural farmer, no matter how you sliced it. The woman before him was Cha Mi-ran, a social affairs reporter. Even in her panic, she wouldn't make such a lame deduction. This is staged.
“You really don't know who I am?”
As he took a step closer, she instinctively backed away.
“Disappointing. Cha Mi-ran.”
Her retreat halted. She bit her lip hard, as if steeling herself.
“You mean the one I'm thinking of...”
She trailed off, unable to continue. Killer, criminal, perpetrator—that person. A whirlwind of words must be swirling in her head.
The man smirked and nodded. She'll satisfy my curiosity today, then die. Might as well help her out.
“Yes. That's right. The killer.”
Cha Mi-ran's face drained of color, her knees buckling with a thud.
“Now it's my turn to ask questions. Where did you get that idea?”
“I-Idea? What idea?!”
She hadn't even stood up, her trembling lips forcing out the words.
“The news article about me sewing the corpse's lips with fishing line. I've racked my brain over it. Did I really do that at the scene?”
The man shook his head vigorously, staring at his hands.
“No, it was just a thought! Logically, you couldn't peek into my mind—we're strangers. Yet you stole my desires. So... tell me!”
His speech flipped between casual and formal. Gu Cheon-hee had stayed cool throughout, but mentioning the article made him visibly twitch. Even in suffocating terror, Cha Mi-ran caught the shift. Her eyes darkened, recalling someone absent.
...So that's it. You're saying check the suspect's motive and remaining crimes?
Yes. If it goes to plan, we'll catch him red-handed. We can verify method and tools on-site, but motive's trickier. We need motive and priors for a clean indictment. Perfect method acting to fool even a psychopath—that's your role, Reporter Cha. Can you do it?
“It wasn't perfect!”
Cha Mi-ran's desperate shout snapped Gu Cheon-hee back to reality. He steadied his breathing, his gaze urging her on.
“...I saw the crime scene myself. Checked the forensic report too. Over ten wounds across the body, yet the victim was still alive. ...It's like a skilled sushi chef slicing sashimi, but the fish keeps gill-flapping.”
Ex-reporter, alright—her wording was provocative. Imagining those twitching gills brought a satisfied smile to his lips. Spot on. That's exactly the effect I wanted.
“...But! The finish was sloppy.”
His face hardened instantly. His rising smirk froze into an awkward grimace, neither smile nor scowl.
“That's why you wrote that article. If it were me...”
Cha Mi-ran drew a deep breath.
“I'd rip both sides or suture the damaged parts back properly. That article was mockery—for someone with your talent settling for such a half-assed kill!”
She started with praise, ended with a gut punch. Life as an aggro magnet honed her knack for provocation. Gu Cheon-hee gave a bitter laugh and stepped closer. Mystery solved; time to kill and silence her. But he felt like justifying himself.
“You're my kind too, huh? Doesn't matter. You only know part of it. My kills aren't one-offs—they're a series.”
He approached slowly, tilting her chin up to meet her eyes. The cold medical gloves made her peach fuzz stand on end.
“Seen the Marvel series? What you saw was Phase 1's clunky Iron Man. Judge the whole series before flapping your lips. Think Yongin-gu was my first? Hardly. Recent Gangcheon-gu, before that nameless homeless folks—all died by my hand. You'd have rated me right if you'd heard their screams. And that's not all. Right now, someone's dying somewhere in Korea! Or maybe already dead. ...Oops, I'm chattering too much.”
The blade neared Cha Mi-ran's ashen face. As her scream erupted—
BANG!
A gunshot drowned it out.
“Heard enough bullshit. Caught red-handed, no excuses left. Drop the knife and step back quietly.”
Gu Cheon-hee's eyes widened in shock. Someone else was here besides them—a cop. Raising his head slowly, he saw a hulking shadow rise from behind the fertilizer bags. A massive man with a camcorder approached, aiming at him. Detective Kim Gwang-il.
It's a trap...
He nodded bitterly, then lunged like lightning, pressing the knife to her throat. Her frantic pulse throbbed under his fingers. He shoved her forward as a human shield.
“Kekeke! No Korean cop's got the balls to aim at a hostage. Toss that gun over quietly.”
“Won't say it twice. Drop the knife.”
An odd unease prickled Gu Cheon-hee's instincts. This bear of a cop stayed calm amid the chaos. Kim Gwang-il smirked and advanced.
“You're right. Korean cops don't aim at hostage-takers. But some crazy ones do.”
“W-What bullshit!”
“Look behind you.”
Only then did he feel the chill on his skin. I definitely closed the warehouse door...
As he turned, he spotted a cop baring white teeth, gun trained on him. The bear-like cop sighed in relief.
“Aigoo, Cheol-gu hyungnim, why'd you take so long? Slacking off?”
“Sorry. Open field like this, took time hiding the car.”
Kim Gwang-il closed in on the glancing-back-and-forth Gu Cheon-hee, gun steady.
“...Truth is, I ain't got the grit to shoot a hostage-taker. But that guy behind? He's the type who shoots horse thieves without blinking. Think he'd hesitate on a knife-wielding serial killer? Choose wisely.”
Gu Cheon-hee's vision blurred. That face seemed familiar, but Kang Cheol-gu from the Jungcheon academy violence case? No way.
Clang!
The knife slipped from his hand. Cha Mi-ran, pale and shaking, screamed hoarsely as she collapsed on her ass, gasping.
“Gwang-il, read her Miranda and cuff him.”
“Yes sir. Under Article 212 of the Criminal Procedure Act, you're under arrest without warrant as a felon caught in the act. You have the right to... Huh? Hyungnim, what's wrong with this bastard?”
Gu Cheon-hee, head bowed in defeat, started shaking. Unable to stifle his laughter, a guttural, phlegmy cackle erupted.
“Kekekeke! Think you've won? All done? Hey, bear cop—you heard everything hiding back there. Remember? Someone else is dying right now somewhere in Korea!”
Kim Gwang-il paused mid-step, cuffs in hand. Then—
Crackle!
The radio on Kang Cheol-gu's chest shattered the silence.
—Copy? Inspector Kang. Victim rescued from Gu Cheon-hee's pension in Jeongin-gu, Gyeonggi-do.
“Good work, Lieutenant Hwang. Victim's condition?”
—That fucker butchered her good. En route to hospital now. Full scan needed, but she'll live. How's it there?
Kang Cheol-gu eyed Gu Cheon-hee, whose jaw hung slack, radio to ear.
“...Some trash is sniveling.”
—Haha! Go easy. See you at the station.
Static filled the warehouse.
“Gu Cheon-hee. It's over.”
Kang Cheol-gu's verdict sealed his fate. Gu Cheon-hee lifted his bloodshot eyes, scanning around. There was Cha Mi-ran, camera thrust toward him—who knew from when.
Crunch!
She's the root of this disaster. Three meters away. He snatched the floor knife and launched at her. Her pupils shrank. Half a meter left. His knife-wielding reflection gleamed in her terrified eyes. Ravenous hunger surged, throat convulsing. As he plunged toward her pale neck—a shadow body-blocked the blade.
Kim Gwang-il. Gu Cheon-hee's eyes bulged. Black stab vest peeked through torn shirt, then excruciating pain shot from his hand.
Thud!
His fragile wrist snapped against reinforced ceramic, the redirected blade severing his thumb instantly. Staring at his finger in the dirt, shock brief—Gwang-il's rough hand yanked his sleeve, slamming him down.
Thwack!
Air cut off, consciousness fading.
“Gwang-il! You okay?!”
“Yeah, fine. Tried throwing myself at a blade like the boss—turns out it's doable. Huh! Blood from this fucker's hand.”
“It's fine. Just a scrape. Stem the bleeding rough and cuff him first.”
Dust stung his eyes. The cop jammed a filthy work glove into his severed hand. Crazy bastards! That's how you tourniquet?!
As an orthopedic surgeon, the botched first aid ignited fury. His thumb rolled in the dirt before him. No! My finger!
Clean gauze soaked in saline, ice bag seal, hospital in golden hour. Surgical knowledge flashed— but these idiots didn't even collect it. Losing a thumb was worse than death for a surgeon. He yearned to speak, but impact choked him. Then—
A rugged combat boot blocked his view. Barely lifting his eyes, he saw the cop gazing down. The eyes narrowed, then stepped back. Gu Cheon-hee's mouth gaped like a fish plucked from its tank.
Crunch!
Dust buried his crushed finger. Ambulance sirens wailed as consciousness vanished.