Dark Matter | JJK

44. A Shadow in the Moonlight

In all the twenty-two years he had spent on the face of this godforsaken planet, Jungkook had never before felt so out of place.

All around him sat men and women, most of whom he had only seen on television, rendering fervent speeches full of false promises to crowds before elections or arguing boisterously in the Parliament. They sat in meticulously-pressed suits and skirts, finely-polished shoes and heels, remembering to uphold their composed politician's façade even as the world crumbled around them.

Amidst all the glossy perfection, Jungkook stuck out like a sore thumb, squirming in his excessively-cushiony leather chair and fidgeting with his fingers, wanting nothing but to be back at home, munching on a protein bar or relaxing in a tub of warm water.

(Or, more favourably, lying in bed with Petra pressed to his chest, letting her heartbeat lull him into a state of unhurried patience while he waited for her to tell him what was wrong.)

He didn't even know why he was here. Jungkook threw repeated questioning glances at Namjoon, the President's Secretary, who sat silently in his seat and skimmed through the report in his hands, promptly ignoring the boy. He didn't belong here. Not in the middle of these two-faced politicians who had more ulterior motives than he could count with all his fingers and toes. Hell, he would choose to stay cooped up in his laboratory all day rather than sit here for a bare minimum five minutes.

The glass double doors of the chamber swung open and in stepped President Kim Hwanwook, bringing with him a storm cloud of apprehensive silence that sat ominously above them.

Once he was seated at the head of the horseshoe-shaped conference table, Hwanwook gestured before him with a hand. "Brief me on the situation."

Park Jimin, sitting three seats to the President's right, cleared his throat. His Junior Superintendent's uniform was not nearly as tidy and ironed as it usually was, his silver hair slightly unkempt and ruffled. Even the medals and stars of honour on his chest did nothing to erase the dull and exhausted sheen coating his features.

"Following yesterday's terrorist attack in Gangam," Jimin began. "The number of reported kidnappings stands at sixty-five thousand, four hundred and seventy-three."

Every soul in the conference hall visibly held in a breath.

"After a formal deliberation with the Seoul police force and the Special Operations Unit," the Junior Superintendent continued, "my request to you on behalf of my team, Mr President, is that you give us permission to carry out a combined undercover mission and rescue the kidnapped civilians from North Korea."

"Sir," the Foreign Affairs Minister spoke up almost immediately after Jimin stopped, "sending a South Korean troop to carry out an undercover mission in an enemy country will mean war."

From the corner of his eyes, Jungkook saw Taehyung discreetly rolling his eyes. "War is inevitable," the Special Ops officer said. "If it doesn't break out today, it will tomorrow. Or the day after. We might as well initiate action before we're forced to take defense."

Around the table, several officers nodded their heads, murmuring in agreement before all eyes fell on the highest position of authority in the room.

President Hwanwook adjusted his rimless spectacles over the bridge of his nose. The lenses seemed to intensify the depth of the wrinkles around his eyes. "Namjoon," he said, turning to look at his Secretary sideways. "What do you have to say to this?"

Said man looked up, glancing at the President before fixing his eyes on the marble tabletop, over his interlinked hands. Based on the expectant gazes trained on him from all sides of the room, it was more than obvious that his opinion was of great value. Clenching his jaw decisively, Namjoon said, "I disagree, sir."