Episode 1 | "Hello Downfall"

EPISODE 1: "HELLO DOWNFALL"

The apartment smelled like lemon detergent, leftover takeout, and damp laundry. Rheon stood in front of the cracked mirror, trying to flatten a stubborn piece of hair. He wasn’t vain, but first impressions mattered, even if there was no one left to impress. The place was small—clean enough, lived-in—but it had character. Organized chaos. Just like him.

Outside, morning filtered through half-closed blinds. Another Tuesday. Another day of pretending like things were okay. Rheon adjusted his jacket, pocketed his phone, and slung on his backpack. The routine kept him sane.

At the small investigative office he worked for, people greeted him with nods and familiarity. He wasn’t just a name on a schedule—he was the guy people relied on to get things done.

“Morning, Rheon!” a junior intern called out.

He nodded back. “Morning, Jae.”

One of his colleagues, Mina, bumped his shoulder as they walked toward the break room. “You know, for someone who looks like they hate mornings, you show up earlier than anyone.”

He smirked. “Habit.”

“You coming to the Friday dinner?” she asked.

“Maybe.”

“That's always your answer,” she laughed.

Later, in a team briefing, Rheon gave a quick analysis of a cold case that had gone overlooked. He laid it out clearly, efficiently. Even the head of the unit nodded with approval.

“He’s sharp,” someone whispered. Rheon heard it. He didn’t react.

The Next Day

Everyone stared.

As Rheon walked into the building, people who’d spoken to him just yesterday suddenly stopped talking. One man lowered his coffee cup, eyebrows tight.

“Is that him?” someone murmured.

“What the hell?” Rheon whispered. He tried to step past the tension, but it was thick in the air.

Then—

“Park Rheon!”

Three men in black suits rushed toward him. One flashed a badge. Too fast to read. The hallway fell into stunned silence.

“You’re under arrest for cyberterrorism and conspiracy to commit treason.”

“What?!” Rheon’s voice cracked. “That’s a mistake—”

“Turn around.”

The cold click of metal cuffs cut through the murmur of coworkers.

“No, no, wait—”

Phones were recording. Faces full of betrayal. Nobody helped.

“Rheon wouldn’t—he’s not—” Mina stepped forward, but a guard blocked her.

As they dragged him away, Rheon’s eyes locked with hers for a second. Then the elevator doors shut.

The interrogation room stank of cigarettes and sweat. Rheon sat in a metal chair, wrists cuffed to the table.

Across from him, a screen played news headlines:

BREAKING: Ex-Soldier Behind MND Bombing? Leak of Operation Orion Files Tied to Domestic Terrorism

A shadow appeared in the doorway. A woman stepped in. Red guard uniform. Masked face. Clipboard.

Ji Yena.

She walked straight past the officer at the door. The cop frowned but didn’t stop her.

Without a word, she placed something on the table.

A card. White. Minimal. Three symbols:

□ △ ○

Rheon stared at it. “What is this?”

She didn’t answer. She just turned and walked out.

Later That Night

Rheon stood outside his apartment. The lights were off. His landlord was chucking his things onto the sidewalk.

“You think I’ll house a terrorist?” the man barked. “You’re lucky I didn’t call the press.”

“You know me,” Rheon said. “You’ve known me for years.”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s what scares me.”

He didn’t even argue. Just grabbed a duffel bag full of what he could and walked. The streetlight flickered as he passed beneath it.

Near the train station, he sat down beside a payphone and pulled the card out of his jacket.

He hesitated.

Then dialed.

One ring.

Two.

A voice answered. “We’ve been expecting you.”

A Few Days Later

The humming noise came first.

Then the hard floor. Then the ache in his neck. Rheon opened his eyes slowly.

Green. Everyone was wearing green. Tracksuits. Numbers.

309.

He sat up. Around him, at least 400 people lay on bunk beds or sat, confused, murmuring. The space was vast—concrete walls, cameras in corners.

“What the hell is this?” someone muttered.

In the shadows of the room, red guards stood motionless, masks blank. One of them—taller, clipboard in hand—moved subtly. Yena.

Behind the tinted glass above, a voice crackled.

“Welcome, players. Please remain where you are. Your first game will begin shortly.”

Rheon rubbed his eyes and scanned the room. There were a lot of people—but a few stood out.

A boy in his early twenties, small frame, was clutching his stomach and trying not to vomit.

“Hey,” Rheon said, walking closer. “You okay?”

“I… I think my GERD’s acting up,” the boy mumbled.

“Breathe slow. Sit up straight.”

A woman crouched beside him, calm and confident. Tracksuit #212. Short hair. “He needs water.”

“I’m Julie,” she said to Rheon, then to the boy, “What’s your name?”

“Elijah.”

Julie squeezed his hand. “You’re okay. It’s just your body panicking. Happens to me sometimes.”

Behind them, a tall guy froze. Calhil. He saw Elijah and stepped back into the crowd.

Elijah didn’t notice. Rheon did.

Another woman walked up quietly. Soft features, kind eyes. Lily. She offered Elijah a piece of gum. He smiled weakly.

From across the room, two men were already shouting.

“Don’t shove me, dude!”

“You walked into me first!”

Jo-kyun and Su-nin. Loud. Aggressive.

Next to them, calm and silent, was Sai-chi, glasses glinting under the light.

“Relax, tough guy,” Jo-kyun muttered.

Su-nin cracked his neck. “Just watch yourself.”

Behind them, someone started giggling.

It was Lui, flamboyant and loud. “Daaaamn, boys! Is this prison or a runway?”

“Shut it, Lui,” snapped a girl beside him. Zahira. Her nails were bright pink. “Ain’t nobody here to flirt with your ashy mouth.”

Lui just grinned. “You’re just mad I’m prettier.”

Some people laughed. Others ignored them.

Suddenly, a large door groaned open.

A towering man in a black mask stepped out. The Front Man.

“You’ve all made choices that led you here,” he said. “Now make one more: play fairly, or die dishonorably.”

The room went quiet.

Inside the Observation Room…

Yena stood, silent, watching. Her clipboard trembled slightly.

She couldn’t look away from Rheon.

It really was him.

The one who had saved her in the warzone. The one who smiled at her even when the world was burning.

And now he was here, drugged and dumped into a game meant to erase him.

She tapped into the monitor feed, flipping through faces.

Elijah. Julie. Calhil. Lily. Jo-kyun. Su-nin. Sai-chi.

She marked their numbers.

This wasn’t just a game.

It was a trap. For threats. For survivors. For people like Rheon.

She whispered under her breath, “They really want you gone.”

And she promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen.

to be continued..

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