7:03 p.m.

SID Operations Room.

The lights
were whiter than daylight.

The air
colder than morning.

Because now,
we were no longer dealing with a “case.”

We were facing—

a name.

The main screen lit up.

One line.

Song Ching.

No photograph.

Only a file ID.

“Begin,” I said.

Tan Chih Lin’s fingers moved.

Data unfolded.

Layer by layer.

Like peeling skin.

The deeper it went—

the more wrong it felt.

“Song Ching,” he said. “Nationality: Country K. Male. Chemical scientist.”

Next page.

Specialization:

• Neuro-volatile chemistry
• Olfactory induction mechanisms
• Group behavioral influence
• Molecular dispersion modeling

“He doesn’t make perfume,” Chang Hsin-Yan said softly.

“He makes people,” Yim Bing replied.

No one disagreed.

“Continue.”

The screen shifted.

Resume.

Elite university.

National-level institute.

Publications—
few, but all sealed.

Not obscure.

Hidden.

“This is where it goes wrong,” said Tan Chih Lin.

He zoomed in.

“He was involved in a project. The name is wiped, but fragments remain.”

On screen:

…olfactory induction response…
…group decision deviation…
…low-dose neural trigger…

“That’s not civilian research,” Lee Wai Hing said.

“It never was,” I replied.

“Next.”

The timeline continued.

Then—

cut.

Clean.

“Missing,” said Tan Chih Lin.

“How long?” I asked.

“Seven years.”

“Reason?”

“Official: none.”

“Unofficial?”

He paused.

“Removed.”

“By who?”

“No trace.”

Silence.

Short.

Heavy.

Kim Min Jung pulled another thread.

“We approach from the other side.”

She projected financial flows.

Not names.

Accounts.

Layered transfers.

Multi-country hops.

Encrypted wallets.

Shell corporations.

“One node repeats,” she said.

Zoom.

KARAM

No one spoke.

We all knew the name.

But this—

was the first time
it connected to Song Ching.

“Timeline?” I asked.

“Starts one year after disappearance.”

“Scale?”

“Increasing annually.”

“Purpose?”

“Three primary flows—”

She highlighted:

Equipment procurement
Irregular logistics transport
Temporary personnel funding

I stared.

“This isn’t funding.”

“It’s operation.”

Chang Hsin-Yan stepped forward.

“He wasn’t taken,” she said.

“He was received.”

I looked at her.

“Explain.”

“The timeline is too clean. This isn’t disappearance—it’s transition. Public records stop at a fixed point, and funding begins precisely after. That’s not loss. That’s entry into another system.”

She paused.

“And likely voluntary.”

The air dropped again.

“So he brought his research,” Lee Wai Hing said quietly.

“To KARAM.”

No one denied it.

Because every line
pointed to the same place.

Dr. Cheng Kok Ming joined in.

“I’ve reviewed the lab residue.”

“Conclusion?”

“That’s not early-stage work,” he said.

“That’s application-level.”

He paused.

“Meaning—”

“Song Ching is not researching.”

“He is executing.”

Silence.

Because that meant one thing—

we weren’t facing a scientist.

We were facing someone
who had turned science
into a weapon.

I stood before the screen.

Looked at the name.

Song Ching.

No longer a name.

A source.

A core.

The architect.

“Bring in leadership,” I said.

8:01 p.m.

Secure line established.

Prime Minister Huo Feng.
Minister of Justice Liu Xin Min.
Commissioner Lin Zhong Mou.

No pleasantries.

They had read the brief.

They wanted one thing—

judgment.

“Yong Tin Kei,” said Huo Feng. “Your assessment.”

I didn’t look at the files.

I looked at them.

“This is not a criminal case.”

No movement.

“This is an organized chemical infiltration.”

Liu Xin Min frowned.

“Scale?”

“Currently experimental.”

“Target?”

“Unknown. But highly scalable.”

Commissioner Lin spoke:

“What’s next?”

I paused.

“From individuals—”

“To populations.”

Silence.

“Timeline?” Huo Feng asked.

“Soon.”

“Why?”

“They’ve completed four test cycles.”

I pointed at the screen.

“And we only just realized.”

Silence again.

Longer.

“Are you telling me this can be deployed in crowds?” Liu Xin Min asked.

“Yes.”

“And—”

I looked at them.

“It won’t be recognized as an attack.”

No explosion.

No gunfire.

No warning.

Just scent.

A slight dizziness.

Then—

they sit.

And never rise again.

“Chemical terrorism,” Lin Zhong Mou said.

I nodded.

“Yes.”

Huo Feng looked at me.

For a long time.

Then:

“SID takes full control.”

“Resources?”

“Unlimited.”

“Limitations?”

“One.”

He paused.

“You cannot fail.”

Connection terminated.

The room returned.

But it was no longer the same.

Because now—

everyone knew.

This wasn’t a case.

This was war.

I turned.

Looked at my team.

Chang Hsin-Yan.
Lee Wai Hing.
Yim Bing.
Tan Chih Lin.
Kim Min Jung.

No one stood outside it anymore.

No retreat.

I spoke:

“From now on, Song Ching is not just a target.”

“He is an entry point.”

“Through him, we reach KARAM.”

“And beyond that—”

“What they’re really building.”

No one asked “what if.”

There was no “what if.”

I walked back to the screen.

Looked at the name.

Song Ching

And said quietly:

“What you built—”

“I will dismantle.”

The light from the screens
cut across every face.

Cold.

Sharp.

Like a blade drawn.

And this time—

we weren’t chasing a man.

We were chasing—

a war that had already begun.