Squid Game wastes no time drawing viewers into its brutal, high-stakes world, and the first episode, titled Red Light, Green Light, is the perfect introduction to the series’ disturbing premise. Beneath the vivid visuals and haunting playground nostalgia lies a grim social commentary—and it all starts with one man’s desperation.
Life is Crumbling for Seong Gi-hun
We’re introduced to Seong Gi-hun, a man barely scraping by in life. He’s divorced, drowning in debt, and still living with his elderly mother. Gi-hun’s relationship with his daughter is strained—he can’t even afford a proper birthday dinner or gift for her without gambling. After stealing money from his mother, he heads to the horse racing track, clinging to hope that luck will finally turn in his favor. And briefly, it does. He wins big—but his joy is short-lived as he’s quickly pickpocketed, and later hounded by violent loan sharks who demand repayment with interest—or body parts.
It’s a low point that many viewers can relate to on some level: being stuck, hopeless, and just trying to survive another day. And then, opportunity—though it comes with a mysterious edge.
A Strange Invitation
Gi-hun is approached by a sharply dressed man in a subway station who offers to play a simple game of ddakji—a traditional Korean game involving flipping paper tiles. If Gi-hun wins, he earns money. If he loses, he gets slapped in the face. Over and over again, the stranger slaps him, and over and over, Gi-hun plays. He finally wins once, and that tiny victory earns him a card with a strange symbol and a phone number.
This moment perfectly sums up how low Gi-hun’s self-worth has fallen. He’s willing to be humiliated repeatedly just for a few bucks—and a glimmer of hope.
The Game Begins
Gi-hun calls the number and is picked up, drugged, and transported to a mysterious facility. He wakes up in a massive dormitory with 455 other players, each wearing identical green tracksuits with numbered IDs. None of them know exactly where they are or what they’re in for, only that they’ve all signed away their rights in exchange for the chance to win billions of won.
Everything from the colorful, surrealist staircases to the faceless, uniformed guards with shape-coded masks (circle, triangle, square) adds to the eerie, dehumanizing atmosphere. These people are no longer individuals; they’re numbers in a cruel game.
Then, it begins: the first game is announced. Red Light, Green Light.
Childhood Games with Deadly Consequences
At first, the game seems innocent—just like the one we all played as kids. A towering robotic girl stands at the end of a field. When she says “Green Light,” players may advance. When she says “Red Light,” they must freeze. Move even slightly, and you’re out. But in this version, “out” means death. A player moves at the wrong moment and is immediately shot. Then another. And another. Panic spreads, and chaos erupts as players try to flee—only to be gunned down for doing so.
The rules are cruelly simple: move when you shouldn’t, and you die. Stay calm and follow instructions, and you might live to see another game. It’s a horrific wake-up call, and by the end of the game, over half the players lie dead on the field.
Gi-hun Survives, But at What Cost?
Throughout the chaos, Gi-hun narrowly escapes death. His raw fear and disbelief mirror our own as viewers—how did this spiral from a chance to win money to a mass execution? By the time the game ends, 201 players are left alive. The cheerful music playing as corpses are hauled away only deepens the horror.
The episode leaves us with so many questions: Who is behind the games? Why would anyone create something so horrific? And how far would you go for a second chance at life?
Final Thought:
I can’t imagine putting myself in a position where I get slapped every time I lose a simple game. But if I were as desperate as Seong Gi-hun, maybe I’d think differently. That’s what Squid Game forces us to consider—the moral limits of desperation. Red Light, Green Light used to be a harmless childhood game. Now, thanks to this show, it’s something I’ll never look at the same way again.
That first episode was a gut punch—suspenseful, shocking, and unflinchingly dark. It makes you wonder: would you play the game, knowing what’s at stake?
Let me know in the comments—how far would you go for a shot at financial freedom?
