MINHO LEE
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"You bitch!"

His eyes snap open. He's staring up at a bed above him, a dull ache at the back of his head. Foggy memories pop up, but nothing useful.

Slowly, he rises up from the mattress.

Hundreds of other beds around him. Towers of beds so high that you'd break something if you fell off. A whole crowd of people dressed in the same green color on the ground and some also on their bed, climbing out just like him.

"What the fuck," he murmurs, staring down at that exact same green jogging suit they dressed him in—they dressed him while he was unconscious?

His brain still feels fuzzy as he climbs down, intrigued by the circle the other people have formed. Something is going in the middle of it.

Minho pushes a few out of the way to slip his was through. There, in the center, are two girls. One of them, with hair almost as white as snow, has the other one pressed against the ground, her fist ready to swing at the girl's face.

The one on the ground claws at the hand wrapped around her throat, gasping.

"You betrayed me and yet you are still here. It didn't work out for you?" The blonde asks sweetly, leaning close. She whispers something, and the dark-haired girl on the ground's eyes widen.

Rolling his eyes, he looks at the other people surrounding him. At least a hundred of them, all with a number on the left side of their chest. When he looks down, he finds '007' sewed on his jogging suit.

NUMBER OF PLAYERS
250

That's what the screen above the entrance of this gigantic room says. The doors below it are gray, made of steel. White bricks preform as walls. The ceiling is far up, unreachable even if you'd stand on the highest bed.

When the gray doors open, the blonde pulls away from the other girl and walks off, breaths heavy. All chatter vanishes as multiple people dressed in pink walk out of the door, each one of them wearing a black mask with a white circle, triangle, or square.

"I would like to extend a heartfelt welcome to you all," says the one in the front. His voice sounds monitored. Fake. "Everyone here will participate in different games over multiple days. Those who win all games will receive a handsome cash prize."

"And why should we believe that? Y-You took all our stuff and put us to sleep coming here, and then you brought us to this strange warehouse. Now you're saying you'll pay us if we go and play a few games?" Someone calls from the audience.

The masked manager responds, "We reluctantly took all of those measures to maintain confidentiality as we brought you here. We'll return everything once the games are over."

"Why are you wearing those masks?" Asks another person.

"We do not disclose the faces and personal information of our staff to any of the participants. It's a measure we take to ensure fair games and confidentiality. Please understand."

"Well, I don't believe you one bit. You got that? You tricked us. We were kidnapped. You can make as many excuses as you want to make sure nobody knows you broke the law in here. If you're going to make up for that, then we're gonna need something more," someone protests. A female, this time.

The screen above the masked man lights up and shows the same woman, her cheek red as it gets slapped once again. "Player 045, Joan Cooper."

There's a beep before it shows another slap.

"Age, 21 years," the man continues. "Inventor who does nothing but blow her own stuff up.  Siphoned money off from her clients' balances, then invested it in futures options and failed while she is saving up for her best friend's surgery. Current loss: 300,000 usd."

The brown-haired girl averts her eyes in shame, reaching for her bruised cheek.

The guard moves to the next video. "032, Quinn Parker, 60,000 in debt. 173, Siren Moreno, 950,000 in debt." It shows the blonde who had the girl pinned to the ground seconds earlier. When it flashes to the a video of him getting slapped, he straightens. "007, Minho Lee, 1,500,000 in debt." 

More names follow, and then, "Every person standing here in this room is living on the brink of financial ruin. You all have debts that you can't pay off. When we first went to see each of you, not a single one of you trusted us. But as you all know, we played a game, and as we promised, gave you money when you won. And suddenly, everyone here trusted us. You called and volunteered to participate in this game of your own free will. So this is it. I'll give you one last chance to choose. Will you go back to living your old and depressing lives getting chased by your creditors?" He wonders.  "Or will you act and seize this last opportunity we're offering here?

Murmurs emerge from the crowd. Minho glares around, his jaw clenched. Playing some stupid games for money, how hard can it be? Easy money. None of these people look that intimidating.

"Hey! Which games are we playing here?" Someone yells.

"In order to play fair, we cannot disclose any information about the games ahead of time."

"If we win," Minho finally raises his voice, "just how much do we get?"

The guard taps his remote. Something opens up in the ceiling—a gigantic, see-through piggy bank lowers, completely empty.

"Your prize money will be accumulated in there after every game. We will disclose the amount to everyone after the first game is over. If you do not wish to participate, then please let us know at this time."

◎

PLAYER CONSENT FORM
CLAUSE 1: A PLAYER IS NOT ALLOWED TO STOP PLAYING
CLAUSE 2: A PLAYER WHO REFUSES TO PLAY WILL BE ELIMINATED
CLAUSE 3: GAMES MAY BE TERMINATED IF THE MAJORITY AGREES

With ease, Minho scribbles his signature below the form.

"Attention, all players," a strange, animated voice calls from the speakers, "The first game is about to begin. Please follow the staff's instructions. Please make your way towards the game hall. I repeat..."

As the gray doors open, the players shuffle hesitantly toward the hallway. A line of pink-masked staff members steps forward, holding what look like old-fashioned cameras.

"Attention, players," the voice over the speakers announces. "Before proceeding, each of you will have your photo taken. This will serve as your player identification. Please line up in an orderly fashion."

Minho narrows his eyes, already irritated by the unnecessary procedure. He's not one for lines, but he shuffles forward with the rest. The first few players stand awkwardly as a masked staff member points the camera at them. The sound of the camera echoes, followed by the mechanical whir of the camera developing the photo. Each player is handed a small card with their photo and number printed on it before being ushered further into the building.

When it's Minho's turn, he glares at the camera, jaw tight. He isn't in the mood to smile, but the masked staff member doesn't care. The shutter clicks, and the photo slides out a second later.

"007," the staff member says flatly, handing Minho his card. He takes it without a word and steps aside, glancing at the card. His own scowl stares back at him, his number bold underneath.

Once everyone has their photo taken, the line moves again, deeper into the facility. The hallways the players are herded through after their photos are like something out of a surreal dream. Bright, childlike colors cover every surface.

The walls are painted with candy pink, lime green, sky blue, and a bright yellow, blending into one another with no clear pattern. Staircases twist and turn in random directions, like an Escher painting. The steps are different colors, and the railings are adorned with cartoonish shapes.

Doors of various sizes and colors dot the walls, some of which lead to nowhere, while others seem to be placed too high or too low to access. The ceilings are high, with bright lights casting.

Despite the cheerful colors, there's something deeply unsettling about the space. The brightness feels forced, as though it's trying too hard to return to childhood innocence.

When they reach multiple big doors, Minho is near the middle of the group, his eyes scanning the crowd. He doesn't trust anyone here, especially not the two girls from earlier.

They emerge into a massive outdoor arena. Minho squints, adjusting to the sudden change in lighting. The area is enclosed by walls painted to look like a blue sky dotted with clouds. At the far end of the field stands a large, unsettling doll with its back turned to the players.

"Welcome to your first game," the same monitored voice announces from unseen speakers. "The game is Red Light, Green Light."

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some chuckle nervously, others look puzzled. It doesn't look like much—just a giant, cartoonish girl in a yellow dress with pigtails. He pulls a face.

"The rules are simple," the voice continues. "When the doll says 'Green Light,' you may move. When it says 'Red Light,' you must stop. If you are caught moving after 'Red Light,' you will be eliminated. You must cross the finish line within the time limit to proceed. The game begins now."

A digital clock lights up above the field, displaying 5:00. It begins counting down.

5:00... 4:59... 4:58...

The doll's head swivels. "Green Light," it says in a mechanical voice.

The crowd hesitates for a moment before people begin to step forward cautiously. Minho waits. The first steps are uncertain, awkward. A few people sprint ahead, eager to get it over with.

"Red Light," the doll announces.

Its head snaps around. Minho stands still, his position neither awkward nor comfortable—somewhere in between.

"Green Light." The head turns again.

Minho narrows his eyes at the doll. Though it's gigantic, it's too far away to properly inspect. How are these guards going to check who moves when there's 250 people?

"Red Light."

A loud bang echoes through the arena.

Minho blinks, but remains completely still. It sounded like a gunshot. Is that the sound they play when someone gets eliminated? Probably.

A woman lets out a horrified scream and bolts toward the starting line, but she barely makes it a few steps before another shot rings out. Minho watches her crumble to the ground in the corner of his eye, blood splattering.

Blood. Panic erupts. People scream and scatter in all directions, some frozen in place, others rushing for the exit, only to get shot—it seems. The doll repeats: "Green Light."

Minho clenches his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. Maybe this is all just an act to scare them. He steps forward.

"Red Light."

He freezes, his muscles tense as the doll's head looks at them. A man beside him trembles, his breaths audible. The next shot fires. The man drops.

The bottom of his jogging suit is stained with red liquid now. It looks too real. It can't be an act.

A lump forms in his throat as he watches the clock tick down.

3:45... 3:44...

Players begin to realize the only way out is forward. Minho steps carefully with each 'Green Light', stopping like a statue at 'Red Light.' Around him, players stumble and fall, their muffled cries cutting short as more shots echo.

3:30... 3:29... 3:28.

In front of him stands a boy just slightly taller. He holds his hands beside his body, both of them trembling so hard that he will get caught in no time.

"Psst," someone else next to him hisses at the one in the front. It's the girl from earlier. The brunette. Player 045, Joan Cooper, as the guard had said. "You," she directs the words at the boy. "Next time Green Light gets called, put your hands behind you. The doll is a sensor. Anything that it can't see will not be shot."

With the next 'Green Light', he does as she says and whispers a hurried 'thank you'.

Minho continues going his own way. Blood pools across the ground, bodies lying lifeless where they fell. He keeps his gaze ahead, refusing to look down or let panic settle in.

Nearby, someone trips, falling face-first into the dirt. They cry out, scrambling to their knees just as the doll says, "Red Light."

The player freezes, their wide, tear-filled eyes darting toward the finish line. The doll's head scans, lingering on them for a moment too long.

Bang.

Minho exhales sharply, his knuckles white as his fists tighten. He doesn't know this kid. Doesn't know anyone here. That's how it needs to stay.

2:45... 2:44...

The crowd thins. He spots the blonde girl from earlier. Siren, the voice had said. She's moving fast. Her hand reaches out once, yanking up an older man who almost fell. He doesn't thank her, just stumbles forward as if in a trance.

2:15... 2:14... 2:13.

Minho steps again, and this time his foot brushes something soft. A body. He presses his teeth together, trying to suppress the bile climbing up his throat. The doll calls "Red Light," and he stops mid-step. His body screams in protest.

1:59... 1:58...

More players fall, their cries cutting through the silence after each gunshot. Yet, through the chaos, the crowd begins to understand. They stop hesitating, moving in steady bursts, focusing on the finish line.

Minho catches sight of the dark-haired girl from earlier—the one Siren had pinned to the ground. She's near the back of the pack, her movements shaky but determined. A man beside her collapses, but she doesn't flinch.

1:30... 1:29...

"Green Light."

Minho pushes himself harder now. His legs burn, but the finish line grows closer with every step. He feels a flicker of hope. Just a little farther.

"Red Light."

He halts abruptly, wobbling before regaining balance. The doll's head. A woman a few feet away flinches.

Bang.

She crumples, her body slumping forward into the dirt.

0:59... 0:58...

When the doll calls 'Green Light' again, he surges forward.

0:30... 0:29...

He jumps past the finish line.

His head turns to watch the field. A handful of players remain, their faces pale and eyes hollow. Most make it across in the final moments.

But not all. The final gunshots echo while the clock hits 0:00. Minho's breathing is ragged as he leans forward, hands on his knees. Around him, the survivors are quiet, too stunned to speak. The doll's lifeless head faces forward again.

"Congratulations to the players who have passed the first game. You may now proceed back to the main hall," the same female says.