We have always looked through stories to discover ourselves.
Novels above any other novelistic writing provide us with a raw closeness, a gradual, unspooling unfolding of humanity.
They engage us, but even more than that, they reflect, question, and on occasion even probe the essence of what it is to be human.
Their pages contain authors probing the extent of identity, ethics, and unconscious forces governing our decisions.
We observe human beings struggle with guilt, with love, with power, with fear, because we relate to them.
It is that same psychological depth which has charged the genetic material of television this century, particularly with thriller programming.
TV thrillers are not so much about apprehending a killer or a murderer.
They're not just about a solution to a mystery anymore.
They're about probing the nature of human response to adversity.
They question: what becomes of individuals when driven to the periphery?
They blur the distinctions between hero and monster, leaving us questioning expectations of justice, madness, and survival.
Shows such as Mindhunter, Breaking Bad, and You have brought us inside the minds of hunter and hunted and shown us how obsession, trauma, and desperation warp the human psyche.
This is where Red Circle comes in, a dark, suspenseful series that has made a niche for itself in this genre by teetering on the fulcrum of psychological horror and moral dilemmas.
Red Circle, at its essence, is about a mysterious cult that works in secret and recruits obviously ordinary individuals into a deadly game.
The setup is naiver than it seems: go through each round of these lethal games and win your freedom.
.
But not every "game" is physical, but one that is meant to test the players' mental abilities.
Deception, manipulation, sacrifice, and strategy are money.
Not every player isn't just surviving, but is being stripped of clothing mentally, emotionally, and morally.
What is so unsettling about Red Circle is the way that it reflects real world dynamics, desperation-based systems that work, societies founded upon spectacle, and individuals who will kill their conscience for access to power or salvation.
Throughout the series, there is an revealing of a tapestry of backstories that cross.
We glimpse grizzled old soldiers, single moms, corrupt CEOs, and starry-eyed students all drawn in through the circle for reasons which eventually bring them together in ways they could never have imagined.
One of the strongest things about the show is its inability to remain certain.
There are no heroes.
The "villains" who run the games seem faceless, everywhere.
The "players" are different every episode, sometimes heroic, sometimes terrifying. The show doesn't simply ask
"What would you do to live?" but also, "Who would you be if only survival was the goal?"
Red Circle talks to us because it doesn't provide us with simple answers.
It becomes a universe where every choice is a question of what it means to be human, and too often the wrong answer is the one that feels most right.
The struggle isn't if a character will die or not, but if they'll even know who they are at the end of it all.
It's a chilling examination of how fast the fine line between survival and savagery can be crossed when the game rules are altered by those in charge.
*****
"Ha… Ha… huff… haa…"
A boy rested on one of the very highly polished oak wood beds.
His chest moved up and down with a near-hysterical cadence, each breath desperate and hard, as though he'd run for a long way.
His eyes were wide open, their expression a combination of fear and bewilderment, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Droplets of sweat clung to his forehead and ran down over his temples, wetting his face as though he'd just awakened from a bad dream.
What was the dream? None of it was intelligible. It was like bits of a tale that didn't belong together, unconnected, unorganized, as though unreal.
He growled to himself as he slowly came back to life, slowly struggling up from the bed.
He was a teenager, not yet eighteen, a full-blowen teen on the threshold of manhood.".
His face retained echoes of innocence in youth, but there was a glimmer of maturity starting to emerge, as if he stood at the threshold between boy and man.
"Ha."
He breathed softly as he looked around the room.
It was a tiny room, barely big enough for two men to stand comfortably within.
Standing in the center was the single bed on which he sat.
In front of him stood a little oak table scattered with a pile of notebook-sized paper and a fountain pen sitting on top of that, angles slightly off-center from having just been placed.
To his right stood a wooden table with a simple chair standing neatly in front of it, finishing off the austere but unadorned décor of the room.
A slender, MacBook-sized tablet was propped against the table, and an attached keyboard lay beside it.
Some A4-sized manuscript sheets were strewn across the keyboard, covering half of the screen as if hastily left behind.
A suspended RGB light whose radiance swept back and forth along the ceiling bathing the room with a soft, multi-colored glow.
A diminutive dustbin in the corner but it seemed to be nothing but for decorative purposes.
Spattered everywhere on the floor were shattered plastic noodle cups, ramen packages, and snack packet garbage, all of which made a ratty mess testifying to night owls and neglected cleaning.
"Guess it's that time again… Another day, another dose of the same old, same old. The same old routine begins all over, as predictable as the last. It's like I'm on repeat, just living day by day."
He stretched and retrieved his pillow that had been flung aside, revealing his mobile phone beneath.
He took it and pressed the power button, hoping the screen would turn on.
The first wallpaper to show was that of a character of a Xianxia novel.
The picture was of a male lead with loose, dark black hair, sitting peacefully in a chair.
His eyes were shut in a relaxed, almost meditative stance, as though he was pleased with the world around him.
There was a brief message at the bottom of the wallpaper, which told the character on the lock screen.
It just stated, "FY," a quite discreet but certain shortened version of the name of the character.
"Half past eight already… I shouldn't really be lying about this like this, not with all that has occurred. And then again, though, if today hadn't occurred, there's a strong possibility that I'd be in bed right now. Yeah, it is Sunday. Of course, today of all days. today's the day."
He rubbed his back and stood up slowly, holding the phone.
He opened the phone with a carefree flourish, watching as the screen glowed to life.
As the lock screen dissolved, a new background appeared, a gaudy photo of a new character.
The man sported the multicolored jester dress, elaborate, flamboyant clown makeup that gave a smiling but enigmatic air to his face.
He sported a well-fitted suit, ironed sharply, and a high, fashionable top hat crowned his head.
A wooden cane lay in his grasp, its surface highly polished catching the light and giving him a look of rakish roguishness.
The background scene was richly coloured and from a steampunk world, with massive, mechanical gears slowly rotating in the distance, pipes cutting through the landscape, and steam pouring out of contraptions everywhere.
The whole scene had a sense of both nostalgia and futurism to it, as if the subject belonged to a world suspended between past and future, an era of steam power and imagination, wonder and complication.
Looking at the wallpaper, a smile grew on his face and with a sweeping flourish, he bowed low before it.
His stance was theatrical, inviting the character into the room.
"Ah, the great and mysterious one,"
He whispered to it dramatically,
"Let your wisdom guide me through today's turmoil."
"Praise the fool."
He pushed the phone into the pocket of his loose purple T-shirt, the material gently wrinkling with the movement.
His attire was relaxed, easily wrinkled, with a loose blue half-pant that showed his easygoing nature.
He walked over into the corner, where a tattered wall calendar dangled fractionally too askew from a nail.
He stood in front of it, holding out a finger to slowly draw out the lines of dates with it, running over each square in muffled intensity, as if checking on something, something he has to know for certain.
"13th… 15th… 16th… 20th…"
"It's the 20th of November… the day I finally leave for Seoul, huh. It's been like forever I've been waiting, and yet now that it's finally here, it doesn't even feel like it's happening. A new chapter, a new city. everything's going to be different. Guess there's no turning back now."
T-Ring—
"Hm…?"
His phone started ringing and buzzing in his pocket, the vibration jarring against the still room.
He stretched in, picked it up, and examined the screen to ensure the name on it was indeed right.
"Mira?"
He answered the call with a swift touch and held the phone against his ear, his expression altering ever so slightly as he prepared to speak.
"Hello, Mira?"
"GI-SEOUN OPPA! Why weren't you answering your phone last night?!! I was panicking! I called you like, what, fifty times!"
Gi-seoun winced at how loudly she'd just spoken.
"I know, I know… sorry, Mira. I must've fainted. Yesterday was exhausting."
"Ugh, you always say this! Do you even know how freaked out I was? I even thought something's happened to you! You at least could have texted!"
"I know, I do. I wasn't trying to freak you out. Honestly, I just fainted. My phone was under the pillow, I didn't call."
There was dead silence, followed by a calmer voice at the other end.
"You're okay, then?"
"Yeah. I'm alright, honest. I just woken up a little while back, maybe about an hour. I was just reading the calendar when you called."
"The calendar… wait, oh my god. It's today, isn't it? You're heading to Seoul."
"Ah. yeah… got me too right now. Really surreal, honestly."
"I still can't believe you're actually going. It feels like everything's happening so quickly."
"I know. But hey, it's not like I'm disappearing off the face of the earth. We'll still be talking. I'll call, text, you'll be hearing from me too much."
"Yeah, well… you'd better. Or I'll call you fifty more times."
He smiled warmly.
"Deal."
"Oh wait, by the way, did you hear the news?"
Gi-seoun furrowed his brow in confusion.
"Hmm? What's the news?"
There was a silence on the other end, and then Mira's voice fell a little, in disbelief.
"Who's that star. Do you recall Kim Jun-hee? The girl who acted one of the leading female parts in Red Circle…? The news reported she's dead."
There was a heavy silence between them, silence hanging for a few seconds as the gravity of the news sank in.
Mira was the one who had smashed it, her voice a tottering wave of grief and surprise.
"She was too young, Gi-seoun oppa. too young to die. I mean, she was like, what, twenty-four? And so talented, such a sweetie, such a cutie. I just, how does something like this ever happen?"
She went on talking, but the words no longer had meaning for Gi-seoun, who stood stock-still where he was, his brain reeling with a whirlpool of thoughts.
The reverberation of Kim Jun-hee's name in his mind was something beyond shock, something icier.
He breathed frustrated air out, without even knowing he'd done so, then carefully parted his lips, his voice little more than a breath to begin with.
"Then… w…"
*****