Chapter 1: The Rules Arrive

After working late into the night, I trudged my exhausted body home and finally reached the door of our shared apartment.

My eyelids were so heavy I could barely keep them open as I shuffled down the worn, faded carpet of our building’s fifth-floor hallway. The air reeked faintly of someone’s microwaved leftovers, and my keyring jingled softly with each step. As I fumbled for my keys, my phone buzzed, the screen’s glare forcing me to squint in the dim light.

Another buzz. A message popped up:

[Please make sure to return home before eleven o’clock at night. After returning home, please lock the door.]

1.

Man, these scam texts are getting out of hand.

I snorted, rubbing my eyes. Probably just another attempt to get me to click a shady link—last week it was fake Amazon packages, now this. Still, the timing was creepy. I checked the time: 10:53 PM.

The hallway was empty. Outside the window, everything was pitch black, a thin mist hanging in the air.

It was that late-night hour when the world felt half-asleep. The city lights below barely pierced the thick fog rolling in off the river, turning the parking lot into a mess of shifting shadows. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared and faded.

The whole apartment complex was eerily quiet—not a sound anywhere.

Usually you’d hear someone’s TV or a couple fighting next door, but tonight the building felt muted, like it was holding its breath. Even the old radiator by the stairs was silent.

A wave of unease hit me and I hurried to punch in the door code.

My fingers fumbled with the buttons, but nothing happened. The electronic lock was dead—looked like the battery was out.

I knocked, but nobody answered.

My phone buzzed again. Another message lit up the screen:

[If you haven’t entered the apartment after eleven o’clock, please contact the patrolling security guard.]

[The patrolling security guard will only appear downstairs, wearing a uniform and holding a walkie-talkie. The patrolling security guard will not go upstairs on their own. If you encounter someone alone in a security uniform in the hallway, do not speak to them.]

When did our building get patrolling security guards?

The only security guy I’d ever seen just chilled in the lobby watching TikToks. I frowned, trying to remember if we’d gotten a memo. Before I could think more about it, a voice called from behind me:

"Hey, Alex, why aren’t you going in?"

It was Derek. He stood at the elevator entrance, the harsh white hallway light throwing shadows across his face.

Derek’s my roommate. The two of us, plus two others, split the rent on this three-bedroom. Derek and I each have a room, and the other two share the last one. There’s a chore wheel tacked to the wall, fridge magnets from everyone’s hometown, and a running debate over who left the dishes in the sink.

His hoodie was half-zipped, backpack slung over one shoulder, and his hair was a mess. “Long night?” he grinned, then noticed my hands on the dead lock.

"The door lock’s out of power," I said, pointing at the keypad. "Didn’t bring a charger."

My voice sounded small in the empty hallway. Derek yanked off his backpack, kneeling to rummage through a tangle of cords and chargers.

"Oh, I got one." He dug around, then asked, "What time is it now?"

I checked my phone again, more out of habit than hope. "Ten fifty-six."

"Four minutes left. Think we’ll make it?" He let out a nervous laugh.

He tried to sound chill, but his laugh was tight. He kept darting glances at the elevator behind him, like he expected someone else to pop out.

"What? Wh-what four minutes?" I sucked in a breath. "Don’t tell me... you got that message too?"

The words spilled out before I could stop myself. Was I just tired, or was something seriously off?

While we talked, Derek had already found his charger and plugged it into the lock.

He stared at it and said, "That message about getting home before eleven? Everyone got it. Check the group chat."

His tone was low, barely more than a whisper. I could tell he wasn’t joking. I hurriedly opened the group chat.

Sure enough, both the roommate group and the building’s group chat were blowing up.

Hundreds of messages scrolled by—some people thought it was a prank, others sounded totally freaked. Even old Mrs. Espinoza from 305 was asking what the hell was going on.

Just as I wanted to read more, my phone suddenly vibrated violently:

[You are the father. No matter if you are male or female, young or old, you are the father.]

[You have a wife and three children: an older brother, an older sister, and a younger sister. You live in Apartment 502.]

[Do not trust the older brother]

The last line glowed blood-red, like a spam alert that wouldn’t swipe away.

My hand shook so hard I almost dropped my phone. The words burned into my brain, refusing to make sense. I glanced at Derek, who was focused on the lock, but his phone buzzed too, lighting up for a second.

"Done," Derek said.

He quickly punched in the password and opened the door, glancing at his phone: "Ten fifty-nine. We made it."

He tried to sound casual, but his hands were trembling as he pushed the door open.

"Derek, what’s your role?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Just now, when my phone vibrated, his had chimed too.

"Role?" He opened his new message and paused. "I’m the older brother."

Do not trust the older brother.

A flash of panic shot through me, but Derek didn’t notice and stepped inside. "Let’s go in first and talk."

His back looked smaller than usual, hunched under the dim apartment light.

I looked at my phone.

The time showed exactly eleven o’clock.