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Han's eyes widen as he processes my words. "Are you certain?"

I nod vigorously. "Positive. And if he's the one behind the murders we've been investigating, this situation is far more dangerous than it appears."

Han's expression turns grave. He picks up his phone, his fingers flying over the keypad. "We need to take control of this operation immediately," he says, his voice authoritative as he speaks to someone on the other end.

While Han makes calls, mobilizing resources and asserting our unit's authority over the case, I rush to gather our team. Within minutes, we're geared up and heading out, sirens blaring as we speed towards the scene.

The streets blur past as my mind races. What pushed Oh to this desperate act? How does it connect to the murders, to Song's brother? The pieces of the puzzle swirl in my head, refusing to fit together.

We arrive at a chaotic scene. Police cars and news vans crowd the street, their lights painting the night in flashes of red and blue. Han immediately takes charge, gathering us for a briefing with the first responders.

"What's the current situation?" Han demands.

A local officer, looking haggard, gives us the rundown. "The suspect broke in, presumably to rob the place. He thought it would be empty - the homeowner, an 80-year-old man with dementia, and his caretaker were supposed to be at a hospital appointment. There was a last-minute schedule change."

"Do we have eyes on the homeowner?" I interject.

The officer shakes his head. "Negative. We only have visual on the suspect and the caretaker. The homeowner's status is unknown."

Han nods, his face grim. "Any demands from the suspect?"

"Just safe passage out," the officer replies. "He seems desperate, possibly unstable."

I exchange a look with Han. We both know that "unstable" doesn't begin to cover it if Oh is indeed our serial killer.

"Alright," Han says, addressing our team. "We need to approach this with extreme caution. This man is potentially far more dangerous than a simple burglar. Our priority is the safety of the hostages, but be prepared for anything."

***

Hours tick by with no progress. The standoff continues, tension mounting with each passing minute. More news vans arrive, their satellite dishes crowding the night sky. The hostage situation has become a national spectacle, with live coverage streaming into homes across South Korea.

I can see the strain on Han's face as he fields calls from superiors demanding results. The pressure is immense, and I know we're running out of time and options.

That's when an idea strikes me. It's risky, potentially reckless, but it might be our only shot.

I pull Han aside, away from the bustling command center. "Inspector," I say, my voice low and urgent, "I need to tell you everything I've uncovered about Oh and his wife, Song."

Quickly, I lay out my investigation - the mysterious hospital visits, Song's institutionalized brother, the financial discrepancies. I explain my theory that Oh might be working with a partner, possibly to fund his wife's brother's care.

"I don't have concrete evidence," I admit, "but I think I can use this information to manipulate Oh. We can threaten to arrest Song as an accomplice. If Oh is as devoted to her as he seems, it might be enough to make him surrender."

Han's brow furrows as he considers my words. "It's a dangerous gamble," he says. "If you're wrong, it could escalate the situation."

I nod, acknowledging the risk. "I know. But I think it's our best shot. Let me go in and negotiate with Oh. I've been studying him, I think I can get through to him."

Han is silent for a long moment, weighing the options. Finally, he nods. "Alright," he says, his voice grave. "But you'll wear a wire, and if things go south, we're pulling you out immediately."

My heart races as I prepare to enter the house. As the team fits me with a concealed microphone, I can't help but wonder if I'm making a terrible mistake. But as I look at the house, knowing that innocent lives hang in the balance, I steel my resolve.

I stand at the edge of the police perimeter, my hands trembling slightly as I lift the speakerphone to my lips. The weight of countless eyes - both physical and through camera lenses - presses down on me.

"Oh Sang-chul," I call out, my voice echoing across the tense silence. "This is Officer Park. We've met before. I'm coming to talk to you about Song Mi-kyung."

I pause, letting the words sink in. "I have information about her that you need to hear. If you're willing to listen, give me a sign. Wave something from a window so I know it's safe to approach."

The seconds stretch into an eternity as I wait, my heart pounding in my chest. Then, movement catches my eye. A pale hand appears at a window, waving what looks like a dish towel.

I nod to Han, then start my slow approach to the house. Each step feels heavy, laden with the potential consequences of what I'm about to do.

At the front door, I take a deep breath, then turn the handle. It's unlocked.

The interior of the house is dim, the curtains drawn against the morning light. The air is thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood. As my eyes adjust, I see a figure slumped in an armchair - the elderly homeowner, his unseeing eyes staring at nothing. A dark stain spreads across his chest. My stomach lurches, but I force myself to focus.

In the center of the living room stands Oh, his mask discarded, his face a mask of desperation and fear. One arm is wrapped around the neck of a middle-aged woman - the caretaker. Her eyes are wide with terror, tears streaming down her face.

Oh's free hand holds a knife, its blade glinting in the dim light. His eyes lock onto mine, a mix of recognition and wariness in their depths.

"That's far enough," he growls, his voice hoarse. "What do you know about my wife? What have you done to her?"

I raise my hands, showing I'm unarmed. "Nothing's been done to Song, Oh. But what happens next depends on you. We need to talk about her, about her brother, and about what you've been doing to support them."

Oh's eyes widen slightly at the mention of Song's brother. I've struck a nerve, and I know that the next few moments will determine whether this situation ends in tragedy or redemption.

"Start talking," Oh says, his grip on the caretaker tightening slightly.