Inside the Government Building
Inside one of the heavily fortified government facilities—specifically, a windowless hall centered around a round table of dark metal—the unidentified figures gathered once again. Cold white lights reflected off their faces, making their expressions appear harsher than usual.
The silence was broken by an elderly man wearing a white coat, clearly the head of the scientific team. He placed a tablet on the table and said:
"Unfortunately… my team and I have yet to understand how the spacecraft functions. Its structure defies every known principle of engineering."
He paused briefly, then added in a more cautious tone:
"However, I've begun to grasp fragments of its programming mechanisms. It isn't any known programming language… but it isn't random either."
The attendees exchanged glances before a man in a dark formal suit spoke:
"This strengthens the theory that it's non-terrestrial technology. What we have doesn't resemble any military or civilian project we know of."
Before he could finish, another voice cut in, laced with sarcasm:
"Another planet? Nonsense. That's an old story. Foreign powers are experts at fabricating myths like these to justify their dirty work behind closed doors."
A man seated beside him nodded slightly and said:
"I may agree with you in principle, but… we can't completely rule out the possibility. Ignoring it outright would be an even greater mistake."
A brief silence followed, broken by a man flipping through a thick paper file. He spoke in a low but clear voice:
"While investigating some unusual phenomena that occurred recently, something caught my attention."
He lifted his gaze toward the others and continued:
"A few days ago, a clash occurred between two gangs. During interrogation, members from both sides claimed they experienced intense hallucinations… despite confirmed evidence that none of them had taken drugs."
One of them leaned back casually and said:
"Probably a trick by the rival gang. A new intimidation tactic, nothing more."
The man responded immediately, his tone confident:
"I considered that. Which is why I sent the appropriate person to investigate. An incident like this happening only days after the spacecraft crash… inevitably raises suspicion."
At that moment, the master of the room finally spoke. He didn't raise his voice—yet silence instantly took hold.
"From now on," he said calmly, heavily,
"I want every abnormal incident investigated, no matter how insignificant it may seem."
He paused, then added:
"Document every name that appears in any location or report. Connect them all together. Most likely… one of those names will repeat."
Everyone nodded in agreement without objection. Files were closed. One by one, the men stood up, while a heavy feeling lingered in the air—an unspoken certainty that something hidden and dangerous had begun to move in the shadows.
Inside an Abandoned Warehouse
Inside an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the air was thick with the stench of iron and sweat. Dozens of bodies lay scattered across the floor, as if they had all collapsed at the same moment—unconscious men, some breathing with difficulty, others barely moving except for faint groans.
At the center of the scene stood an adult man wearing a long black coat, his features swallowed by shadow. One hand gripped the neck of the Red Vipers gang leader, lifting him slightly off the ground. The leader's face was swollen, bruises clearly visible, dried blood clinging to the corner of his mouth.
The mysterious man spoke in a cold voice:
"Tell me… did you pull a dirty trick against the Black Hand gang? What kind of drug did you use on them?"
The leader writhed, struggling to breathe, then replied in a broken voice:
"Believe me… I don't know what you're talking about. We just saw them acting strangely… so we took the opportunity and attacked. That's all that happened."
The man tightened his grip slightly and said with calm menace:
"Don't test my patience."
Fear filled the leader's eyes as he answered quickly:
"That's the truth!"
A short silence followed. Then, without warning, the man released his grip. The leader collapsed to the ground, coughing violently, while the shadowed figure turned away and left the warehouse without a backward glance.
As he walked outside, his phone vibrated. He raised it to his ear without slowing his pace.
"Tell me… did you identify the drug?"
A calm voice answered from the other end:
"Yes, sir. But this substance would be extremely difficult for street gangs like these to manufacture. That's why… I believe they're telling the truth."
The man responded briefly, then said:
"I see. So someone manipulated them—and helped that gang win."
"That's correct," the voice replied. "That person likely harbors a grudge against someone within the Black Hand gang."
The man spoke decisively:
"Listen carefully. Interrogate everyone who experienced hallucinations. I want every name they believe might be seeking revenge."
The voice sighed in frustration:
"Damn it… a gang like that? Naturally, thousands would wish them hatred and death."
The man replied with certainty:
"But only one of them will stand out. Suspicious. I want the list ready by tomorrow."
There was a brief pause.
"Tomorrow?! Are you joking? How am I supposed to interrogate all of them in one night?"
He answered calmly:
"Don't worry. I've sent you several professional investigators. They'll assist you."
The voice replied, surprised:
"Really?! Thank you, boss—"
He was cut off instantly.
"I told you not to call me that. We need to finish this case quickly… our superiors are not known for their patience."
The man on the other end swallowed and said:
"Understood… I'll do it."
The call ended. The man lowered his phone, gazed once more into the darkness of the road ahead, and continued walking.
At that moment, it became clear—the threads of the game were beginning to intertwine… and somewhere, someone was pulling everyone's strings from behind the curtain.