It was a captivating structure, towering down on the young man below, reaching up seven floors into the white Seoul sky.  He stared at the arching metal gate, fascinated by the intricate design of letters that read across 'International Intelligence Organization.'  

It was the notorious IIO.

"Sir," a woman's voice startled him from behind, her hand gently tapping his shoulder.  "The director is waiting for you. Follow me please."

"Yes, of course," he replies timidly, still awed at his own predicament.

He was a simple man.  He had been a profiler for the Korean Police Association, the KPA, for the past five years, dealing with local cases for the precinct.  Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to be called upon from the IIO.  The world renowned organization was known to have stretched its roots deep across the globe, with offices in almost every major city in the world.  After the world-spread acts of terrorism in the beginning of the century, the major nations had agreed to come together in a standfront against global terrorism, working hand in hand to collect information and intelligence pertaining to terroristic acts.  The result had morphed into the IIO that it is today.

The nervous profiler followed behind his as they entered the fortified building, taking in his surroundings as they crossed the main lobby.  Neatly dressed personnel flowed around in throngs, the clatter of their shoes resounding across the marble floor, riding upon the wave of chatter and ringing lines, like a bustling hub in a New York City subway.

“I must inform you that all matters discussed here and elsewhere pertaining to the IIO must be strictly kept secret.  As you know, our agents risk their lives to gather this information,” she monotonously states out the words as she enters the large elevator, the young profiler on her heel, nodding his head in acknowledgement.  She presses for the sixth floor, and the elevator whirs, abruptly lifting the passengers.

A few awkward moments of silence pass as the elevator speeds up to its destination.

“Will I be set up in this office?” he asks quietly, thinking about the two hour long commute from his apartment.

The elevator stops with a ding.

“I’m not certain.  My task was to simply bring you here,” she says, hurriedly stepping out before the doors were even fully open.  He scurries to keep up with her hasted pace, quick feet tracing around offices and halls, until finally stopping in front of a red oak door, office 603A.  She knocks loudly, then proceeds to open it while the man inside is halfway through saying come in.

“Ah,” the elderly man stands from his desk, the wrinkles scrunching around his face.  “The KPA’s most successful profiler, Kim Myungsoo, welcome.  Perfect, perfect, have a seat, please,” he extends his hand, pointing to a chair.

“Thank you,” Myungsoo says calmly, watching as the female leaves and closes the door behind her.

“I hope she didn’t trouble you too much.  She tends to be quite brash with handsome young men such as yourself,” he smiles with his lips, a rather sinister smiles that made Myungsoo uneasy.

“May I ask why I’m here, director..Joo?” he reads the nameplate on the desk, keeping his shoulders stiff.

The old man sighs, and just as if a switch was flipped on, his whole