The Platinum Temptation
The subway attack never happened.
At 5:47 AM, combined forces from the National Intelligence Service, Seoul Metro Police, and the bomb disposal unit swept three stations simultaneously. They found explosive devices hidden in maintenance tunnels at Gangnam Station (Line 2), Seoul Station (Line 4), and Dongjak Station (Line 9).
All three were disarmed by 6:30 AM. Rush hour proceeded normally. Seventeen million commuters went about their day, never knowing how close they'd come to disaster.
The media, however, knew everything.
"BREAKING: Major Terror Plot Foiled—Detective Kang's Intelligence Saves Thousands"
"Seoul's Prophet: How One Detective Prevented the Worst Attack in Korean History"
"National Hero: Kang Min-jun's Fourth Week, Fifth Miracle"
Two weeks had passed since then. Min-jun stood in the corridor outside the Commissioner's office, his formal uniform pressed and starched. Through the frosted glass, he could see silhouettes—high-ranking officials, politicians, people whose names appeared in newspapers.
Team Leader Bae stood beside him, straightening Min-jun's collar one last time.
"You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
"They're going to offer you the Predictive Crime Task Force. New unit, direct report to the Commissioner. Choose your own team."
Min-jun nodded. He'd expected this.
"There's also talk of a commendation. Possibly the Order of Civil Merit."
The door opened. An aide gestured them inside.
The Commissioner's office was impressive—dark wood panels, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, a massive desk that seemed designed to dwarf visitors. Five people sat in leather chairs: the Commissioner, two Deputy Commissioners, a National Intelligence Service liaison, and someone Min-jun didn't recognize in an expensive suit.
Commissioner Park Sung-min stood and extended his hand. Sixty-two, silver hair, the kind of presence that filled rooms.
"Detective Kang. Please, sit."
Min-jun sat. Bae stood behind him.
"I'll be direct," the Commissioner said. "In four weeks, you've accomplished what entire units fail to do in years. Five major cases prevented. An estimated forty-three lives saved. And last week, you stopped what could have been the worst terrorist attack in our nation's history."
"I was just following intelligence, sir."
"Intelligence you somehow obtained before our own NIS." The Commissioner gestured to the NIS liaison, a thin man with wire-frame glasses. "Director Shin has questions about your sources."
Director Shin leaned forward. "Detective Kang, your information on the subway plot was extremely precise. Location, timing, even the type of explosive used. That level of detail suggests either a high-level informant or access to classified surveillance."
Min-jun had prepared for this. "I've developed a network of confidential informants over the years. Street-level intelligence, combined with pattern analysis."
"Street-level informants don't know about coordinated terrorist cells."
"Sometimes they know more than we think."
Shin studied him for a long moment. "I see. And you're unwilling to reveal your sources."
"I protect my informants, sir. It's the only way they stay useful."
The Commissioner cleared his throat. "Regardless of methodology, the results speak for themselves. Which brings us to why you're here." He slid a folder across the desk. "We're establishing a new unit—the Predictive Crime Task Force. You'll lead it. Choose five officers. Budget and resources at your discretion. Your mandate: prevent crimes before they occur."
Min-jun opened the folder. Inside was an organizational chart, a budget spreadsheet with numbers that made his head spin, and a contract.
"This is a promotion to Senior Inspector, correct?"
"With Team Leader privileges and a direct line to this office. You'll effectively operate independently."
It was everything Min-jun had lost three years ago. Everything he'd thought gone forever.
"I accept."
The Commissioner smiled. "I thought you might. There's one more thing." He gestured to the man in the expensive suit. "This is Director Jung Yo-han from Helios Analytics. They're one of our private sector partners in predictive technology."
Jung stood and offered his hand. Mid-thirties, minimalist aesthetic, the kind of person who radiated Silicon Valley efficiency.
"Detective Kang. I've been following your work with great interest."
"Helios Analytics," Min-jun said slowly. "What do you do?"
"Behavioral prediction models. We aggregate public data—social media, purchase patterns, location data—and identify individuals at risk of becoming victims or perpetrators of crime."
"Sounds like what I do."
Jung smiled. "Exactly. Which is why we'd like to collaborate. Our models, your field expertise. We could revolutionize law enforcement."
Min-jun felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Is this a requirement of the position?"
The Commissioner shook his head. "Optional. But encouraged. Helios has contracts with police departments in seven countries. Their success rate is impressive."
"87.3%," Jung said. "On average."
The number hit Min-jun like a physical blow. 87.3%. The exact number DEADLINE had shown him that first night.
"I'll... consider it," Min-jun managed.
"Excellent." Jung handed him a business card. "Let's have coffee this week. I think you'll be surprised by what our technology can do."
Min-jun left the Commissioner's office in a daze. In the elevator, Bae clapped him on the shoulder.
"Congratulations, Team Leader Kang."
The title felt surreal.
Back at his desk, Min-jun opened DEADLINE. His rank had climbed steadily over the past two weeks:
[GUARDIAN PROFILE]
Rank: #8 (Diamond Guardian)
Total Events: 11
Lives Saved: 47
Success Rate: 100%
Community Status: LEGEND
CONGRATULATIONS!
You have reached PLATINUM TIER.
New features unlocked:
- Enhanced real-time tracking
- Predictive profiling (85% accuracy)
- Priority event selection
- Direct messaging with Oracle
Direct messaging with Oracle.
Min-jun stared at that line. He'd seen the name mentioned in chat—Oracle, the mysterious admin or creator of DEADLINE. No one knew who they were. Some speculated it was a collective, others a single programmer, still others an AI.
A new notification appeared:
[PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM ORACLE]
Congratulations on your promotion, Detective Kang.
You have proven yourself worthy.
Platinum privileges are now active.
Use them wisely.
Your next challenge awaits.
Min-jun's hands trembled slightly as he tapped the notification. A private chat window opened.
Oracle: You've exceeded all expectations.
Min-jun hesitated, then typed: Who are you?
Oracle: A concerned citizen. Someone who believes in proactive justice.
How do you know what crimes will happen?
Oracle: The same way you do now—data, patterns, probability. The future is not mysterious. It's mathematical.
The subway attack. How did you know?
Oracle: I didn't know. I calculated. 73.4% probability, based on cell communications, dark web chatter, and behavioral markers. I was right.
And if you'd been wrong? If I'd evacuated those stations for nothing?
Oracle: But I wasn't wrong. I'm never wrong. 87.3% success rate, Detective. Better than any intelligence agency in the world.
Min-jun stared at the screen. That number again.
What do you want from me?
Oracle: To continue doing what you're doing. Save lives. Become the hero you were always meant to be. And in return, I'll give you something no one else can—certainty in an uncertain world.
The chat window closed before Min-jun could respond.
That evening, Min-jun met Prosecutor Yoo Ji-hoon at an upscale restaurant in Gangnam. Yoo had insisted on celebrating the promotion.
"To Team Leader Kang," Yoo raised his glass of wine. "The fastest promotion in Seoul Metropolitan Police history."
They clinked glasses. Min-jun drank, but the wine tasted like ash.
"So," Yoo said, leaning back in his chair. "About that partnership I mentioned. Now that you have your own unit, the possibilities expand considerably."
"What did you have in mind?"
"High-profile cases. Political corruption. Corporate crime. Things that make headlines and build careers." Yoo's eyes gleamed. "I heard you met with Jung Yo-han from Helios."
"News travels fast."
"It does when you're connected. Jung and I go way back—law school. His predictive models are remarkable. Combined with your... intuition... we could target cases before they even enter the system."
Min-jun set down his glass. "You want to use predictive technology to cherry-pick cases."
"I want to use every tool available to maximize justice. Don't you?"
"There's a difference between justice and career advancement."
Yoo smiled. "Is there? Justice that no one sees is just a tree falling in an empty forest. Impact requires visibility."
Min-jun's phone buzzed. He glanced at it—a text from So-young.
[So-young]: Senior, we need to talk. I found something about your recent cases. It's urgent.
Yoo noticed his distraction. "Problem?"
"No. Just... work."
"Always work with you." Yoo signaled for the check. "Think about what I said. Together, we could reshape the entire justice system."
After Yoo left, Min-jun sat alone at the table, staring at So-young's message. He hadn't spoken to her properly since their confrontation two weeks ago. She'd been avoiding him, or he'd been avoiding her—it was hard to say which.
He typed: Tomorrow. Lunch. Just us.
[So-young]: Okay. But Senior... I'm worried about you.
At home, Min-jun opened DEADLINE to find the community chat exploding:
NightHawk: Kang Min-jun is #8 now. Fucking legend.
Prophet_7: 47 lives saved in one month. That's inhuman.
SilentBlade: Or too human. Anyone else think he's getting preferential treatment?
DarkGuardian: Definitely. His events are bigger, better documented, more media-friendly.
NightHawk: Because he's better at this than us.
SilentBlade: Or because someone WANTS him to succeed. To be the face of this.
Prophet_7: You're paranoid.
SilentBlade: Am I? Check his event log. Every single case was perfectly positioned for maximum media impact.
Min-jun closed the chat. His heart was pounding.
He opened the private message window with Oracle.
Why me? he typed. Why am I getting more cases than others?
The response came immediately:
Oracle: Because you're capable of handling them. Because you're positioned to make a difference. Because you understand that sometimes the ends justify the means.
That's not an answer.
Oracle: It's the only answer you need. You've saved 47 lives, Detective. Would you rather I'd sent those cases to someone less capable? Someone who might have failed?
Min-jun's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
What happens if I stop using the app?
Oracle: Nothing. You're free to stop anytime. But ask yourself—what happens to the people you could have saved? The 48th victim. The 49th. Every life you could have protected but chose not to.
Min-jun felt sick.
This is manipulation.
Oracle: This is reality. You have a gift. Use it or waste it—the choice is yours. But don't pretend you're a victim. You've loved every minute of this.
Min-jun closed the app.
But Oracle was right. He had loved it. The rush of each successful intervention. The media attention. The respect from colleagues who'd dismissed him for years. The look in his Team Leader's eyes—pride instead of disappointment.
He'd loved becoming a hero.
A new notification appeared:
[SPECIAL EVENT - PLATINUM EXCLUSIVE]
High-value target detected.
Success reward: +2000 points / Leaderboard Top 5 entry
T-47:55:32
Clue #1: "Congressman's son. Gangnam district. Drug transaction."
Clue #2: "Club Arena, VIP section. Friday night."
This case will define your career.
Accept?
Min-jun stared at the screen. Congressman's son. A political case. Exactly what Yoo had been talking about.
His phone rang—Yoo's number.
"Detective Kang, funny timing. I just received a tip about Congressman Lee's son. Drug dealing in Gangnam. If we could catch him in the act..."
Min-jun's blood ran cold. "Where did you hear this?"
"Confidential source. Why?"
"What's the timeline?"
"Friday night. Club Arena. VIP section." Yoo paused. "You heard the same thing, didn't you? Your sources overlap with mine."
Min-jun said nothing.
"This is it, Detective. The case that puts us both on the map. Congressman Lee chairs the Justice Committee. Taking down his son for drug dealing? That's career-making for both of us."
"I need time to verify—"
"There's no time. Friday is in 48 hours. We need to move now. I can prep the warrant, coordinate with narcotics. You just need to confirm the intelligence."
Min-jun looked at his phone screen. The DEADLINE notification was still waiting:
Accept?
"Detective Kang? Are you there?"
"I'm here."
"So what do you say? Partners on this?"
Min-jun closed his eyes. Saw his father's stopped watch. Saw the faces of the thirteen victims from three years ago. Saw his own reflection in the studio lights, being called a hero.
"Let me verify the intelligence. I'll call you back."
"Don't wait too long. Someone else might get there first."
Yoo hung up.
Min-jun sat in the darkness of his apartment, the phone glowing in his hand.
On the screen, the countdown ticked:
T-47:52:18
T-47:52:17
T-47:52:16
His finger hovered over the Accept button.
Forty-seven lives saved. Forty-seven people walking around Seoul who would be dead or traumatized without him. Didn't that count for something? Didn't that justify whatever uncomfortable questions lurked at the edges?
So-young's voice echoed in his memory: "That's not intelligence. That's surveillance so comprehensive it might be illegal."
DarkGuardian's message: "Maybe because it CREATED the terrorist plot."
Oracle's words: "You've loved every minute of this."
Min-jun pressed Accept.
The screen changed:
[MISSION ACCEPTED]
Platinum protocols activated.
Real-time tracking enabled.
Target profile: Lee Jun-hyuk, age 28
Known associates: 4
Danger level: Medium
Media impact: EXTREME
Detailed briefing will follow.
Good luck, Guardian.
Min-jun called Yoo back.
"I'm in. Let's bring him down."
Yoo's laugh was triumphant. "That's what I wanted to hear. I'll start the paperwork. You get ready for Friday night."
After hanging up, Min-jun opened the community chat one last time:
Guardian_0008: For those worried about the ethics—47 lives saved. That's all that matters.
He posted the message and closed the app.
But as he lay in bed, sleep wouldn't come. His mind kept returning to one question:
If DEADLINE could predict crimes with 87.3% accuracy, and if Helios Analytics had the same success rate, and if Jung Yo-han wanted to "collaborate"...
Were they the same thing?
And if they were, what did that make him?
His phone lit up with a final message from Oracle:
Oracle: Sleep well, Detective. Friday will be the night that changes everything.
T-47:30:15