As advertised, things moved pretty quickly as soon as the plane finished its taxi off of the runway and onto the parking apron. “Come on, kid,” Ellen ushered quietly as she unbuckled herself, grabbed a duffle bag from the seat behind her, and stood up into the aisle in one, fluid motion. She seemed particularly eager to get off as she completely left me in the dust, waiting impatiently at the aircraft’s main door.

“Colonel Hawke’s not a huge fan of flying,” the older man, Wells, whispered as he leaned down towards me. When I furrowed my brows at him, he flashed me a little sad smile. “The poor girl can’t sleep a wink,” he added before he reached to retrieve his own belongings, following his commander towards the door. Who joins the Air Force if they hate flying? I mentally asked before shrugging and getting out of my seat, my back and joints aching from the thirteen hours of stiffness. Sneaking a peek at the tall, imposing, confident woman fidgeting uncomfortably at the cabin door, it was hard to imagine someone like her being frightened by something as benign as flying. More than wondering about Ellen’s career choices, it made me wonder exactly how long she had been awake. It’s not like she rolled out of bed and right onto that helicopter.

I didn’t have much time to think, though, as the door was finally opened, and we were ushered down a short flight of steps. It was still midday, and I suddenly felt as though I were on a different planet. There were buildings everywhere, open space, and the sound of vehicles all around us. I stood at the base of the stairs for a moment, just looking around at what was vaguely familiar, but I was suddenly aware that Ellen and Sergeant Wells were striding away rather swiftly, Ellen brushing awkwardly past saluting uniformed military personnel on the way, stiffly returning the gesture to each as she went. I had to quickly jog to catch up, avoiding the stares of those around me. I felt oddly out of place as a civilian on a military installation, but the only choice I had was to follow behind the kind man who occasionally glanced over his shoulder to check up on me.

We piled into a light blue sedan that had been made ready for us, Ellen seated in the passenger seat while Sergeant Wells and I sat in the back. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” The driver politely spoke, but Ellen was clearly not in the mood for pleasantries as she gave simple directions for where we needed to go and said nothing else. I gazed out the window as the car began to pull out of the lot, looking up at the various concrete, glass, and brick buildings along the paved asphalt road. There were sidewalks, sparse trees, light posts, other vehicles, and hosts of other things that I would have brushed off as normal. To me, in that moment, though, I was just astounded by how loud the world was. I had grown used to the serene silence of the forest, and I was distracted by every sight and sound. Eventually, we turned into a different parking lot in front of a small, brick, windowless building.

Once parked, I turned to see Ellen already unbuckling her seat belt as she turned to face the young driver, “Please send my bag to the Inn, I need those uniforms laundered by this evening.” The request was gentle, but it was clearly a direct order.

“Of course, Colonel,” the young man answered simply, intent on staying in the vehicle. Master Sergeant Wells and I got out of the back of the small car, scurrying around to stand on a nearby walkway to wait for Ellen. She strode past us, and we fell in step behind her, pushing through a set of glass double doors. We were in a very small lobby, just large enough to fit four standing people, maybe. There were shallow shelves along the wall, and I saw numerous overturned hats, most of them with cell phones nestled in them. I spotted a sign that read ‘NO ELECTRONIC DEVICES INSIDE THE SCIF’. I wasn’t sure what that last acronym meant, but it at least explained the display. Wells followed suit, placing a small, black, rectangular smartphone inside his hat and setting it up on one of the little shelves. He then pulled a badge out of one of his pockets and swiped it against the solid grey door. A small beep and a little click signaled the door’s release, and I saw him exert a surprising amount of effort to push the door open. As Ellen and I followed him inside, I noted that the door was several inches thick- much heavier than the door back at the compound.

I felt Ellen give me a very light nudge to my shoulder. “This is a secure building,” she murmured softly as we continued to walk. She was trying to be helpful, and while I got the meaning behind her words, I wasn’t exactly sure how relevant that was to me. I was handed a little clip-on red badge and instructed to pin it to my dirty, formerly white linen shirt. Eventually we came to yet another door, and I was led inside. It was a simple room with a little round high-top table and two upholstered stools. In one stool was an unfamiliar figure. He was a short, but well-groomed man, notably not in uniform. He wore a clean light blue button-down shirt, a deep navy tie, and dark grey slacks with shiny black loafers supported on the lower cross-beam of the stool. His skin was a medium shade of brown, and his wide, round face gave him a distinct Hispanic look. Maybe Puerto Rican.

“Colonel Hawke,” he greeted Ellen with an almost imperceptible nod, who was looming over and behind me. His dark brown eyes then flicked down to mine. “Miss Yoo. Please, sit,” he gestured with an open hand to the chair opposite him. Instinctively, I looked over my shoulder for reassurance. Ellen had removed her reflective sunglasses, and her large, teal eyes were watching me closely.

She had no hint of a smile on her white, lightly freckled face, but she gave me a tiny nod. “You’ll be fine, kid,” was all she said, but it still managed to put me at ease. Wells was just behind her, and he gave me a kind smile, creating little creases around his hazel eyes in his lightly bronzed face as he gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. It was perhaps a character flaw of my own that I had already latched onto these two strangers as a source of comfort and stability, but I supposed it was just instinct for me to seek allies in such a chaotic environment. I took a small breath before turning away from them to step into the unfamiliar room, the door ominously closing with a hollow thud. It was quiet in the fluorescent light of the tiny enclosure. Hesitantly, I took a step forward and slipped onto the high slightly padded-stool.

As if my hitting the seat was like pressing a button, the man was quick to speak, "Miss Yoo, you may call me Mr. Davis. I will be asking you some questions today," he spoke in a practiced, even tone. He was professional and calm. It was simultaneously comforting and disquieting. On the one hand, it was nice to be in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing, but it was slightly terrifying when that profession happened to be interrogation. I simply gave him a short nod, as he didn't seem like the sort of man who needed a formal introduction. Judging by the thickness of the folder on the desk, he knew more about me and my situation better than I did. "Now then," he started, picking up a stack of papers from the small, round mahogany table, "Let's get started. This conversation is being recorded for intelligence and legal purposes. You were on the very first airplane from the United States to the New Unified State of Korea, which left this past May, is that correct so far?" he looked up at me, his dark, bushy eyebrows raising slightly as he locked onto my eyes.

"Y-yes," I found myself stammering under his harsh, dark gaze. "Um," I spoke up after I swallowed hard to calm my nerves, "What day is it today?"

He seemed completely unaffected by my question, as if it was already on his agenda. "December 10, 2017," he answered smoothly. Giving no time for me to process the information or potentially ask something else, he dove right into the next question, "What can you tell me about the Korean Genomics Program?" I practically flinched at the question. This guy wasn't wasting any time. We simply stared at each other for a long, heavy moment. At least he was patient.

"When," I finally began to speak again, "When we landed, all young females were added to an already long queue of girls sent off to the laboratory for genetic testing," I began to explain as objectively as I could. I recalled everything I could, including the native Korean girls I met in the processing room, as well as the doctors I worked with. I admitted I heard nothing else about the breeding program for the rest of my time there except for the expectations they had for mine and Jungkook's progeny.

This seemed to interest my interrogator as he leaned forward slightly, "So your role was to help restart the royal line," he stated, not as a question, but more as a mere confirmation of what I had said. Absently, he touched the small, silver voice recorder situated at the edge of the little table. "Alright, then is there anything you can tell me about this man?" he asked as he pulled a small wallet-sized picture out of his file. He placed it on the smooth wood surface and pushed it with a single finger over towards me. "Shimun Rho."

When I looked down, I felt a great mix of complicated emotions at war in the pit of my gut. It was a small, formal-looking portrait of The Chairman. "I only knew him as Chairman Rho. He was the administrative lead of the sector," I kept my voice quiet. The man in the picture had, at one point, been the easy target for my anger and hate- the ultimate villain. He was nasty and rude, and had been responsible for the physical abuse of Namjoon. Despite all that, I remembered his surprisingly warm and heartfelt apology and remorse when he came to find me after my own assault. This was all too complicated for my exhausted, overwhelmed brain.

"Miss Yoo," Mr. Davis got my attention, causing me to lift my head suddenly. By his face, this wasn't the first time he had called for me. I had zoned out a bit too much, apparently. Embarrassed, I gave a little sheepish smile in apology. "Was the