The silence between gunshots was the loudest thing Joon-hwa had ever heard.
Bodies lay sprawled across the field—some curled mid-run, others collapsed with expressions frozen in terror. The contrast between the vibrant playground doll and the blood-spattered field felt like a sick joke.
His legs had moved on reflex. His instincts screamed to survive. But now—standing still, breath shallow—he felt it. The weight. The shock. The kill zone painted in red.
"This isn't just a game. It's a slaughterhouse."
He didn't show it. No tears. No shaking. But inside, his thoughts raced like flickering code, trying to analyze something beyond logic. Why this many people? Why public deaths? Was this psychological terror part of their control system?
But why… does it feel so familiar?
Why does this feel like home?
"Green Light."
He took another step forward. The game wasn't over yet.
---
[Player 067 – Kang Seo-yun]
Seo-yun had been silent since the gunfire began. Her hands still trembled, but she bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood just to stop them.
She had grown up with violence. Her father had taught her how to handle a switchblade before her tenth birthday. But this… this wasn't street violence. This was a spectacle.
She'd watched a boy around her age fall, a marble clutched in his hand like a lucky charm. He didn't move again.
She caught sight of Player 021—Joon-hwa—his calm expression cutting through the fog of panic. He didn't look scared.
He looked measured.
She narrowed her eyes. What kind of person adapts that fast?
[ Player 015 – Hwang Min-jae]
The former firefighter had tried to pull a woman down to the ground when she stumbled. She died anyway. Now her body was pressed against his knee, and he couldn't move it without moving himself. Without dying.
He had fought through burning buildings. Saved children from smoke-filled stairwells. But nothing prepared him for watching people drop like flies to the sound of a nursery rhyme.
He stared ahead, eyes bloodshot, knowing he'd joined this game to provide for his daughter. But what if he didn't make it?
He thought of her pigtails. Her drawings on the fridge.
He swore under his breath, barely audible: "Don't watch, Ara. Don't ever see your father like this."
---
[ Player 187 – Nam Do-yoon]
A university dropout with a twitchy leg and a loan shark problem, Do-yoon had joined for the money. Easy game. Weird uniforms. What's the worst that could happen?
He found out within two minutes.
His hoodie was soaked in sweat. His sneakers were caked with dirt, and he was sure he'd peed a little. His nerves were shot.
But behind the fear, something darker stirred.
He was alive, and others weren't.
That meant he had a chance. And Do-yoon had always been good at crawling up from rock bottom—even if it meant stepping on someone's fingers.
---
[ Lee Da-bin – Player 077]
Da-bin hadn't cried when the shooting started.
Not when the man beside her was gunned down. Not even when the doll's eyes scanned right over her.
She had already run out of tears long ago.
Her sick brother was still in the hospital, and this was the only way she could afford another month of his medication. She didn't care if this was hell—as long as she survived long enough to win.
She glanced at Joon-hwa—021. There was something about his silence, his coldness. A part of her wanted to trust him, and another part whispered: That boy is more dangerous than anyone here.
---
[ Specter – Player 021 – 1st Person Interlude]
I shouldn't have looked at the blood.
For a moment, I forgot the mission.
I forgot the architecture of this entire setup. The doll's infrared scanners. The pressure-activated tracking in the ground. The hidden drones overhead recording every death from multiple angles.
I saw a man's eyes—open, lifeless—reflecting the sky above. I saw a piece of his ear still twitching.
Even as someone who's seen security footage of massacres... this felt different. This was raw.
And somehow, it excited me.
Not because I liked it. But because I now understood their power structure better. Their control system. Their thresholds.
They want obedience through fear. They want chaos contained.
But what happens when you inject a new kind of virus into their perfect loop?
Me.
---
"Red Light."
[Shots Fired.]
"Green Light."
[Time Skip: Final Seconds of the Game]
Screams turned to silence as the final few meters stretched ahead. Only a third of the players remained.
Lee Joon-hwa moved with precise calculation—never the first to step, never the last. He kept his heartbeat slow, matching the doll's rhythms.
When the timer struck zero, a loud ding echoed.
"Game Over. Congratulations to the survivors."
> "Game 1 complete. 187 players remain."
Specter crossed the finish line.
He didn't breathe. Not yet.
He turned back, scanning for Da-bin. The gambler made it — just barely.
The gates closed behind them.
The field was silent.
Specter's shoulders dropped slightly. Relief? No.
Just... acknowledgment.
He was in.
And the rules were written in blood.
Then, the gates opened.
Silence.
Then sobbing. Then dry heaving. Then gasps.
They had survived the first game.
That night, in the dormitory, no one spoke.
Some cried. Others stared into nothing.
Specter sat on his bunk, knees drawn up, back to the wall.
His fingers brushed the dried blood on his jacket.
Not his.
He stared at it.
He didn't flinch.
They wanted fear. Panic. Despair.
He'd give them patience.
Lee Joon-hwa — Specter — closed his eyes.
And smiled faintly.
> Let the game begin.