I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

The station has quieted considerably as the clock ticks past 6 PM. I've been pretending to work on reports, my eyes constantly darting to the entrance. Finally, Yong appears, looking nervous but determined. He approaches my desk, a small evidence bag clutched tightly in his hand.

"Here it is," he whispers, sliding the bag containing Jin Dohoon's phone onto my desk. "We don't have much time."

I nod, quickly pulling on a pair of latex gloves before carefully extracting the phone. It's a high-end model, fitting for a computer science graduate. I power it on, relieved to find it unlocked - likely the work of the forensics team.

As mentioned in the report, the gallery is filled with photos of women, many of them explicit in nature. I start by checking the metadata of several images, hoping to find dates and locations. As expected from someone with Jin's background, this information has been wiped clean.

"He knew what he was doing," I mutter to Yong, who's hovering anxiously nearby.

Next, I open a web browser and access a popular internet portal. I run a reverse image search on several of the photos, a process that compares the digital fingerprint of an image against a vast database of online pictures. This technique can often reveal if an image has been published elsewhere on the internet.

"You see," I explain to Yong as we wait for the results, "reverse image search analyzes the unique pixel patterns and color distributions of a photo. It then compares this 'fingerprint' to millions of images online. If there's a match, it means the photo exists elsewhere on the internet."

To our surprise, none of the searches yield any results.

"This could indicate that these photos weren't downloaded," I say, my suspicion growing. "If Jin took these himself, they wouldn't exist anywhere else online."

As I continue to explore the phone's contents, something odd catches my eye. The names of the photo folders don't follow any standard naming convention. Instead, they appear to be some kind of code.

"Look at this," I say, showing Yong the screen. The folder names are a mix of letters and numbers, seemingly random at first glance:

AX37_B9 CY22_D4 BZ15_A6

"There's a pattern here," I mutter, more to myself than to Yong. "Some kind of system."

I grab a notepad and start jotting down the folder names, trying to discern the rule behind them. The first two characters are always letters, followed by two numbers, then an underscore and another letter-number combination.

"The first letter seems to be progressing alphabetically," I note. "A, B, C... And the second letter... X, Y, Z... it's cycling through the end of the alphabet."

Yong leans in, his eyes wide with interest. "What about the numbers?"

I study them closely. "They seem to be decreasing... 37, 22, 15... And the last part... the letters are also progressing alphabetically, while those numbers are decreasing too."

A chill runs down my spine as a theory begins to form. "Yong, what if... what if these aren't just folder names? What if they're some kind of code for locations and dates?"

Yong's face pales. "You mean..."

I nod grimly. "We might be looking at a systematic catalog of victims. The alphabetical progression could represent different areas of the city, while the numbers could be dates."

The implications of this discovery are staggering. If I'm right, this isn't just a case of a lone flasher. We could be dealing with a methodical predator, one who's been operating undetected for who knows how long.

"We need to crack this code," I say, my determination growing. "If we can figure out the exact system, we might be able to predict where and when he'll strike next."

I quickly jot down the seven code sequences from Jin's phone, my hand moving swiftly across the notepad:

AX37_B9 CY22_D4 BZ15_A6 DW08_E1 FU30_G7 HT19_J3 KR05_L8

"Yong, we need to return the phone before anyone notices it's missing," I say urgently.

Yong nods, carefully taking the device and hurrying away. I turn my attention to the cryptic sequences, my mind racing through the encryption techniques I learned at the police academy and in my own studies.

Hours pass as I try various decryption methods. Substitution ciphers, transposition ciphers, even more complex algorithms - nothing seems to crack the code. The clock ticks relentlessly, reminding me that every moment lost could mean another potential victim.

Frustration mounting, I make a decision I never thought I'd make willingly. I need help, and I know exactly where to get it.

"Manson," I call out in my mind, bracing myself for the familiar, unsettling presence. "I need your insight on this."

Silence.

Then, unexpectedly, a different voice responds - smooth, articulate, and chillingly familiar.

"Well, well. Look who's asking for help," Ted Bundy's voice echoes in my head. "I must say, I'm flattered."

I stiffen, caught off guard by this unexpected shift. "Bundy?

As Bundy's voice fills my mind, I'm struck by an unexpected and unsettling feeling - happiness. It's been a while since I've heard from him, and there's a bizarre sense of comfort in the familiar cadence of his speech. Immediately, guilt and nausea follow this realization. How twisted have I become that I'm glad to hear the voice of a serial killer in my head?

"It's been a while, detective," Bundy says, his tone almost warm. "I've missed our little chats."

I swallow hard, trying to reconcile the conflicting emotions churning inside me. After all, Bundy was the first voice I heard when I embarked on this strange journey as a police officer. In a perverse way, he's been a constant in my life, a dark mentor of sorts.

"I... it's good to hear you too, Bundy," I admit reluctantly. "But we don't have time to catch up. There's a case-"

"Ah, always so focused," Bundy interrupts, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Very well, we can reminisce later. Show me what you've got."

I push aside my emotional turmoil and focus on the task at hand. I mentally share the code sequences with Bundy, explaining our theories so far.

"Interesting," Bundy muses. "You're on the right track with the location and date theory, but there's something else here. Something... familiar."

We spend the next hour dissecting the code, Bundy offering insights that only a mind like his could provide. His understanding of predatory behavior is both invaluable and deeply disturbing.

"Wait a minute," Bundy says suddenly. "These sequences... they're not just random letters. They're names."

"Names?" I repeat, puzzled. "But they don't look like any names I've seen."

"That's because they're backwards, my dear detective," Bundy explains, a note of excitement in his voice. "And not just backwards - they're Korean names written in reverse using the English alphabet."

The realization hits me like a thunderbolt. I quickly start reversing the letter sequences, and suddenly, familiar Korean names begin to emerge:

AX37_B9 becomes 9B_73XA - Possibly "Park" CY22_D4 becomes 4D_22YC - Could be "Choi" BZ15_A6 becomes 6A_51ZB - Maybe "Baek"

"My God," I whisper, the implications sinking in. "He's cataloging his victims by their family names."

"Precisely," Bundy confirms, sounding almost proud. "The numbers likely correspond to the date of the... encounter. And the final letter-number combination? Well, I think you can guess what that represents."

I feel sick as I realize he's right. The final part is likely Jin's personal rating system for each victim.

As we continue to decode the sequences, a pattern emerges. Jin hasn't just been exposing himself - he's been systematically targeting and rating women across Gwangju, possibly for months or even years.

"You've got quite the case on your hands, detective," Bundy says, his voice tinged with what sounds disturbingly like admiration. "This Jin character is more than just a simple flasher. He's a predator, methodical and patient."

I nod grimly, even though Bundy can't see me. "Thank you for your help, Bundy. I... I appreciate it."

"Always a pleasure," Bundy replies smoothly. "Do keep me updated. It's been so long since I've had a good hunt."

As Bundy's presence fades from my mind, I'm left with a mix of emotions - relief at cracking the code, disgust at the nature of Jin's crimes, and a lingering unease about my reliance on Bundy's twisted expertise.

I grab my phone and quickly dial Yong's number. The phone rings several times before going to voicemail. Frustration surges through me until I remember - Yong mentioned he had traffic duty tonight."

"Yong, it's me," I say after the beep, trying to keep my voice calm despite my excitement. "Call me back as soon as you can. It's about Jin's case. We've made a breakthrough." Find additional tales at m,vl-em,py-r

I hang up and turn to my computer, logging into the police database. The familiar blue screen glows in the dim light of the nearly empty office. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment as I consider the ethical implications of what I'm about to do. Technically, I don't have official authorization to dive deeper into this case. But lives could be at stake.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to type. I start with the most recent name we deciphered from Jin's code: "Park." It's a common surname, but combined with the date from the code, it might narrow things down.

The database churns, pulling up records. I scan through them, looking for any incidents reported on the date corresponding to Jin's code. My heart skips a beat when I spot a possible match - a woman named Park Soo-jin reported being followed by a suspicious man on the exact date indicated in Jin's code.

Encouraged, I move on to the next name: "Choi." Again, I cross-reference with the date from Jin's code. This time, I find a report of indecent exposure filed by a Choi Eun-hye. The location matches the area we believe Jin's code indicated.

With each search, the pit in my stomach grows deeper. The codes are lining up with actual reports - some for indecent exposure, others for stalking or harassment. Many of these incidents were likely dismissed as isolated events, but together, they paint a chilling picture of a systematic predator.

As I scroll through the reports, cross-referencing names and dates, my tired eyes catch on a file that makes my blood run cold. It's a missing person report that turned into something far more sinister.

The victim's name jumps out at me - Kim Mi-sook. It matches one of the names we deciphered from Jin's coded list. The date of her disappearance aligns perfectly with Jin's entry.

With shaking hands, I open the full report. Kim Mi-sook was reported missing three months ago. Two weeks later, her body was found in a remote area outside Gwangju. The details are horrific - her body had been meticulously dissected, almost surgically, with certain organs removed.

With trembling fingers, I reach for my phone. It's time to wake up Han. This can't wait any longer.