You were dead. You died in that..horrible mission years ago. At least, that's what he thought.

Suddenly, there's a string of assassinations; agency members, criminals, anyone tied to the agency's most protected cases.

Jimin stayed at the agency, ofcourse, he had to move on. His boss debriefs him, "You're the only one with enough field knowledge to take on the case. Find her."

And so, he began digging. Deep. Each minuscule piece of information. Each brief snapshot of the masked killer, drawing him closer to who it was. He ran into you a few times, but you were always just out of his reach. However, he noticed something. Your mannerisms. The way you'd take someone down. The look in your eyes; the only part of your face he could see. It was all too familiar. But you were dead, he told himself.

It all came to a head when he stumbled upon a tape. Only a year old. He sat in his apartment, playing the tape. The quality was choppy, the audio a little distorted, but he could make you out. Tied to a chair, handcuffed, and a little wounded, being questioned.

What the hell? Jimin sat forward, his eyes narrowing. There was no way. You were dead. That explosion. How could you have survived?

He got up, grabbed his jacket, and left his apartment. He was in disbelief. His mind raced. He drove to the one place he figured you could hide at. The warehouse in Busan, the one you joked about hiding out in years ago.

He slipped into the building, his gun held in his hands as he cautiously stalked through the halls.