The first thing that registered was the cold. It wasn't harsh or biting, but sterile — the kind of chill that clung to metal surfaces and bare walls. Specter's eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim artificial lighting above. The ceiling was high, industrial, and uninviting. Everything around him had the kind of clean symmetry that reeked of control.
He sat up.
Rows of identical metal bunks stretched out across the enormous dormitory. Hundreds of people in teal tracksuits lay sprawled on beds, some still sleeping, others murmuring to themselves. The scent of antiseptic and sweat mixed in the air, and the only sound was the dull hum of overhead lights.
On his chest: 021.
Jae ,though here, there was no Jae, only a number slowly slid his legs off the bunk. He took in the place with a calculating eye. Cameras weren't visible, but he felt them. Hidden, watching. He smiled to himself. Of course you are.
But this wasn't the time to play with shadows. Not yet.
He stood and glanced around.
Other players began stirring, and slowly the room filled with voices low, anxious, and curious. Nobody knew exactly where they were or what they'd agreed to. But the uniformity, the silence of the staff, the sealed exits… they spoke volumes.
"Hey!" A voice rang out from the bunk above him. A girl, probably in her early twenties, dropped down with a grin. She landed with the agility of someone who'd had more than one street fight. Her short-cropped hair and confident stride set her apart instantly. Her number read 027.
"You looked dead asleep for hours," she said. "You always nap through kidnappings?"
Specter gave her a sleepy smile. "Dreamed I was back home. Kind of a letdown waking up here."
She laughed. "Name's Yujin. Yours?"
He tapped his chest. "Twenty-one."
"Cool," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "Mysterious. You a cop or something?"
"Worse," he said. "Tech support."
That got a laugh out of her. "Well, Twenty-One, you've got the face of someone who's either gonna die early… or make it all the way."
"And you?" he asked.
"I make it to the middle. Stir up drama. Cry a bit. Die in someone's arms for emotional impact."
Specter grinned. She'll survive longer than she thinks.
---
Across the room, a tall, lanky man paced nervously. His tracksuit — 117 — hung awkwardly on him, as if it didn't quite fit. He kept murmuring to himself, flicking his fingers rhythmically.
Specter tilted his head.
"What's his deal?" he asked Yujin.
"117? I think he said his name was Hwan. Maths teacher. Quiet, unless he's talking probability."
Another one to watch.
Then came a voice — low, guttural, steady.
"Don't talk to many. Not yet."
Specter turned. A man, older, maybe mid-40s, sat cross-legged on the floor with his back against the bunk. Number 043. Muscular, with a scar slicing from his temple to jaw. His eyes were calm, but unreadable.
Yujin stepped forward. "Relax, old man. Not everyone here's a threat."
He didn't even blink. "Everyone is."
Specter locked eyes with him. "And what about you?"
The man smiled. "I'm the reminder."
That answer lingered longer than it should've. Specter filed it away.
---
Over the next hour, more characters emerged.
A mother and son duo: 179 and 180 — the mother fiercely protective, the boy barely fifteen.
A corporate man — sharp-suited beneath his uniform, gold watch still on his wrist: 036.
A gentle-looking man with hearing aids: 088. He smiled at everyone, said little, and observed much.
And then, the loudest of them all — 055, a boisterous former gang member with tattoos crawling up his neck. He cracked jokes to hide the shaking in his hands.
Specter kept his distance, but not his attention. Every word, every shift in posture — he drank it all in quietly.
He wasn't the strongest. Not the fastest. But information? That was his domain.
---
Hours passed. The overhead lights dimmed, then brightened again — artificial cycles pretending to be time. Food was delivered in metal trays through a slot in the wall. No guards. No explanations.
The silence was more unsettling than threats.
Eventually, a voice boomed from unseen speakers. Male. Robotic. Unfeeling.
> "Welcome, players. You have been invited here of your own free will. You will compete in a series of games. Win, and you will advance. Lose… and you will be eliminated. The prize pool stands at ₩45.6 billion. More details will be provided soon. Until then, rest."
A moment of silence. Then panic.
Yujin rolled her eyes. "Oh, now they get it."
People screamed. Others banged on doors. A few just sat still, as if they'd always known this was coming.
Specter closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.
---
I watched the hysteria rise like a tide.
They always underestimated silence.
Let the louder ones draw attention. Let the brave pretend they're in control. Let the weak cry and beg and scream.
I do none of that.
This place is a design, a machine made to study desperation. The chaos was not only expected,it was engineered. There are no accidents here. Only instructions followed by algorithms.
I chuckled under my breath.
Let them think I'm just another scared face in the crowd.
That I'm 021, and nothing more.