Thinking of player 001 has your stomach twisting in unease. You’re certain he was a mole. Not a chance the body on that fucked-up display in the stairwell was him. Now that he’s no longer undercover, you have no way of knowing if you’ve come across him since. No clue what shape his mask bears. For all you know, he could’ve been shot down already. A small part of you hopes he has. A much larger part chastises you for feeling that way. 

As deep in your thoughts as you are, the next volley of shots makes you jump in place, heart thudding. Gihun presses at your arm a little harder, trying to usher you away - you notice Detective Hwang mirroring him with Geumja under his wing - but your eyes are locked onto Hyunju. 

She checks the scene ahead and pauses long enough for hope to build before her shoulders finally slump. Without meeting anyone’s eye, she clenches her jaw and gives a grim shake of her head. “This is the only way in or out. If we go in, we’ll be just as stuck as they are.”

It feels wrong - cruel, even, when you’d seen Minsu’s silent begging firsthand - but you’re in no position to counter-offer. She’s right, of course she is. 

The six of you traverse the entrance one at a time, all in a low crouch except for Daeho, who looks more like a bent straw as he hobbles across. The whole time you’re away from cover you’re half-expecting Minsu or whoever else was behind the barricade to yell out to you and expose your position, but it seems they’re all either too focused on their own situation or merciful enough not to dob you in. 

It’s smooth sailing from there as pink and yellow walls are replaced by that reassuring purple. Somehow it only worsens the guilt of leaving the others behind. You put your mental energy instead into keeping vigilant. Hwang, it seems, has enough spare to track you down and force you to acknowledge him. 

“Why are you here?”

Your muscles have instinctively tensed up at his proximity, like he’s going to taze you at any second. You try to school your expression into nonchalance. “The Four Seasons was a bit out of my budget.”

Hwang sucks in an irritated breath. His eyes, however - try as you might to avoid looking at them - are still the same empathetic brown that lured you into a false sense of security the first time he spoke with you. “I’ve spent over a year of my life searching for the most evasive fugitive I’ve ever met as well as a mass-murder island that shouldn’t exist, so I apologise if I seem a little vexed that both have appeared in the exact same place.”

Though it’s probably derogatory, you preen a little at the thought of being so difficult for him to find. You’re enemies, the survivalist in you hisses, but it’s hard to hold such animosity when he’s escorting you and your precious cargo down these hallways with the same protective measures that Hyunju does. “Well, you’ve got me now,” you mutter lowly, not ready to let your guard down. “I’d appreciate if you hold off on the handcuffs until we’re no longer in a death trap.”

“Handcuffs?” 

The detective’s voice is so bewildered that it makes you stop clean in your tracks. A shoulder thuds into your back, Daeho quickly steadying you with an embarrassed apology. Your lips part, but before you can decide how to respond to Hwang’s confusion you’re interrupted by Gihun.

He’s standing in front of a closed door on the right of the hallway, fingers raised to brush the painted lettering. Records. They wander lower, to where an old-fashioned lock lies in wait. “Do you think…?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hyunju steps in. “Are we leaving? Then the only door we need is the exit.”

Gihun stiffens, fingers curling up into a tight fist. “They’ll just do it again,” he states to her, though his gaze never wanders from the delicate white characters. “If we don’t burn it to the ground, what’s to stop them from coming after us? Who knows how many years of-” He cuts himself off and springs to action so quickly you see the tip of Hyunju’s gun uptick for a moment. Gihun snatches his own rifle, presses the end of the barrel to the right of gleaming metal lock and fires two shots in quick succession. 

“Shit, Gihun, you can’t just…!” Hwang dashes behind you to check the hallway for any guards who may have heard the racket. His pistol is in his hands within the blink of an eye. 

Junhee’s daughter wakes with the racket, begins to writhe in distress, eyes clenched and mouth open in a slowly building cry. Frozen like a deer in headlights, you stare down at her blankly as the wailing pierces into you. Daeho is the first to realise you are not the most qualified person to try and soothe a freaked-out infant, and blessedly relieves you of your babysitting duties, keeping her steady while you transfer the jacket sling to his own shoulders. He doesn’t use it right away but cradles her against his chest first, bobbing and humming away. Relief washes over you, like a burden ten times her weight has been lifted off of you.

The door to the records room is irrevocably splintered around the internal bolt, and a harsh kick knocks it open, the metal clanging uselessly on the ground. Gihun wastes no more time rushing inside.

The rest of you share an uncertain look. What’s better: an enclosed space or a vulnerable hallway? Curious about the insider information the records room must hold, you choose the former. Hwang, having taken a slightly blushing Geumja under his wing, stays sentry with Hyunju. It’s almost like the two of them have a silent understanding to protect the rest of you at all costs. Daeho rests up against the wall, leaving you the only one who steps in after Gihun.

His back is to you, shoulders stiff under the stained fabric of his shirt. He’s hunched over a boxy-looking monitor on a desk that takes up nearly a whole side of the room. Every inch of the dark painted wood has some form of clutter on it, at odds with the countless tidy racks of filing cabinets. Manila folders and leather dossiers with half-falling out pages, scrunched up handwritten notes, a scattering of sleek-looking stationery. Gihun focuses only on the computer, which beeps patronisingly at every invalid password attempt. 

One black leather folder, slimmer than the rest, tempts you with its gold embossing. Patrons, 37th, 2024. Your stomach rolls at what that word could mean in a place like this. Sparing one quick glance towards the hallway - still no movement - you pick the folder up and investigate. 

You’re greeted with police records and financial logs of every single person and entity that has funded this hellscape. 

Flipping through the pages is like watching a car crash; disgusting but entrancing. Politicians, medical professionals, billionaires, even a police commissioner. Headshots and mugshots, men and women, people not just from all over the nation but from other countries as well. Some giving thousands, others millions. What’s worse, perhaps, is that for each patron’s generous donation, a receipt or invoice is given as to where the money has gone. An accountant’s dream, your nightmare. 

You learn that neurosurgeon Jo Hyunjae’s thirty million won went towards industrial amounts of paint in obnoxious shades like Candy Dream and Caribbean Sunrise. Family man Dae Kwangsoo’s billions went directly into the prize fund upon his photocopied personal request. You have Michael Graham from Scotland to thank for getting fed every day. 

Beside you, Gihun angrily grabs the keyboard and begins bashing it across the broad monitor screen. It seems redundant to try and shush him, yet you hear Daeho’s worried call of his name from behind. Your focus doesn’t stray for long. 

Kim Cheol. The name is entirely unfamiliar. The 5x3 ID photo at the top, however, strikes a primitive streak of dread in you. 

Staring back at you with dead eyes and a shallow smile is the man who is responsible for the hellscape your life has become. Dogtooth. 

Your mind buffers for a moment, only snapping back to life when a hideous crash of plastic and metal signals Gihun’s increasing agitation. You don’t spare him a glance, instead scanning Dogtooth’s file intently. He’s younger than he looked in person, born in a town you’ve never heard of. Uneducated, unmarried. His affiliations are more complex than you’d known. With trembling fingers, you flip the page. 

A wet laugh bubbles out of you as your eyes burn. It’s pathetic. His sponsorship is so small that it got used up on four hundred and fifty-six pairs of canvas shoes. Your gaze drops to your feet, to your own dirt- and blood-streaked shoes. If it weren’t impractical and unwise, you’d take them off and throw them out of sight. That motherfucker.

For a moment, your grip on the leather falls slack in disgust. You want nothing to do with him, but perhaps it’s time you go on the offense. Tucking it under your arm, you rummage around the other forms and files on the desk to look for anything else that might be of value. Clearly whoever was here before you was in a rush, as there’s no rhyme or reason here, but it’s only natural that the heftiest book on the long tabletop catches your eye. Staff.

A grin stretches across your face. You flick through for a moment or two to make sure it definitely is official details and records like the other folder was and relish in the wealth of information shown. Better yet, everything is stamped and signed for. All you need to do is survive, and it’ll be over.

“We have to move,” Hwang pokes his head in to warn tensely, “the cameras won’t be down forever and we’re sitting ducks here.” 

Gihun barely takes note. It’s not until you turn to leave that you feel a crunch underfoot. He’s dropped the monitor and the actual system unit on the floor, scattering parts everywhere. You’re not sure if he realises that the actual hard drive somewhere among those components could probably be salvaged. Even if it couldn’t, the countless meticulously-labeled filing cabinets still remain intact. 

“Come on,” you chance loudly. You almost lose your nerve when he whips his head up to fix your gaze with feverish intensity. “We don’t have time to wreck all of this. We should take the evidence with us to punish those responsible.” 

Catching sight of the folders in your hand, he finally returns to reason. You can practically see the haze clear from his eyes. Still, he doesn’t respond to you verbally, opting to leave the room and helm the group onwards instead.

You clutch at the heavy bounty as you leave. Hyunju catches you with a hand to the back, so high up she’s practically cupping the nape of your neck. Though you try to disguise the shiver than runs through you, a lazy smile shows she didn’t miss it. 

“You okay?” she murmurs, fingers providing a grounding pressure that runs straight to your core. “Almost there, sweetheart.” To the two men at the front, she raises her voice just enough to carry. “Do we know the way or are you just roaming around with your fingers crossed?”

You’re sure not many people would dare to address a member of police that way. DIscharge aside, she outranks him, you realise with a pulse of heat. Hwang, unaware of this, twists at the neck to send her a disbelieving stare. “This is not my first day on the job,” he tries to bite back, but it can’t match the easy authority that Hyunju exudes. Still, when his hand gestures down towards the wall, you have to give him some credit. Every few metres, lines scoring the paint around ankle height lead the way. “I’m not just relying on my memory for a labyrinth like this.”

Now he’s pointed them out, you’re reminded of the sand in the hide-and-seek arena, a lifeline in a dangerous maze. Just like then, most of your nervous system is firing and braced for an attacker to come around the corner at any second. You wonder if this feeling will ever truly leave you, or if you’ll carry that fear any time you need to navigate a hallway on the outside. The brain has a strange way of latching on to what it decides is a marker for danger. 

For now, you have to focus on making it out alive in the first place. 

Daeho has miraculously gotten Hyunju’s daughter to settle again. Even though he’s fighting past a limp, you selfishly hang behind to avoid being passed her again. You’re sure you have some level of maternal instinct buried deep down, but holding a day-old infant while men with guns track you down has not awoken it. By the way he whispers softly to her, you don’t think he minds the distraction.

“Not far now.” Hwang’s assurance doesn’t set you completely at ease. This past year has seen you in an endless state of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The closer you get to the finish line, the more you’re convinced a terrible fate is going to intercept at any moment. You’ve all fallen into a steady silence as you navigate the twists and turns, but none of you are letting your guard down. 

So low only you and Hyunju at the back of the group would catch it, paired up taps signal people approaching from behind. Hyunju turns and raises her rifle immediately; your first instinct is to tiptoe forward quickly and whack Gihun on the arm to soundlessly grab his attention just as the guards round the corner. 

“Wait, don’t-!” 

The bright pink overrides the cry for help, and Gihun is the first to answer the threat by pulling his trigger. You flinch at the spray of blood, of the body dropping to the floor like its strings have been cut. Hwang is next; the guard spends the last few seconds of his life clutching at his shredded throat. Hyunju doesn’t shoot. 

It’s that pause from her that makes you take a proper look at your two surviving attackers. They’re hunched down, hands up as they fumble not for weapons but for their masks. One has curled up completely, but you can see his suit isn’t even zipped up all the way. A unique shade of teal peeks out. 

You’re shouting, Hyunju’s turning to the others and putting her palm up to stop them, and the cowering men themselves are crying out. But Gihun’s and Hwang’s trigger fingers are faster than their minds. Each fires off one more shot before they process your garbled begging. 

The man closer to you, now sporting a blooming red over his chest, had just enough time to lift the mask off. Although the fabric covering his nose and mouth remains, you recognise him all the same. Player 100’s unseeing eyes face the ceiling, permanently fixed in raw panic. 

Similarly, it doesn’t take a full face to know who is cowering behind the other men. In fact, it doesn’t take any of his features at all to know it’s Minsu whose palms curl up to the sky in surrender, whose head is tucked so low the plastic of his half-dislodged mask drags against the floor.

Your knees almost give out as you run up to him, petrified he’s going to keel over at any moment. 

He whimpers when your hands clutch at his shoulders to lift him up. “Minsu,” you call intently, “it’s me, you’re okay, it’s me. I’m so sorry, we didn’t- We-” Distracted, you fail to finish your sentence, instead patting him down like a border control agent. He trembles even as he seems to recognise you but he doesn’t make any pained sounds and your hands come away dry. 

Turning back to the others, you notice that Jeongdae’s fatal wound isn’t a single one, but twin shots that seep overlapping crimson. By some divine intervention, Hwang and Gihun had both aimed at the closer of the two. 

“Brother, I can’t believe you made it out of there!” Daeho exclaims in a hushed voice, smile wide in clear admiration. “That’s pretty metal.”

“Brave is what it is,” Geumja corrects and you don’t miss how glassy her eyes have become looking down at him.

Minsu, jaw chattering with raw terror, doesn’t seem capable of absorbing the compliments. He barely seems present, eyes not landing on anything in particular. Your own mouth fails you, less from fear and more from the uncertainty on what to say first. Apologies for leaving him would fall flat and there’s no time to get a play-by-play of how on earth him and Jeongdae were able to make it out of that crucible alive.

Instead, you lift him to his feet, stumbling at the dead weight. Barely there indeed, Minsu takes a few seconds to hold his own. He’s not trembling so much as juddering - small, jerky movements like that deep terror has set into his bones. You know the feeling.

“We keep moving,” Gihun announces sternly. “Detective, how far?”

“There’s a set of stairs coming up soon,” he responds, brows pinched tight as he recalls the way. Geumja nods decisively as if she knew this too; you can’t help but share a grin with Hyunju at the way the elder has stuck herself fast to his side. Hwang continues, “it’ll go down several floors and let out on the coastline.”

Your breath leaves you. The whole group is stunned into silence, unable to fathom the word. Coastline. Strange how, even as you apparently are minutes from leaving, a mere few days in here has rendered the thought of the outdoors almost incomprehensible. Were it not for Daeho’s leg, you’d be sprinting towards it. 

Minsu perks up, only slightly, but enough to stay on track without you leading him. He sends you what may be a smile but comes across as a stricken grimace and you do your best to return it. When the stairs come into view after a minute or so, a little colour even returns to his cheeks. 

The stairs themselves feel eternal. As usual, your most vulnerable members stick to the middle. Daeho has relinquished Junhee’s daughter to Geumja as he uses both hands to alleviate as much of his weight on his injured leg as possible. It’s a miracle he’s still standing, though you suspect it’s likely a mix of shock and hope. That hope is keeping Geumja fueled as well. She hasn’t seemed this determined since her son passed. Now, she chatters away to the baby as you make your painfully slow descent.

Minsu overtakes you all and delegates himself to the centre front, as close to Gihun and Detective Hwang as possible. Odd, considering they were the two that almost shot him, but you have to admit to yourself that the shame of leaving him behind back there feels a little less heavy when he’s not right beside you. 

One step at a time, you make your way down with you and Hyunju bringing up the rear. She doesn’t even need to watch her footing, more focused on keeping an ear out for anyone who may follow you down. It’s quiet, though. There are a myriad of reasons why that could be and some are more insidious than others. You decide it’s not worth dwelling on.

Instead, you keep your attention focused on Hyunju. “What’s the first thing you’re going to eat?”

“Sorry?”

Your lip quirks at her distracted confusion, the tilt to her head as she processes such a banal question. “I know we were planning on eating at Geumja’s obviously, but now that Hwang’s caught up to me I guess I have to be realistic.” She murmurs your name, almost disapproving, but you forge ahead. “I think we could probably outrun him. Enough time to go to a restaurant at least.”

“You should speak with him.”

Yet another flight of stairs greets you as you turn a corner. Your eyes sting even before you bite down harshly on your tongue. “Let him read me my rights?”

Hyunju says your name again, and this time you definitely hear the scolding in her voice. It hits you with a sharp pang that maybe she’s not discouraging you from talking that way for your own sake, but because it upsets her too. You crane your head to look up at her and wilt at the sight of her somber face. “Let’s just focus on getting out of there,” she offers up in an uncharacteristically weak tone. 

If only she wasn’t gripping the rifle tight, you could hold her hand. Your own fingers twist together as you dig your nails into skin, letting the pain keep you focused on the path ahead. 

There’s a commotion. While their voices are still kept cautiously low, the men at the front are definitely more hurried and frantic. The two of you share a look and pick up the pace as best you can with a limping Daeho in front of you. He, too, seems more urgent than before as their words become clearer. 

“-to the right, the radio’s in there.” Hwang, you think. “Yes, step through and start - careful, it’s rocky - start heading towards that boulder there. That’s the one. Okay, now you.”

Your heart is thudding enough that blood rushes in your ears and dead air stalls in your lungs. You see Daeho’s face pale in disbelief moments before the smell hits you. Salt. 

The tang of the ocean lures you down and a breeze curls around the corner, making you suppress a shiver. You don’t look at anyone, you don’t stay anything. You have to see it for yourself. 

Like tunnel vision, your surroundings fade to nothing as you take that last step past the stairwell. The open door lets in raw daylight that almost burns your eyes. Your view is obscured by those exiting before you but you drink in every glimpse you get while you wait your turn. Craggy grey rocks below, unending blue above. Finally, finally, you breach the doorway and step into the warmth of the sun. 

You’re outside.

The intense glare isn’t from the sun itself, you realise, rather brilliant white reflections that glint off the ocean, following the cresting of languid waves. 

Pressure on your sides, your wrist. You’re being pulled along, firm though not rough. Your eyes won’t leave the ocean even as you stumble here and there on the uneven footing. The green-blue beast meets the horizon with a tiny dark smudge on the edge that must be the mainland. It laps at the shore; the rocks drink it up and are burned dry by the sun just as fast. That push-and-pull calls to you and you long to break free from whoever is guiding you and run to plunge your hands in it, to wade so deep your feet leave the shore. 

It’s this intense fixation that allows your searching eyes to pick up a new silhouette. You can’t gauge the distance, but it looks like a fishing boat. Before you can yell out to it, however, the front of your shoe catches on an outcropping and you go pitching forward, dropping your precious cargo. 

Hyunju’s reflexes kick in before your own. Her hands brace your ribs and hoist you back onto steady ground with an ease that never fails to make your pulse race. Your gaze meets hers. She’s smiling, her face bathed in warm light and eyes glimmering. “Let’s go,” she instructs in a silken timbre as her hands squeeze a final time and fall away. “Be careful.”

You listen this time and stoop to pick the two leather dossiers up before continuing on more gingerly. It’s strange; after the delirious sameness of the corridors inside, even the tiniest details catch your eye. Seaweed hooked in a crevice between rocks, a small crab ducking out of sight when you step too close, a line of delicate seafoam that creeps up further with every lapping wave. You’re outside, you keep repeating in your mind like a mantra, like you’re trying to assure yourself that this is real. 

Hyunju glances over every few steps to ensure you’re still following, then past your shoulder at the door you spilled out from. You don’t look back. 

The group has already converged around what you soon recognise as a small dinghy, barely more than a raft. Gihun’s sending a somewhat sheepish Detective Hwang an unimpressed look and it’s clear why: this thing would struggle to stay afloat with four people let alone seven and a baby. Some of you will have to wait here. 

“I couldn’t exactly run a trawler up on the rocks,” Hwang defends, slipping his pistol away in favour of lifting one side of the boat. Even with his grim frustration, Gihun immediately steps in to carry the other. The detective has to raise his voice over the din of the oars dragging along every single rock. “It didn’t take long to reach the boat, we just have to keep moving.”

The noise makes you cringe, makes your back prickle with the feeling that someone is going to rush up behind you at any minute. Hyunju ushers you along with her gaze alone as she remains the only one still armed. Junhee’s daughter wriggles around in Geumja’s grip and the older women hunches over, one palm raised to cast a shadow over the newborn’s sensitive eyes. You quickly catch up to Daeho, knowing that if he loses his footing like you he’ll be unable to catch himself. 

A shaky grin lights up his pallid face. “Look at us! I always knew you’d make it out.”

You try to school your expression but a snicker slips free. “You did not.”

“I did,” he insists almost petulantly, grunting as he navigates the uneven terrain. “I said you remind me of my sister, didn’t I? She’s tough as nails, too.”

“Clearly you’re a bit of a hero yourself, making it to the final-” You break yourself off, good spirits faltering. Now, with the technicolour arenas and childish music behind you, the facade of the game has fallen away. You’re not finalists, not fierce competitors. You’re survivors of a massacre you were partially complicit in. 

A shadow passes over Daeho’s face, his eyes rich with empathy. “Yeah,” he murmurs simply, “well.” Words fall short but you know he understands you nonetheless. 

When dull thudding turns to a gritty drag of wood through sand, Daeho releases a slow breath. Tentatively, his fingers reach out. It takes a moment for you to realise he’s silently asking for your help. Quickly, you move the folders to one hand to free up the other. When you brace his upper arm to take some off the weight off you feel how much he’s trembling with the effort of staying upright.

Hyunju has somehow overtaken you without you noticing, and you glance up to see her and the two men setting a game plan, knee-deep in the water with the dinghy bobbing jovially between them. Hyunju spares you a glance, brow pinching tight as she listens to the others. You don’t have to hear them to work the math out for yourself. You’re not on the first flight out. 

Detective Hwang is the one coordinating with whoever is on that boat, and Daeho and Geumja, with a baby in hand, are clearly the most vulnerable of all of you. Hyunju and Gihun have weapons - and a selflessness that wouldn’t allow them to leave anyone behind - which leaves you and Minsu. Minsu, who is back to looking like an absolute zombie. 

You grit your jaw against the internal swelling of fear. It’s fine, what’s an extra hour or so? That internal voice of yours doesn’t sound all that convincing. “Hope you don’t get seasick,” you quip to Daeho instead, holding more of his weight as the water laps at your ankles.

“I served in the- Of course I don’t get seasick!” He all but spits the word, though his childish frown takes the bite out of his tone. “Hope you don’t get seasick.”

“Nice one,” you tease with a grin which is quickly met with a goodnatured scoff. “Alright, hop on up then, sailor.”

He keeps muttering but seems to breathe easier the moment you and Detective Hwang help him clamber in, the other two holding it steady. Hyunju’s gaze flickers over to you. You give her a small nod of understanding and something in her deflates, eyes dropping away to focus on the task at hand. 

“I can take her.” Geumja is next, with Gihun lifting Junhee’s daughter up out of the sling to give the older woman a chance to get in. She settles beside Daeho and gives him a tight squeeze on the arm, shaking it a little in that fond way grandmothers do for their grandchildren. As soon as the baby is back in her arms Daeho is craning his head down to coo at her. The unlikely trio makes you smile; somehow some good has still come from this awful place.

A brief burst of clarity has Minsu deftly slipping into the front bay of the dinghy. Strangely, he doesn’t make eye contact with any of you. He simply waits.

When Hwang gets in last, his eyes cast towards you then dip slightly. You follow his gaze down, realisation sparking. “Oh, yes, you should take these,” you agree to his silent request, handing over the two folders that feel twice their weight with every passing moment. Part of you is happy to have those nasty records out of your hands, but a scared little voice echoes from the back of your mind. He wants it just in case the guards catch up to you, it hisses. Truth be told, you know that voice is right. 

Once they’re safely stashed in the belly of the small vessel, Gihun and Hyunju give it a push, Hwang picking up the oars and quickly pulling at them to maintain the momentum. 

“Let’s take cover,” Hyunju announces decisively, eying the somewhat secluded alcove Hwang had originally stashed the dinghy in. “Could be a couple of hours for the round trip, factoring in fatigue. And stay on guard; I’m sure they’ll have the exterior under surveillance and who knows when it’ll be back up and running.” Once she receives acknowledgement from you both, Hyunju sets off, keen eyes scanning the landscape. 

Gihun takes a slower pace, holding his hand in front of you for just a moment to keep you beside him. You give him a wary look; this place has eroded his sanity so much that you struggle to read his expression past the sunken look in his eyes. When he speaks, however, his voice is soft. “I’m sorry we couldn’t fit you in as well.”

You stiffen a little, not in discomfort but instead with the effort of holding back the sickening lurch of emotion that turns your stomach and stings your eyes. “It’ll be over soon,” you deflect, hoping you sound more stoic than you feel.

Gihun’s reply comes swift, gentle in its acceptance. “It’s never over.”

You recall gold embossing on thick leather. Patrons. Staff. “Maybe not for us,” you admit, “but hopefully we’ll be the last ones.” Gihun doesn’t respond. His eyes are low, but you can’t tell if it’s in thought or just for the sake of navigating the uneven ground. You wait a beat longer, then suck in a slow breath. “Can I ask you something?”

Gihun’s head tilts slightly towards you. He lets out a hum of affirmation so low you barely catch it. 

For a split second you regret having even piped up, but curiosity wins. “Do you regret coming back here? Would you- I mean, if you knew this was how things were gonna turn out, would you still have done it?”

This finally gets him to actually look at you. He slows to a stop, haunted eyes searching your expression. Just beyond him, you see Hyunju a few paces away, staying sentry while giving the two of you privacy. He doesn’t seem to notice her at all. Gihun simply stares. After a moment, it seems like he’s not even looking at you but through you, as if he’s weighing up every atrocity he’s witnessed here. He scrubs roughly at his face, letting out a tense sigh. “I wish I did it better,” he confesses lowly, “but doing nothing would have been unforgivable.”

Your bottom lip tremors and you sniff, blinking away the tears that threaten to break through. After all of this, he still feels responsible. “There are four people on that boat that would’ve been dead without you, and two more still here with you now. You did what you could.”

For a moment, he turns to silently watch the receding silhouette of the dinghy laden with survivors. The only sounds are the slight rustle of wild grasses in the breeze, a distant seagull. Eventually, he nods. Just once. He opens his mouth, pauses, then lets whatever words were on his tongue fade away. 

Gihun reaches up to squeeze you gently on the shoulder, the same small comfort he’d afforded you back in the building. You know it marks the end of that line of conversation. Whether he believed your words or not, he wasn’t ready to dwell on them further.

He sets off to where Hyunju is sending you a questioning look. You shake your head silently, keeping a few steps behind Gihun until you reach her. Instinctively, your fingers find hers and you cling to her hand like a lifeline. 

Thinking of player 001 has your stomach twisting in unease. You’re certain he was a mole. Not a chance the body on that fucked-up display in the stairwell was him. Now that he’s no longer undercover, you have no way of knowing if you’ve come across him since. No clue what shape his mask bears. For all you know, he could’ve been shot down already. A small part of you hopes he has. A much larger part chastises you for feeling that way. 

As deep in your thoughts as you are, the next volley of shots makes you jump in place, heart thudding. Gihun presses at your arm a little harder, trying to usher you away - you notice Detective Hwang mirroring him with Geumja under his wing - but your eyes are locked onto Hyunju. 

She checks the scene ahead and pauses long enough for hope to build before her shoulders finally slump. Without meeting anyone’s eye, she clenches her jaw and gives a grim shake of her head. “This is the only way in or out. If we go in, we’ll be just as stuck as they are.”

It feels wrong - cruel, even, when you’d seen Minsu’s silent begging firsthand - but you’re in no position to counter-offer. She’s right, of course she is. 

The six of you traverse the entrance one at a time, all in a low crouch except for Daeho, who looks more like a bent straw as he hobbles across. The whole time you’re away from cover you’re half-expecting Minsu or whoever else was behind the barricade to yell out to you and expose your position, but it seems they’re all either too focused on their own situation or merciful enough not to dob you in. 

It’s smooth sailing from there as pink and yellow walls are replaced by that reassuring purple. Somehow it only worsens the guilt of leaving the others behind. You put your mental energy instead into keeping vigilant. Hwang, it seems, has enough spare to track you down and force you to acknowledge him. 

“Why are you here?”

Your muscles have instinctively tensed up at his proximity, like he’s going to taze you at any second. You try to school your expression into nonchalance. “The Four Seasons was a bit out of my budget.”

Hwang sucks in an irritated breath. His eyes, however - try as you might to avoid looking at them - are still the same empathetic brown that lured you into a false sense of security the first time he spoke with you. “I’ve spent over a year of my life searching for the most evasive fugitive I’ve ever met as well as a mass-murder island that shouldn’t exist, so I apologise if I seem a little vexed that both have appeared in the exact same place.”

Though it’s probably derogatory, you preen a little at the thought of being so difficult for him to find. You’re enemies, the survivalist in you hisses, but it’s hard to hold such animosity when he’s escorting you and your precious cargo down these hallways with the same protective measures that Hyunju does. “Well, you’ve got me now,” you mutter lowly, not ready to let your guard down. “I’d appreciate if you hold off on the handcuffs until we’re no longer in a death trap.”

“Handcuffs?” 

The detective’s voice is so bewildered that it makes you stop clean in your tracks. A shoulder thuds into your back, Daeho quickly steadying you with an embarrassed apology. Your lips part, but before you can decide how to respond to Hwang’s confusion you’re interrupted by Gihun.

He’s standing in front of a closed door on the right of the hallway, fingers raised to brush the painted lettering. Records. They wander lower, to where an old-fashioned lock lies in wait. “Do you think…?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hyunju steps in. “Are we leaving? Then the only door we need is the exit.”

Gihun stiffens, fingers curling up into a tight fist. “They’ll just do it again,” he states to her, though his gaze never wanders from the delicate white characters. “If we don’t burn it to the ground, what’s to stop them from coming after us? Who knows how many years of-” He cuts himself off and springs to action so quickly you see the tip of Hyunju’s gun uptick for a moment. Gihun snatches his own rifle, presses the end of the barrel to the right of gleaming metal lock and fires two shots in quick succession. 

“Shit, Gihun, you can’t just…!” Hwang dashes behind you to check the hallway for any guards who may have heard the racket. His pistol is in his hands within the blink of an eye. 

Junhee’s daughter wakes with the racket, begins to writhe in distress, eyes clenched and mouth open in a slowly building cry. Frozen like a deer in headlights, you stare down at her blankly as the wailing pierces into you. Daeho is the first to realise you are not the most qualified person to try and soothe a freaked-out infant, and blessedly relieves you of your babysitting duties, keeping her steady while you transfer the jacket sling to his own shoulders. He doesn’t use it right away but cradles her against his chest first, bobbing and humming away. Relief washes over you, like a burden ten times her weight has been lifted off of you.

The door to the records room is irrevocably splintered around the internal bolt, and a harsh kick knocks it open, the metal clanging uselessly on the ground. Gihun wastes no more time rushing inside.

The rest of you share an uncertain look. What’s better: an enclosed space or a vulnerable hallway? Curious about the insider information the records room must hold, you choose the former. Hwang, having taken a slightly blushing Geumja under his wing, stays sentry with Hyunju. It’s almost like the two of them have a silent understanding to protect the rest of you at all costs. Daeho rests up against the wall, leaving you the only one who steps in after Gihun.

His back is to you, shoulders stiff under the stained fabric of his shirt. He’s hunched over a boxy-looking monitor on a desk that takes up nearly a whole side of the room. Every inch of the dark painted wood has some form of clutter on it, at odds with the countless tidy racks of filing cabinets. Manila folders and leather dossiers with half-falling out pages, scrunched up handwritten notes, a scattering of sleek-looking stationery. Gihun focuses only on the computer, which beeps patronisingly at every invalid password attempt. 

One black leather folder, slimmer than the rest, tempts you with its gold embossing. Patrons, 37th, 2024. Your stomach rolls at what that word could mean in a place like this. Sparing one quick glance towards the hallway - still no movement - you pick the folder up and investigate. 

You’re greeted with police records and financial logs of every single person and entity that has funded this hellscape. 

Flipping through the pages is like watching a car crash; disgusting but entrancing. Politicians, medical professionals, billionaires, even a police commissioner. Headshots and mugshots, men and women, people not just from all over the nation but from other countries as well. Some giving thousands, others millions. What’s worse, perhaps, is that for each patron’s generous donation, a receipt or invoice is given as to where the money has gone. An accountant’s dream, your nightmare. 

You learn that neurosurgeon Jo Hyunjae’s thirty million won went towards industrial amounts of paint in obnoxious shades like Candy Dream and Caribbean Sunrise. Family man Dae Kwangsoo’s billions went directly into the prize fund upon his photocopied personal request. You have Michael Graham from Scotland to thank for getting fed every day. 

Beside you, Gihun angrily grabs the keyboard and begins bashing it across the broad monitor screen. It seems redundant to try and shush him, yet you hear Daeho’s worried call of his name from behind. Your focus doesn’t stray for long. 

Kim Cheol. The name is entirely unfamiliar. The 5x3 ID photo at the top, however, strikes a primitive streak of dread in you. 

Staring back at you with dead eyes and a shallow smile is the man who is responsible for the hellscape your life has become. Dogtooth. 

Your mind buffers for a moment, only snapping back to life when a hideous crash of plastic and metal signals Gihun’s increasing agitation. You don’t spare him a glance, instead scanning Dogtooth’s file intently. He’s younger than he looked in person, born in a town you’ve never heard of. Uneducated, unmarried. His affiliations are more complex than you’d known. With trembling fingers, you flip the page. 

A wet laugh bubbles out of you as your eyes burn. It’s pathetic. His sponsorship is so small that it got used up on four hundred and fifty-six pairs of canvas shoes. Your gaze drops to your feet, to your own dirt- and blood-streaked shoes. If it weren’t impractical and unwise, you’d take them off and throw them out of sight. That motherfucker.

For a moment, your grip on the leather falls slack in disgust. You want nothing to do with him, but perhaps it’s time you go on the offense. Tucking it under your arm, you rummage around the other forms and files on the desk to look for anything else that might be of value. Clearly whoever was here before you was in a rush, as there’s no rhyme or reason here, but it’s only natural that the heftiest book on the long tabletop catches your eye. Staff.

A grin stretches across your face. You flick through for a moment or two to make sure it definitely is official details and records like the other folder was and relish in the wealth of information shown. Better yet, everything is stamped and signed for. All you need to do is survive, and it’ll be over.

“We have to move,” Hwang pokes his head in to warn tensely, “the cameras won’t be down forever and we’re sitting ducks here.” 

Gihun barely takes note. It’s not until you turn to leave that you feel a crunch underfoot. He’s dropped the monitor and the actual system unit on the floor, scattering parts everywhere. You’re not sure if he realises that the actual hard drive somewhere among those components could probably be salvaged. Even if it couldn’t, the countless meticulously-labeled filing cabinets still remain intact. 

“Come on,” you chance loudly. You almost lose your nerve when he whips his head up to fix your gaze with feverish intensity. “We don’t have time to wreck all of this. We should take the evidence with us to punish those responsible.” 

Catching sight of the folders in your hand, he finally returns to reason. You can practically see the haze clear from his eyes. Still, he doesn’t respond to you verbally, opting to leave the room and helm the group onwards instead.

You clutch at the heavy bounty as you leave. Hyunju catches you with a hand to the back, so high up she’s practically cupping the nape of your neck. Though you try to disguise the shiver than runs through you, a lazy smile shows she didn’t miss it. 

“You okay?” she murmurs, fingers providing a grounding pressure that runs straight to your core. “Almost there, sweetheart.” To the two men at the front, she raises her voice just enough to carry. “Do we know the way or are you just roaming around with your fingers crossed?”

You’re sure not many people would dare to address a member of police that way. DIscharge aside, she outranks him, you realise with a pulse of heat. Hwang, unaware of this, twists at the neck to send her a disbelieving stare. “This is not my first day on the job,” he tries to bite back, but it can’t match the easy authority that Hyunju exudes. Still, when his hand gestures down towards the wall, you have to give him some credit. Every few metres, lines scoring the paint around ankle height lead the way. “I’m not just relying on my memory for a labyrinth like this.”

Now he’s pointed them out, you’re reminded of the sand in the hide-and-seek arena, a lifeline in a dangerous maze. Just like then, most of your nervous system is firing and braced for an attacker to come around the corner at any second. You wonder if this feeling will ever truly leave you, or if you’ll carry that fear any time you need to navigate a hallway on the outside. The brain has a strange way of latching on to what it decides is a marker for danger. 

For now, you have to focus on making it out alive in the first place. 

Daeho has miraculously gotten Hyunju’s daughter to settle again. Even though he’s fighting past a limp, you selfishly hang behind to avoid being passed her again. You’re sure you have some level of maternal instinct buried deep down, but holding a day-old infant while men with guns track you down has not awoken it. By the way he whispers softly to her, you don’t think he minds the distraction.

“Not far now.” Hwang’s assurance doesn’t set you completely at ease. This past year has seen you in an endless state of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The closer you get to the finish line, the more you’re convinced a terrible fate is going to intercept at any moment. You’ve all fallen into a steady silence as you navigate the twists and turns, but none of you are letting your guard down. 

So low only you and Hyunju at the back of the group would catch it, paired up taps signal people approaching from behind. Hyunju turns and raises her rifle immediately; your first instinct is to tiptoe forward quickly and whack Gihun on the arm to soundlessly grab his attention just as the guards round the corner. 

“Wait, don’t-!” 

The bright pink overrides the cry for help, and Gihun is the first to answer the threat by pulling his trigger. You flinch at the spray of blood, of the body dropping to the floor like its strings have been cut. Hwang is next; the guard spends the last few seconds of his life clutching at his shredded throat. Hyunju doesn’t shoot. 

It’s that pause from her that makes you take a proper look at your two surviving attackers. They’re hunched down, hands up as they fumble not for weapons but for their masks. One has curled up completely, but you can see his suit isn’t even zipped up all the way. A unique shade of teal peeks out. 

You’re shouting, Hyunju’s turning to the others and putting her palm up to stop them, and the cowering men themselves are crying out. But Gihun’s and Hwang’s trigger fingers are faster than their minds. Each fires off one more shot before they process your garbled begging. 

The man closer to you, now sporting a blooming red over his chest, had just enough time to lift the mask off. Although the fabric covering his nose and mouth remains, you recognise him all the same. Player 100’s unseeing eyes face the ceiling, permanently fixed in raw panic. 

Similarly, it doesn’t take a full face to know who is cowering behind the other men. In fact, it doesn’t take any of his features at all to know it’s Minsu whose palms curl up to the sky in surrender, whose head is tucked so low the plastic of his half-dislodged mask drags against the floor.

Your knees almost give out as you run up to him, petrified he’s going to keel over at any moment. 

He whimpers when your hands clutch at his shoulders to lift him up. “Minsu,” you call intently, “it’s me, you’re okay, it’s me. I’m so sorry, we didn’t- We-” Distracted, you fail to finish your sentence, instead patting him down like a border control agent. He trembles even as he seems to recognise you but he doesn’t make any pained sounds and your hands come away dry. 

Turning back to the others, you notice that Jeongdae’s fatal wound isn’t a single one, but twin shots that seep overlapping crimson. By some divine intervention, Hwang and Gihun had both aimed at the closer of the two. 

“Brother, I can’t believe you made it out of there!” Daeho exclaims in a hushed voice, smile wide in clear admiration. “That’s pretty metal.”

“Brave is what it is,” Geumja corrects and you don’t miss how glassy her eyes have become looking down at him.

Minsu, jaw chattering with raw terror, doesn’t seem capable of absorbing the compliments. He barely seems present, eyes not landing on anything in particular. Your own mouth fails you, less from fear and more from the uncertainty on what to say first. Apologies for leaving him would fall flat and there’s no time to get a play-by-play of how on earth him and Jeongdae were able to make it out of that crucible alive.

Instead, you lift him to his feet, stumbling at the dead weight. Barely there indeed, Minsu takes a few seconds to hold his own. He’s not trembling so much as juddering - small, jerky movements like that deep terror has set into his bones. You know the feeling.

“We keep moving,” Gihun announces sternly. “Detective, how far?”

“There’s a set of stairs coming up soon,” he responds, brows pinched tight as he recalls the way. Geumja nods decisively as if she knew this too; you can’t help but share a grin with Hyunju at the way the elder has stuck herself fast to his side. Hwang continues, “it’ll go down several floors and let out on the coastline.”

Your breath leaves you. The whole group is stunned into silence, unable to fathom the word. Coastline. Strange how, even as you apparently are minutes from leaving, a mere few days in here has rendered the thought of the outdoors almost incomprehensible. Were it not for Daeho’s leg, you’d be sprinting towards it. 

Minsu perks up, only slightly, but enough to stay on track without you leading him. He sends you what may be a smile but comes across as a stricken grimace and you do your best to return it. When the stairs come into view after a minute or so, a little colour even returns to his cheeks. 

The stairs themselves feel eternal. As usual, your most vulnerable members stick to the middle. Daeho has relinquished Junhee’s daughter to Geumja as he uses both hands to alleviate as much of his weight on his injured leg as possible. It’s a miracle he’s still standing, though you suspect it’s likely a mix of shock and hope. That hope is keeping Geumja fueled as well. She hasn’t seemed this determined since her son passed. Now, she chatters away to the baby as you make your painfully slow descent.

Minsu overtakes you all and delegates himself to the centre front, as close to Gihun and Detective Hwang as possible. Odd, considering they were the two that almost shot him, but you have to admit to yourself that the shame of leaving him behind back there feels a little less heavy when he’s not right beside you. 

One step at a time, you make your way down with you and Hyunju bringing up the rear. She doesn’t even need to watch her footing, more focused on keeping an ear out for anyone who may follow you down. It’s quiet, though. There are a myriad of reasons why that could be and some are more insidious than others. You decide it’s not worth dwelling on.

Instead, you keep your attention focused on Hyunju. “What’s the first thing you’re going to eat?”

“Sorry?”

Your lip quirks at her distracted confusion, the tilt to her head as she processes such a banal question. “I know we were planning on eating at Geumja’s obviously, but now that Hwang’s caught up to me I guess I have to be realistic.” She murmurs your name, almost disapproving, but you forge ahead. “I think we could probably outrun him. Enough time to go to a restaurant at least.”

“You should speak with him.”

Yet another flight of stairs greets you as you turn a corner. Your eyes sting even before you bite down harshly on your tongue. “Let him read me my rights?”

Hyunju says your name again, and this time you definitely hear the scolding in her voice. It hits you with a sharp pang that maybe she’s not discouraging you from talking that way for your own sake, but because it upsets her too. You crane your head to look up at her and wilt at the sight of her somber face. “Let’s just focus on getting out of there,” she offers up in an uncharacteristically weak tone. 

If only she wasn’t gripping the rifle tight, you could hold her hand. Your own fingers twist together as you dig your nails into skin, letting the pain keep you focused on the path ahead. 

There’s a commotion. While their voices are still kept cautiously low, the men at the front are definitely more hurried and frantic. The two of you share a look and pick up the pace as best you can with a limping Daeho in front of you. He, too, seems more urgent than before as their words become clearer. 

“-to the right, the radio’s in there.” Hwang, you think. “Yes, step through and start - careful, it’s rocky - start heading towards that boulder there. That’s the one. Okay, now you.”

Your heart is thudding enough that blood rushes in your ears and dead air stalls in your lungs. You see Daeho’s face pale in disbelief moments before the smell hits you. Salt. 

The tang of the ocean lures you down and a breeze curls around the corner, making you suppress a shiver. You don’t look at anyone, you don’t stay anything. You have to see it for yourself. 

Like tunnel vision, your surroundings fade to nothing as you take that last step past the stairwell. The open door lets in raw daylight that almost burns your eyes. Your view is obscured by those exiting before you but you drink in every glimpse you get while you wait your turn. Craggy grey rocks below, unending blue above. Finally, finally, you breach the doorway and step into the warmth of the sun. 

You’re outside.

The intense glare isn’t from the sun itself, you realise, rather brilliant white reflections that glint off the ocean, following the cresting of languid waves. 

Pressure on your sides, your wrist. You’re being pulled along, firm though not rough. Your eyes won’t leave the ocean even as you stumble here and there on the uneven footing. The green-blue beast meets the horizon with a tiny dark smudge on the edge that must be the mainland. It laps at the shore; the rocks drink it up and are burned dry by the sun just as fast. That push-and-pull calls to you and you long to break free from whoever is guiding you and run to plunge your hands in it, to wade so deep your feet leave the shore. 

It’s this intense fixation that allows your searching eyes to pick up a new silhouette. You can’t gauge the distance, but it looks like a fishing boat. Before you can yell out to it, however, the front of your shoe catches on an outcropping and you go pitching forward, dropping your precious cargo. 

Hyunju’s reflexes kick in before your own. Her hands brace your ribs and hoist you back onto steady ground with an ease that never fails to make your pulse race. Your gaze meets hers. She’s smiling, her face bathed in warm light and eyes glimmering. “Let’s go,” she instructs in a silken timbre as her hands squeeze a final time and fall away. “Be careful.”

You listen this time and stoop to pick the two leather dossiers up before continuing on more gingerly. It’s strange; after the delirious sameness of the corridors inside, even the tiniest details catch your eye. Seaweed hooked in a crevice between rocks, a small crab ducking out of sight when you step too close, a line of delicate seafoam that creeps up further with every lapping wave. You’re outside, you keep repeating in your mind like a mantra, like you’re trying to assure yourself that this is real. 

Hyunju glances over every few steps to ensure you’re still following, then past your shoulder at the door you spilled out from. You don’t look back. 

The group has already converged around what you soon recognise as a small dinghy, barely more than a raft. Gihun’s sending a somewhat sheepish Detective Hwang an unimpressed look and it’s clear why: this thing would struggle to stay afloat with four people let alone seven and a baby. Some of you will have to wait here. 

“I couldn’t exactly run a trawler up on the rocks,” Hwang defends, slipping his pistol away in favour of lifting one side of the boat. Even with his grim frustration, Gihun immediately steps in to carry the other. The detective has to raise his voice over the din of the oars dragging along every single rock. “It didn’t take long to reach the boat, we just have to keep moving.”

The noise makes you cringe, makes your back prickle with the feeling that someone is going to rush up behind you at any minute. Hyunju ushers you along with her gaze alone as she remains the only one still armed. Junhee’s daughter wriggles around in Geumja’s grip and the older women hunches over, one palm raised to cast a shadow over the newborn’s sensitive eyes. You quickly catch up to Daeho, knowing that if he loses his footing like you he’ll be unable to catch himself. 

A shaky grin lights up his pallid face. “Look at us! I always knew you’d make it out.”

You try to school your expression but a snicker slips free. “You did not.”

“I did,” he insists almost petulantly, grunting as he navigates the uneven terrain. “I said you remind me of my sister, didn’t I? She’s tough as nails, too.”

“Clearly you’re a bit of a hero yourself, making it to the final-” You break yourself off, good spirits faltering. Now, with the technicolour arenas and childish music behind you, the facade of the game has fallen away. You’re not finalists, not fierce competitors. You’re survivors of a massacre you were partially complicit in. 

A shadow passes over Daeho’s face, his eyes rich with empathy. “Yeah,” he murmurs simply, “well.” Words fall short but you know he understands you nonetheless. 

When dull thudding turns to a gritty drag of wood through sand, Daeho releases a slow breath. Tentatively, his fingers reach out. It takes a moment for you to realise he’s silently asking for your help. Quickly, you move the folders to one hand to free up the other. When you brace his upper arm to take some off the weight off you feel how much he’s trembling with the effort of staying upright.

Hyunju has somehow overtaken you without you noticing, and you glance up to see her and the two men setting a game plan, knee-deep in the water with the dinghy bobbing jovially between them. Hyunju spares you a glance, brow pinching tight as she listens to the others. You don’t have to hear them to work the math out for yourself. You’re not on the first flight out. 

Detective Hwang is the one coordinating with whoever is on that boat, and Daeho and Geumja, with a baby in hand, are clearly the most vulnerable of all of you. Hyunju and Gihun have weapons - and a selflessness that wouldn’t allow them to leave anyone behind - which leaves you and Minsu. Minsu, who is back to looking like an absolute zombie. 

You grit your jaw against the internal swelling of fear. It’s fine, what’s an extra hour or so? That internal voice of yours doesn’t sound all that convincing. “Hope you don’t get seasick,” you quip to Daeho instead, holding more of his weight as the water laps at your ankles.

“I served in the- Of course I don’t get seasick!” He all but spits the word, though his childish frown takes the bite out of his tone. “Hope you don’t get seasick.”

“Nice one,” you tease with a grin which is quickly met with a goodnatured scoff. “Alright, hop on up then, sailor.”

He keeps muttering but seems to breathe easier the moment you and Detective Hwang help him clamber in, the other two holding it steady. Hyunju’s gaze flickers over to you. You give her a small nod of understanding and something in her deflates, eyes dropping away to focus on the task at hand. 

“I can take her.” Geumja is next, with Gihun lifting Junhee’s daughter up out of the sling to give the older woman a chance to get in. She settles beside Daeho and gives him a tight squeeze on the arm, shaking it a little in that fond way grandmothers do for their grandchildren. As soon as the baby is back in her arms Daeho is craning his head down to coo at her. The unlikely trio makes you smile; somehow some good has still come from this awful place.

A brief burst of clarity has Minsu deftly slipping into the front bay of the dinghy. Strangely, he doesn’t make eye contact with any of you. He simply waits.

When Hwang gets in last, his eyes cast towards you then dip slightly. You follow his gaze down, realisation sparking. “Oh, yes, you should take these,” you agree to his silent request, handing over the two folders that feel twice their weight with every passing moment. Part of you is happy to have those nasty records out of your hands, but a scared little voice echoes from the back of your mind. He wants it just in case the guards catch up to you, it hisses. Truth be told, you know that voice is right. 

Once they’re safely stashed in the belly of the small vessel, Gihun and Hyunju give it a push, Hwang picking up the oars and quickly pulling at them to maintain the momentum. 

“Let’s take cover,” Hyunju announces decisively, eying the somewhat secluded alcove Hwang had originally stashed the dinghy in. “Could be a couple of hours for the round trip, factoring in fatigue. And stay on guard; I’m sure they’ll have the exterior under surveillance and who knows when it’ll be back up and running.” Once she receives acknowledgement from you both, Hyunju sets off, keen eyes scanning the landscape. 

Gihun takes a slower pace, holding his hand in front of you for just a moment to keep you beside him. You give him a wary look; this place has eroded his sanity so much that you struggle to read his expression past the sunken look in his eyes. When he speaks, however, his voice is soft. “I’m sorry we couldn’t fit you in as well.”

You stiffen a little, not in discomfort but instead with the effort of holding back the sickening lurch of emotion that turns your stomach and stings your eyes. “It’ll be over soon,” you deflect, hoping you sound more stoic than you feel.

Gihun’s reply comes swift, gentle in its acceptance. “It’s never over.”

You recall gold embossing on thick leather. Patrons. Staff. “Maybe not for us,” you admit, “but hopefully we’ll be the last ones.” Gihun doesn’t respond. His eyes are low, but you can’t tell if it’s in thought or just for the sake of navigating the uneven ground. You wait a beat longer, then suck in a slow breath. “Can I ask you something?”

Gihun’s head tilts slightly towards you. He lets out a hum of affirmation so low you barely catch it. 

For a split second you regret having even piped up, but curiosity wins. “Do you regret coming back here? Would you- I mean, if you knew this was how things were gonna turn out, would you still have done it?”

This finally gets him to actually look at you. He slows to a stop, haunted eyes searching your expression. Just beyond him, you see Hyunju a few paces away, staying sentry while giving the two of you privacy. He doesn’t seem to notice her at all. Gihun simply stares. After a moment, it seems like he’s not even looking at you but through you, as if he’s weighing up every atrocity he’s witnessed here. He scrubs roughly at his face, letting out a tense sigh. “I wish I did it better,” he confesses lowly, “but doing nothing would have been unforgivable.”

Your bottom lip tremors and you sniff, blinking away the tears that threaten to break through. After all of this, he still feels responsible. “There are four people on that boat that would’ve been dead without you, and two more still here with you now. You did what you could.”

For a moment, he turns to silently watch the receding silhouette of the dinghy laden with survivors. The only sounds are the slight rustle of wild grasses in the breeze, a distant seagull. Eventually, he nods. Just once. He opens his mouth, pauses, then lets whatever words were on his tongue fade away. 

Gihun reaches up to squeeze you gently on the shoulder, the same small comfort he’d afforded you back in the building. You know it marks the end of that line of conversation. Whether he believed your words or not, he wasn’t ready to dwell on them further.

He sets off to where Hyunju is sending you a questioning look. You shake your head silently, keeping a few steps behind Gihun until you reach her. Instinctively, your fingers find hers and you cling to her hand like a lifeline. 

There’s noise behind you, but your mind has dulled it into flat static. People could be whispering or shouting and it would still barely register. Not important, not now. 

Your stomach flips with each jump like rushing down a rollercoaster track, but the transient height helps you track down the pendant again. Gritting your teeth, the next time you lift off you propel yourself forward with your arms splayed out for balance. You land too leaned back, arms frantically spinning windmills in the air to try and regain your centre of gravity. There are moments to spare between you jumping up again and the rope rushing by.

You wouldn’t have thought it on the platform, but you swear you can feel the rope underneath your feet even without actually touching it. It reminds you of the tangible fear you’d get swimming in the ocean as a child - the raw belief that a shark was circling you from below, seconds away from biting your leg clean off. That shark is real now; its metal just as mean as ragged teeth.

Bit by bit, you edge your way closer to the centre. Minsu had surprisingly accurate aim though you almost wish he’d tossed the pendant off the side entirely. At least then Namgyu potentially could’ve come to some form of acceptance. Now, his tunnel vision could get him killed. You killed, too, now that you’ve unthinkingly taken his place. The single silver lining that you cling onto is the knowledge that if you get across you’ll be done. As stressful as this dizzying height is, it’s not as bad as half an hour of visceral danger. 

Your blood rushes in your ears and your pulse throbs in your wrists. You’re sure now that the players on the platform are talking, cheering even, but the words are muddied and you can’t afford the distraction. Below it all, a juddering beat like desperate sobs. You grit your teeth and push forward a little further on your next jump. 

The bridge doesn’t go all the way across. You notice this just in the nick of time, stopping any progress on your next few jumps as you size up a broken gap that splits the track into perfect halves. For a few seconds you think it’s genuinely been broken - the edges do look ugly and twisted - but you’re no longer naive enough to believe anything in here is less than intentionally cruel. It’s just another barrier to survival. 

Despite how alert you feel, the sameness of the bridge’s railroad pattern and the distance of the floor below makes it frustratingly hard to actually estimate the breadth of the gap. Most players could just brace themselves for the longest jump they can, but a glaring problem prevents that. Minsu’s throw managed to send the pendant past this gap, but barely. 

With the relentless pace of the rope’s rotation, there’s not a chance you’re nimble enough to overshoot it, turn around to grab the crucifix and continue forth again. But not jumping far enough and failing to land on the bridge safely would be even worse. 

Panic begins to rise and the adrenaline speeding through you feels less like an energy burst and more like the start of a heart attack. “Fuck,” you huff out on your next harsh landing. The air is punched out of you on impact every time and even though you suck new oxygen in as soon as you can, it’s making you lightheaded. You need to move before you lose your nerve entirely. 

Counting down in your head, you take a deep breath and leap forward the moment the rope approaches. The longer jump gives you less time before the next swing, and though you initially land flatly on the other side, the lack of recalibration has you off of your rhythm. This time, when gravity pulls you back, your left heel meets air. 

The drop feels impossibly fast. 

Before your mind even comprehends you’ve lost balance, a blistering pain bites into the curve of your back, barely missing your shoulder blade. You don’t cry out; a unison of players on the platform do that for you. The unforgiving wooden strut you’d landed on deftly flips your trajectory. As your eyes struggle to pin down the deep blue of the ceiling and the bland neutral tones of the bridge you get the strangest sensation of being possessed by your own reflexes. By the time you’ve developed the conscious thought of I’m falling your hands are already curled around the protruding edges of the bridge in front of you. Your weight and momentum send a shockwave through your shoulder joints when they come to a halt but your fingers remain so iron-tight that the bones in them ache. 

You’re dangling, you finally realise. The whoosh of the rope passing now comes from above and your legs flail hopelessly below. You can’t even bear to look down, instead keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the underside of the bridge. It doesn’t take a genius to work out there’s no way you’re getting back on it with the pace of the rope’s swing. There’s a concrete pillar holding up the bridge further ahead but that’s not much use to you. The only way forward seems to be the ends of the planks that stick out slightly from the main railroad path. As it is, your four fingers only just fit around the ones you’re clutching at. It’s precious and the chances of success are probably miniscule. Despite that, however, you almost prefer this to the intended crossing. No longer are you at mercy of the rope and its timing. Your muscles won’t hold you forever, but your mind is clearer this way.

There’s still one glaring problem, however.

The pendant. 

Do you leave it for Namgyu to try his luck at, or do you do the stupid thing and try to fumble for it yourself? Even as you ponder your options you’ve made up your mind - it seems Namgyu’s influence over you has you making increasingly stupid decisions anyway. 

Another audible swing of the rope, and you brace your right arm to make up for your left as you carefully creep your hand around the edge of the bridge. There’s only so far you’ll be able to reach, you know, but in the heat of the moment and high on adrenaline it seems worth a try. 

The horizontal planks of the bridge seem to be painted; they’re far smoother than you’d expected with the wood-like appearance of them. Perhaps the lack of friction was partially to blame for your slip, but none of that matters now. You pat carefully so as not to hit it and send it skittering over the edge, eyes closed to focus even more.  

Your right arm burns, creaks even. Above, your fingers wander, your forearm gingerly moving up to gain more ground. You’re terrified that at any moment it may catch the bottom of the rope and sweep you away, and at any rate you’re quickly approaching a point where expending any more energy would be detrimental. Just as you accept that Namgyu will have to sort it, the cool, ridged surface of Thanos’ pendant rubs against the side of your hand. 

Resisting the urgent panic within you, you carefully grab onto it and slide your arm off of the bridge, hissing at the way your body swings limply to the right. It’s quickly buried in the depths of your left pants pocket before you finally hold onto a plank edge and relieve some of the building tension. 

There’s nothing left now but to make your way to the other end, but it’s frustratingly slow going. Crossing your arms over would be foolish and the bridge is too wide for you to have one hand on each side. The only way to move is to have your right hand swing a few struts over, as far as you can safely reach - though safely is an overstatement - and then have the left join one strut behind. 

You could swear your body is getting heavier with each swing; you try tensing, tucking your legs, curling them back, but nothing makes it any easier. If anything is going to power you until the end, it’s your own willpower. Every speck of grit you can find within yourself. 

Eventually, your knees knock into the pillar as you pass it. The dumb, primal part of you wants to cling onto it and were you not in such a high-stakes environment you might have laughed at the thought of sliding down it like a firefighter pole. Instead, you keep your mind narrowly focused on your goal.

Through the pain and the tunnel vision, one voice reaches you. For how far across you’ve made it, it’s surprisingly loud. 

“You’re fucking insane, 123, keep going!” 

Even with your jaw clenched shut, a smile twists across your lips. You can’t see him, can’t risk pausing to pull yourself up especially when your fingers feel so worn down and burning, but his words alone are a bigger reassurance to you than the steadily approaching platform.

Because his voice isn’t loud just from yelling. It’s loud because he’s right behind you, on the bridge, huffing with every merciless swing of the rope. “It’s not even th- that far,” he gasps out in a tone as brusque as it is worried, “we’re gonna party so- so fucking hard tonight, we’re ge- getting the fuck outta here!”

We’re getting the fuck out of here. You let the words melt into you, fueling your aching body. Everything hurts, even muscles you don’t seem to be using like your lower back. You’re just so tensed up from fear and determination that nothing’s getting a break. But Namgyu’s right - you’re not far off, in fact as you grit your teeth and swing your right arm down the line, it reaches almost to the platform. 

A shadow passes over you, a thud… thud… thud.

“Player 124, pass.”

You laugh, stiff and breathless. Your left hand joins the right, and then with one more painful stretch, your fingers wrap around the final protruding plank before the flat expanse of the platform edge. Again, your left hand catches up, and the momentum has your feet bumping awkwardly against the concrete face. 

At the top edge of your vision, you see bloodstained canvas. But your laugh has dried up in your lungs, because though your eyes scan more intensely just below, you realise there’s absolutely nothing to get a hold of. Further to your right, a white picket fence and flower pots line the edge, but there’s nothing remotely within arms reach. 

“Oh. Shit, 123, let me-”

Teal replaces red, and a hand reaches down. You could cry; a senseless blend of exhaustion, relief, and terror, but instead you let go of the plank and clutch at him instead. Above you, Namgyu grunts as he pulls up. Your body lifts, slightly, enough for your chin to level with the platform, but there’s not quite enough leverage to go past that. Namgyu has to keep his other hand steady on the platform so you don’t both go tumbling over, and the power in your left bicep seems to have evaporated entirely. It shakes as you try and fail to push yourself up. 

Namgyu mutters above you, even more staccato than when he was on the bridge. It’s like he can’t get quite enough oxygen to voice a full sentence; you’re having trouble making out the words at all. He yanks harder, but still the most you can get up is your collarbones digging painfully onto the unforgiving concrete. 

Again, you try and recruit your left arm, but it won’t contribute. You’re too worried that if you let go to try and gain more leverage that your fingers will fail too. Just when you run out of options, just when you feel the tears force their way to the surface again, an odd pressure lands on your shoulder and begins to tug at your jacket. Hair brushes against your cheek. Your right arm is let loose and you let out a panicked yelp as you press your palm to the platform to hold it up. Namgyu’s hand finds your hip, fingers fisting in your waistband and using that to try and drag you up again. 

It’s not until you hear a growl of effort right beside your ear that you realise Namgyu’s biting into the fabric of your jacket, using that as another point of contact. Again you’re dragged up but this time that extra leverage makes all the difference. As you’re lifted, you see Namgyu tipping himself back entirely so that you’re pulled not just up but over the edge this time. The polished concrete digs into your hip, but it’s that flare of pain that makes you finally realise you’re high enough to get your legs up and over.

The only parts of your body that haven’t been strained to exhaustion, the moment your knee lands safely on the platform you know you’re alive. The two of you topple to the ground; Namgyu grunts when your shoulder smacks his jaw but you feel the way his grip doesn’t waver. Your success is declared over the loudspeaker, but his touch remains like your life still depends on it. Fingers wound together, the other hand now splayed against your lower back. 

“That fucker,” he gasps out breathlessly, and you don’t have to ask who he’s referring to. You wouldn’t have the energy to anyway; your whole body is dead weight, lungs dried up and head swimming. “Thinks he’s funny, thinks he’s so fucking smart.” 

In spite of it all, a tired smile graces your face. Slowly your breath is returning to normal though you know it’ll be a hell of a lot longer before your heart rate itself calms down. Still, the rhythmic swish of the pole provides a steady reminder that you - both of you - made it past and would never have to do it again. 

Jumbled shouts behind you pull your attention. Clumsily crawling off of Namgyu and sitting up, there’s only one person who has dared to join you. The leader of the rebellion himself, Gihun, wobbles dangerously on the start of the bridge as he clutches a bundle to his chest. 

Eyes wide, you sit up and scan the crowd. At the back, sitting on a gleaming wooden bench, Junhee is alone and empty-handed. Back to Gihun. He jumps again and the jerking impact triggers a gurgling cry that confirms your suspicion. That bundle tied to his chest is her daughter. 

“What is that weirdo doing?”

You narrow your eyes to focus in on Gihun’s every jump as if your attention is enough to keep him balanced. He may come across as strange to others, but you’ve spent enough time with him to know he would never willingly put someone vulnerable in the line of danger. “They’re making the baby cross,” you muse aloud. As terrible as it sounds, Namgyu has no rebuttal. There’s always a new low in this hellhole. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Namgyu dragging his hands across his face, the blood from yesterday finally flaking away on the sleeve fabric. Ahead, Gihun makes far quicker progress than you had. You bite down hard on your tongue when you see him finally stall - he’s reached the crevasse. 

Goosebumps roll over you like an icy wave as that sick fear from minutes ago washes over you in full again. An irrational fear that you’re going to somehow fall off of this platform has you scooting back out of Namgyu’s grasp. He grunts in protest as you get up on your knees again, legs too weak to do anything but crawl to the far wall. The breaths you suck in are unnecessarily deep to try and fight the urge to hyperventilate - why does it feel like you’re still on it? Your hands tremble on the cold platform all the way until you’re pressed firmly against the wall. 

It’s only then you notice how close one of the guards are. He stiffens and you don’t miss the way his rifle is subtly aimed closer to you than before. At this stage it doesn’t make much of a difference to you, yet Namgyu seems to view it as a direct threat. His face sours as he rises, the game behind him forgotten; Gihun has already crossed the gap and is approaching the end of the bridge, you see, and the strangest urge to laugh washes over you. Of course he’s fine. 

Your attention is pulled back to the quickly approaching Namgyu. Almost as soon as he starts over the guard - along with his buddy on the other side of the closed exit - shifts his aim with a great deal less subtlety than he did with you. 

“Get off my dick,” Namgyu spits with a lazy deadpan, barely paying them mind as he comes to a stop right in front of you. He nudges your foot with his own and though he maintains a level tone, you don’t miss the underlying warmth in it. “When did you become Tom fucking Cruise?”

You raise your brows, trying to keep your own face neutral. “I didn’t tell you I’m a professional rock climber? Weird.” Your only response is an unimpressed hum. “I don’t know, I guess it was like- Like when mothers go all Hulk and lift a car when their baby is in danger.”

“And I’m your baby.”

You’d more so been thinking of life-or-death adrenaline rushes, but his pleased, matter-of-fact tone softens something inside of you. “Uh-huh. Someone had to protect you from the big, scary monster.” You cock your chin across the bridge to where Minsu is glowering down at his own clenched fist like some sort of bested villain. Seeing him change so quickly in the past twenty-four hours does tinge you with a sense of regret but his blatant attempt at getting Namgyu killed works to alleviate it and see the darkly comic side of your situation. 

Namgyu hums again as he follows your gaze. “Liked him better when he was a coward.”

“Player 456, pass.” 

The two of you look back to the end of the bridge in unison as Gihun lands hard between the large painted shoes of the statue, baby clutched in his sling. You share the briefest moment of eye contact - you can just about convince yourself there was a flicker of respect in that transient glare - before he ignores you in favour of showing Junhee her daughter had made it safe and sound. Truth be told, you don’t have the energy to mind if he’s ignoring you. 

Your circle outside of Namgyu has waned, weakened, and shriveled up completely. It’s unfortunate, and you’re sure you’ll suffer countless sleepless nights full of regret if you do make it out of here alive, but you do have Namgyu. There’s something serious between you, something immovable. You would never have guessed it at the start of this week when he was a snarky, flighty asshole but these past ten minutes have cemented your trust, your faith that if you leave, you’re leaving together. 

The comfort of that feeling and your own physical exhaustion begin to build a wall between you and the rest of the game. A sense that it isn’t real, like you’re simply watching it all through a screen. Namgyu seems to feel the same way, as he’s turned back to the bridge too as several players begin piling up on the bridge after your own victories have given them courage. 

When the first of the bunch reaches the gap, you don’t feel that same locktight dread that had overcome you with Gihun. The aforementioned is still stoically pretending you don’t exist, or perhaps is just entirely focused on his friends who have yet to begin.

The player jumps over the rope and lands cleanly on the other side. The rest of them seem to heave a unanimous sigh of relief, but it’s short-lived. So honed in on making that one leap, the older man forgets to jump again in time. Player 096’s feet are swept out from beneath him. 

He screams - squeals, really - and lands with a crunch. You and Namgyu join the guards as the only people in the room that don’t flinch. The taller man who was behind him has gone so pale he may as well be a ghost already. The fear slows him as well.

The two eliminations are announced within ten seconds of each other. 

“Damn,” Namgyu drawls lowly, “amateur hour. Hey, if most of them die, we could be getting out of here.” He turns to face you but jerks his thumb back towards Gihun. “Old Saint Nick over here is definitely voting to leave.”

You squint across to the other side to gauge who you have left to root for as the bridge steadily builds up with hopefuls. Most of these people you recognise only by face and not name or conversation, but of course you see Junhee, still curled up miserably on the park bench. It breaks your heart, but you don’t think with the way she gingerly rests her leg that she’s going to make it across. There’s Minsu - he paces, still clutching his fist as he whispers to himself. You can’t quite decide whether you want him to make it across or not. It’s hard to say if Namgyu will try and exact revenge or still see him as his inferior. Minsu’s goal of getting you to gain some ‘perspective’ certainly hadn’t gone in his favour; if anything, you feel disillusioned. He’s just a stark wake-up call that nobody in here leaves innocent. 

After a few moments, you decide you’re ambivalent whether he lives or dies, and perhaps that’s worse.

It may be a moot point, however, as the game time dwindles he still loiters at the back. If he doesn’t take the leap soon, he might run out of time before he even starts. 

The only other person you’ve even really talked to is the shaman. To your surprise, she’s one of the few who have yet to approach the bridge. Gone is her catlike bravado; the raven-haired woman is on her knees right in front of the closed doors. She has her face and palms tilted up towards the ceiling but her eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it looks like she’s in agony. She’s speaking to herself though you can’t hear it. Either she’s quiet or just mouthing silently. Everyone around her is too steeped in their own misery to take much notice. 

“Player 039, pass.”

Your attention is grabbed by the round-faced man stumbling onto the platform. Just like you, he trips in his relief and hits the floor hard. Despite the man being a blue voter, Gihun still goes over to help him up. 

When he brushes off his pants, player 039 scans the three of you, and the matching red patches you and Namgyu sport on your jackets. His face hardens, he shakes off Gihun’s helping hand, and turns back to his fellow blue team to cheer them on.

Four of them have passed the gap so far. They all have the same maniac mix of fear and eagerness. As the chanting rises, another - 336, who looks weirdly similar to 096 - crosses the line.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you send Namgyu a dry look. Your voice cuts beneath the new racuous shouting. “Fifty thousand says we’re not going home tonight.”

He turns to you, tonguing his cheek. The taut, slightly waxy pallor of withdrawal hasn’t left him, but there’s a fire in his eyes that makes him seem more clearheaded than ever. “Tonight, tomorrow, doesn’t matter. We’re going.”

His gaze catches. A steady warmth flickering deep in your belly. Even if you don’t win the vote, there’s a whole night before you need to put your life on the line again. You intend to make the most of it. 

When you try to inconspicuously press your thighs together, you’re reminded of a very special bounty in your pants pocket. Thanos’ pendant. It had completely slipped your - and Namgyu’s - mind until now. As you go to retrieve it, however, you hesitate. How many were left? You’re not sure if Namgyu would be desperate enough to just take one right away, or if he’d have the self-control to save it as an emergency for what tomorrow may hold. Loathe you are to admit it, his fearlessness and capability while high has saved both your lives before.

Instead, you wait for him to be distracted - a particularly grisly elimination where a younger man spitefully drags a woman down with him - and slip the pendant out of your pocket to count the pills. 

The moment you thumb open the engraved cover, your stomach drops. You have to bite down hard on your tongue to not outwardly react. Quietly putting it back in your pocket still opened, you let your fingers search safely out of view. You trace the inside of the cross, then the seam of your pocket just in case they fell out. Nothing. 

Namgyu hasn’t noticed your silent panic. He’s sulking as more blue voters make it across the bridge, swaying back and forth with his arms loosely crossed. When he suddenly jerks upright, your hand flies out of your pocket before you even think to do it. You brace yourself for him to have caught you, but he’s staring straight ahead. “Look at him go,” he scoffs. “Even jumps like a pansy.”

For a moment, your brain whirrs and buffers. Dumbly, you follow his gaze and see Minsu, sweating so much his face glints, making unsteady progress down the bridge. It’s not like any of you probably looked all that suave hop-scotching for your lives, but you have to admit he does look almost cartoonish as he makes his way across.

Minsu’s face is twisted in his signature anxious pout, hair plastered to his forehead. It doesn’t budge even with his jerky leaps. His shoes dangle from one hand and the other is still jammed up. His awkward coordination makes it look like he’s punching the air every step of the way. 

You can’t share in Namgyu’s bemusement, however. Because you know there’s more to Minsu’s clenched hand than just poor athleticism. You know without actually laying eyes on them that the last of Thanos’ pills are bundled up securely in his fist. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath.

“Right?” Namgyu snickers, shaking his head with a satisfied grin on his face. “You know, he’s such a dweeb that sometimes I think I’m actually rooting for him.”

Numbly, your eyes scan from Minsu to the painted flowerbed below. “Me too.” 

Like most of you had, Minsu is forced to jump in place as he reckons with the gap in the bridge. From experience, it’s hard to gauge depth perception under such physical and mental burden. You yourself had done a poor enough job of it that it almost cost you your life. You can only hope Minsu fares better.

After a few jumps - you swear each cycle of the rope leaves his face greyer and greyer - Gihun steps up to the edge, calling out in encouragement. You don’t miss the impatience in his tone, however. Minsu isn’t the only one left, and there’s not much time still on the clock. Part of you suspects it has nothing to do with him or the others, and everything to do with the young woman still resting stiffly on the park bench. Gihun may still have hope or even a plan for her to make it across, but judging by her solemn expression, Junhee doesn’t.

In the end, it’s not Gihun beckoning him forward, but the build-up of contestants egging him on from behind that finally gets Minsu to move. Three men, each more ragged and sour looking than the last, berate him loudly enough to drown out the grating children’s song you’ve desperately tried to tune out yourself. 

After some fruitless yelling, the one right behind him - player 309, who has somehow reached this far without a spot of blood on him - loses patience and kicks at the back of Minsu’s leg. “The fuck are you waiting for, man?” The snarl in his voice breaks and wobbles, fear peeking through. 

Minsu screws up his face, sucks in a deep breath, and springs forward. 

Of its own accord, your hand finds Namgyu’s, fingers needily clasping at the cool skin of his wrist. All the air in your lungs gushes out the second Minsu finds himself landing on steady feet, but your grip remains. He turns to give you a surprised look and you feel strangely shameful, like a child concealing a broken window. The real shame, you know, is that this worry is pinned on the pills far more than Minsu himself. 

Namgyu’s dark eyes scan your face. One of the three stooges on the track gets picked off by poor footing and slow recovery yet Namgyu doesn’t spare him a glance. You try and school your expression - should you look bored, entertained, or mildly concerned? - but Namgyu is smarter than most here would give him credit for. Nosier, too.

“What’s with you?” he demands, though the tone is softer than you’d expect from him. He steps in front of you, replacing your view of the bridge with white digits soaked red. 124. Another of the many numbers that will haunt you forever. While he lets you cling to his wrist without complaint, his other hand reaches up to jostle you with a fist full of fabric. “Hey! You actually care about that loser? Nobody here is worth shit, okay?” After you’re rocked with a little more force, you reluctantly meet his gaze with what you hope is a remotely inconspicuous look. “Only the good die young. We’re not the cream of the crop, we’re the bottom of the barrel. If he made it, he’s not a good person. Isn’t that the whole fucking point of this thing? Old granny offed herself rather than keep playing.”

You stiffen at the mention of Geumja, the horror of seeing her taken down from the bunk bed without dignity. On that point, though, Namgyu is right. For the most part you’re forced to agree that those of you still left have done terrible things to make it thus far. Still… “What about Junhee, then? Is she secretly evil?”

Namgyu’s head tips. “Who?”

“The pregnant girl,” you say disbelievingly with a wave across to the other side of the platform. You can’t make out the subtleties of her expression, but she’s given up on Gihun’s mad gesturing. Instead, she’s turned to the guard closest to her, one hand idly stroking her lower abdomen.

He turns around to stare at her for a few moments. Something goes dull in his expression for a moment, a kind of defeated empathy that you’ve seen in Gihun more than you ever have him. After a beat, his posture fixes again. “She’d be stupid to even try and cross.” His voice is dry but not sharp. He hums, watching her a moment longer. “She knows it.”

Your heart aches, both for her and for the man directly in front of you. This isn’t the first moment where the facade has cracked and his humanity has shone through, as twisted as it may be. It always makes you wonder if this is the real him, the sober him, the one that came before the hijinks and the obsession and the sharp objects. 

Fate doesn’t give you much of a chance to dwell on it. 

It happens in the blink of an eye, yet every detail sears itself behind your lids like a sunburst.

Minsu was close to completing it. Close enough that you’d stopped paying attention for a moment; close enough that he got impatient. 

Over Namgyu’s shoulder, you see as his timing falters and he jumps too soon. The two remaining men behind him second-guess their own internal clocks and both jump a moment later, but all of them land again too early. You don’t even have time to gasp let alone yell out before the rope makes a deadly sweep. Minsu, feet fully on the bridge again, is pushed clean off, whereas the other two land awkwardly on their sides as they get caught mid-swing.

He screams the whole way down. The second swing of the rope crunches bones as it forces the two men off the bridge after him, but it’s Minsu’s screams that your brain latches onto. The desperate shriek rattles around in your mind even after it’s abruptly cut off by his fatal landing. You’re frozen; Namgyu can’t keep still. He twisted around the moment he heard the sound, and now his fingers press on either side of his ears like he’s fighting the urge to block them entirely. From the way he shifts his weight from side to side it almost seems as though he had never truly considered the possibility that Minsu wouldn’t make it across. After all, he has been unexpectedly resilient for such a meek and terrified contestant. 

You never really asked why he was here, nor if he had anyone on the outside waiting for him. Now you’ll never know. It takes a few moments for you to notice your slack jaw and motionless lungs. You suck in a deep breath, pushing it out with as much force. “Well…” you begin, but nothing further comes to mind. Without fully intending to, you’re side-stepping Namgyu to make your way to the edge of the platform. 

The bridge is empty, the surviving players still murmuring among themselves, but your attention is held by the sight of Minsu’s body, limbs bent out of shape. You’ve heard people say the dead often look like they’re just sleeping, bodies still but faces peaceful and relaxed. Nobody could say that about him. A scarlet halo blooms around him, contrasting teal and glints of white. You almost mistake one of his legs for an arm with how close to his head it lies. The drop is high enough that you can’t make much more detail than that, but you do catch that both hands are now open. His shoes have scattered across the floor beyond his reach.

Your mouth runs, and you have to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms to try and hold back the revulsion that threatens to climb its way up your throat. Turning your back to the gruesome sight, you see Namgyu still a few paces behind, now using his sleeve to scrub at the perspiration at his temples and above his lip. His eyes are sunken and his posture unsteady. No doubt he’s as nauseous as you feel right now, though for very different reasons. A problem whose solution is now dissolving in a creeping pool of blood.

You are so fucked.

A new wailing fills the arena and tugs at your scattered attention. 

“Why must you abandon me here? I have done everything you asked of me!” You recognise the shaman’s voice before you find her. She’s on her knees, palms up in deference to the gods that don’t seem to be listening to her cries. “I never once complained, never faltered. You told me this was penance, not punishment.”

“That bitch is off her rocker,” someone mutters nearby. 

A scoff. “Extra few million for us, I’m not complaining.”

Across the empty bridge, she continues. “Anything you want, I’ll do anything. Great gods of the sea, don’t leave me here! I am your eternal servant, I always-” She cuts herself off, and the room falls into a stilted silence, everyone rapt with confused attention. Beside you all, the large countdown ticks impassively. Less than two minutes. 

To your surprise, a slow smile stretches across her face, wide and bright-eyed like the chesire cat. “Yes,” she sings, softer than her desperate pleas. “Your eternal servant. And now you have finally decided to call me to you. My true riches await; forgive me for my blindness, I see it all clearly now.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Slowly, the shaman sinks into a bow so low her forehead touches the floor. She continues her chanting, though it’s muffled enough that the words all blur together. The players around you seem to more or less have given up their interest. 

All except Gihun. It’s not the shaman he cares about, however, but the girl who has quietly been creeping to an unbarred edge of the platform. “No,” he calls out emphatically, “there’s still time, I’ll come for you.” His stance is awkward, not facing her directly but turned slightly away. You realise he’s angling himself so the timer is out of sight. Deep inside, you’re sure he knows there’s not nearly enough time, but he can’t stop himself from trying to save her. It’s foolish, but you have to admire his conviction. Junhee, however, refuses to let him indulge in it.

“Please stay where you are,” she begs of him, limping forward until the tips of her shoes peek over the edge. “If you don’t make it, my baby won’t survive either. You told me to protect my baby no matter what. That’s what I’m trying to do. Please help me one last time.” The guard closest to her creeps up as the countdown falls below ten seconds, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The other stands sentry behind the shaman.

Gihun lets out a sob, and the hopeless noise lances through you, makes your own eyes sting. He’d gone through this once, seen everybody get killed, and after this he’ll be alone again. You know you don’t count anymore, not for either of them. Your own actions have created an unfixable divide. You feel remorse but not regret over what you’ve done, but nonetheless you miss them. Miss when you had a whole group determined to band together. Fuck, you even miss that asshole Youngil. 

In front of you, Gihun still has eyes only for Junhee, who lingers on the border of the platform, sending him a morose smile. “Please take care of her.” Junhee lifts a foot, hovers it off the edge, but time takes her final choice away. 

The gunshots are close enough that it’s impossible to tell which guard pulled their trigger first. The shaman only twitches, already curled up low, but the force makes Junhee’s head snap forward, gravity taking control of the rest. 

Gihun sinks into his grief, barely staying on his feet as he hunches over with one final whisper of her name. 

A shameful sense of relief washes over you. As horrific as this game was, it’s finally over. The PA system overhead provides instructions once the guards open the exit doors. You’ve never seen players rush out as frantically before, not even on that first day. Even the two guards get shoved aside. You and Namgyu don’t hustle like they do, but you don’t loiter either. You form the tail end of the crowd, leaving Gihun behind as he picks up Junhee’s child from the bench.

“What a drag,” Namgyu whines once you’re back in the brightly-painted corridors. The change of scenery does wonders for your nervous system, a tangible reminder that you get to sleep safe and sound tonight, and the same is evidently true for Namgyu himself. “At least the others were kind of fun. That just sucked.”

Thanos’ pendant is like a hot coal in your pocket. “You can say that again.”

Namgyu pulls you to a stop as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “It sucked!” he repeats with a jab of his finger back towards the arena, as if he’s scolding it. His eyes, however, glimmer dark and hot. “You, though, you were fucking amazing. Hottest thing I’ve seen in my life, 123.”

Even as your cheeks flush hot, you push at him to usher him onwards. “Me slipping and nearly falling to my death?” you quip wryly. 

“That Lara Croft monkey-bars shit,” he corrects, miming with his hands held aloft, skipping one step forward at a time. With a dreamy sigh, he returns to a normal gait and begins descending the windy stairs ahead of you. “We gonna fuck tonight?”

“Namgyu!” Your face practically burns, all too aware of the fact that Gihun and the final guard will catch up to the line anytime now. “Seriously, have a little discretion.” You know the sentiment is foolish the second the words leave your lips, and the condescending grin he sends you over his shoulder only reiterates that. ‘Discretion’ and ‘Namgyu’ don’t belong in the same sentence. “Fuck off.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be discreet. Let’s take a victory lap,” he teases as you both step through the dormitory opening and rejoin side-by-side. “Throw a celebration for two?”

A reluctant smile tugs at your lips at his intentionally-poor euphemisms before the grating sound of the door closing behind you makes you turn. Gihun enters, baby cradled to his chest, face defeated. He doesn’t seem to have overheard, but you send Namgyu a warning glare nonetheless. “If you don’t shut up, you’ll never celebrate with me again.”

He pouts at you, but his eyes never lose that catlike mischief. “Pussy.” Namgyu leaves it at that, humming lowly as he takes in the changes to the dormitory. All bar eight beds have been removed. They’re spread out on either side, and low unease settles in your stomach at the thought of being that far away from Namgyu overnight. You’d feel safer beside him like you did last night. “Seemed like more of us when we were still in there.”

You have to agree. Now, in a space that once held four hundred and fifty-six players, less than ten of you remain. A quick glance shows that apart from the abstaining Gihun, the blue voters outnumber you five to two. Even if Gihun wakes up from his funk and places his vote - perhaps custody of a child will break that apathy - you don’t have the numbers to leave. Another look around the room and you notice the beds are divided into those uneven factions - three versus five.

The man in question overtakes you silently and claims a bed closest to the back of the room. Namgyu leads you to the furthest one on that side and throws himself onto the fresh blanket with a heaving sigh. “Can’t decide if we save ‘em,” he mumbles, using his dangling foot to hook you by the back of the knee. 

“Hm?” You let him pull you closer, standing between his parted thighs. “Save what?”

Namgyu props himself up on his elbows so it’s more clear when his gaze drops low. For a moment you assume he’s again talking suggestively before you remember the precious bounty in your jacket pocket.

Your mouth runs dry. “Namgyu,” you begin weakly, fingers slipping reluctantly inside to rub over the engravings. 

He misinterprets your low tone and clicks his tongue with a languid nod. “Better to hit up tomorrow. You’re right.” He gnaws at his lip as the outline of your hand against the fabric entrances him. “Could I just… hold onto it, though? For the night?”

Your heart thuds at the back of your ribcage as you desperately try to find the right order of words to let him down gently. “Minsu didn’t throw the whole thing.”

“That fucker broke it? Goddamn, he’s petty.” A scoff. “Was petty,” he corrects. 

You pull the pendant out, unbroken, and hand it to him. “Namgyu, he emptied it.”

He accepts it quietly and flicks the lid open, seeing the lack of pills for himself. His eyelashes flutter with how quick he’s blinking, though from above him you can’t tell if it’s to push back tears or to hold in anger. You’re bracing yourself for accusations. For him to pat you down and blame you for it. The silence as he stares blankly at it only winds that tension in you tighter and tighter. 

Finally, he closes the lid with a subtle click and taps it rhythmically, self-soothingly, against his lips. “Yeah.” The single word is so soft you barely catch it, but still it speaks volumes. One syllable packed with a week of torment, desperation, grief and betrayal. He pauses his drumming for a moment as if he’s about to continue, but something inside him gives up. Eyes as empty as the crucifix, he lets out a stilted hum and passes it back to you. 

Your surprise at being given something so meaningful to him is interrupted almost immediately by the return of the square guard. Only two of his posse remain, both armed. The other players thoughtlessly claim the beds across from you, though you leave the one between you and Gihun vacant and move to clamber up on the bed beside Namgyu instead, sitting close enough your shoulders brush. As the guard announces the outcome of the jump rope game, you’re convinced you feel the added weight of him leaning on you.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through yet again. Here are the results.” Above, a click of his remote triggers the descent of the golden piggy bank. More money floods in, almost to the brim. Exhaustion saps any enthusiasm you may have otherwise felt at the sight of such riches. “In the fifth game, sixteen players were eliminated. We now have nine players remaining. The prize money accumulated to this point is 44.7 billion won, and each person’s share is 4.96 billion won.”

You, along with most of the other players, straighten up at the numbers. Not the amount of cash, but at the amount of players. 

“Nine?” 203 voices for you. “Why are there nine players left on the board? There’s only eight of us.” 

A blue voter the next bed down redundantly states it again, so the guard speaks up. “Players 039, 100, 123, 124, 203, 222, 336, 353, 456. As you can see, nine players have survived.”

You twist to look behind you at the baby cradled protectively by Gihun, who himself frowns down at her. Jeongdae and the others quarrel with the guard about Junhee having been eliminated and even before the guard declares her daughter as the surviving player 222, your stomach rolls at the thought of it. 

Turning back towards the stage, you send the square guard a seething glare. “That’s fucking disgusting,” you spit. The mask moves to face you emotionlessly. “That baby is less than a day old. She didn’t sign the contract to be here, she can’t even babble yet, so how can you say she’s a willing participant? Isn’t this meant to be democracy?” 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” player 353 calls out sharply. For a moment, a juvenile hope rises within you that despite your opposing votes, basic humanity has put him on your side. “That newborn gets to inherit her dead mother’s number and her money? It’s 4.9 billion!”

“This is such bullshit,” 203 snaps, getting off the bed to stalk closer to the centre of the room. “That bitch died like the rest of them. If she’s dead, the money should be ours. That thing’s done nothing to deserve it.”

336 is next to jump to his feet, pointing angrily at the baby on Gihun’s lap. “That’s right! We’ve earned that money by risking our lives in the games. A baby shows up out of nowhere, becomes a player, and now gets to share the prize money with us? So fucking ridiculous!”

One at a time, all of the blue votes have formed a sour posse, and it’s Jeongdae that now gives his piece. “It’s completely unfair! If I die here, then, are you going to give the prize money to my kids?”

“My prize money is down by 700 million because of that baby?” 353 snarls from the back of their group.

Your jaw falls slack. Of course. It’s just about the money. At least you have one common goal, which you latch onto, standing up to try and reclaim a level playing field. “Let her go,” you entreat to the guard, “get one of your henchmen to deliver her to a police station or an orphanage or something.” You direct your next words to the five riled-up men across from you. “If we vote to exclude the baby as a player, that money would go back into the pool for you all to win. You’d get what you want, and an innocent child won’t be killed in these fucking death games.”

You’re so certain after all that you’ve heard that these old men would refuse to listen or work with you at all just out of spite, but to your surprise Jeongdae gives a decisive nod and waves his arm out to you in agreement. “Yes, the kid has to leave this game. We’re not baby killers,” he insists, “we just want what we’re entitled to, what we’ve earned in this place.”

Suddenly, now that one of them is in favour, the others change their tune. “What does a newborn need with five billion won anyway?” 336 asks rhetorically. “Get rid of it. It’s not any of our responsibility.”

353 nods vigorously. “Get rid of it!” he repeats, clapping 336 on the back. “Yeah, get rid of it! Let us finish this game fairly, like we all signed up for.”

You wait with bated breath for the guard to respond to your united front, only one man proves it’s not united after all. 

“You’re all idiots and cowards,” 203 declares. He splits apart from the other four, shaking his head with a derisive smirk. “Those pink-suited fucks aren’t taking requests. They’re the ones who made it a player in the first place, you think they’re gonna go back on their decision because you said ‘please?’” He waits a beat, knowing they have no retort. “If we want our money, we have to get it ourselves.”

203 moves fast. 

Not sparing so much as a glance at the three guards, he beelines for Gihun at the baby, teeth flashing. You feel a rough tug at the back of your jacket and stumble clumsily onto the mattress. Beside you, Namgyu gives you a soft but warning shake of his head. You want to stand up again, to shake Namgyu’s hold off and go be brave but in truth the sadistic determination on 203’s face has your courage shriveling up inside of you. You just cling onto Namgyu in turn, dreading his unfair advantage over Gihun.

“Give me the baby,” he demands with a flap of his hand, “just give it to me and you’ll be fine. I won’t bother you, just hand it over!” He marches closer and closer as he snaps at Gihun, who has gotten up off of the bed, backing himself into the corner with a panicked expression. Just as you squeeze your eyes shut, a gunshot makes you startle.

Boots thudding and the baby crying drown out the echo of the shot. You warily open your eyes again to see 203 reluctantly holding his hands up in surrender, still fuming. 

“Physical violence between players will no longer be allowed,” the square guard announces. Like a caged tiger, 203 huffs and paces back to the other side of the room, Gihun eking his way along the wall back to his bed. “It is our intention to give every player a fair chance. Please cooperate.”

Your body goes lax, remembering to breathe again. As the two guards with their guns at the ready back up, eight more enter through the main doors. Each one holds a sleek black box in their hands. 

“To congratulate you for reaching the final game,” the leader explains, “we have prepared a special gift.”

“Oh my god, it’s a PS4,” Namgyu quips dryly, pulling a surprised chuckle from you. The two of you are approached by one of the guards each. You dubiously accept the box which seems to have a decent heft to it. A pink bow decal is placed on one corner, your player number embossed across the centre. The two of you slip the lid off in unison and you’re taken off guard at the sight of black dress shoes sitting atop folded black fabric. 

Namgyu picks up one of the glossy shoes, turning it around like he’s scouting for clues. 

You notice after a moment that the guards haven’t gone far. They’re still standing a step away, and once Namgyu returns his attention to them as well one of them speaks up. “We will now take you to your dressing rooms. Please follow us.”

As the two of you dutifully follow them towards the side door, you see the others do the same behind you, each player with their own guard. No more instructions are given, and you and Namgyu fall into an uncertain silence. He fossicks around in the box and you see glimpses of buttons, a zipper, even some white fabric tucked closer to the bottom. Whatever the outfit change is for, it’s a hell of a lot more formal than tacky green sweatsuits. 

You suspect the presence of individual escorts indicates individual dressing rooms, and you’re proven right in the winding corridors when Namgyu’s guard ushers him through a door, and your guard walks right by. 

Namgyu’s quick to reach back out and snag your guard’s sleeve. “Oh, we’re more than happy to share,” he offers up with a sleazy smile. As the guard - now on high alert - shakes off his grasp, however, you catch the edge of worry in his expression. He doesn’t want to be split up. “Come on, man, do me a solid. You know what I mean.”

Wordlessly, Namgyu’s guard pushes him aside and closes the door that separates you. Anxiety pulls low in your stomach, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same. You don’t trust the guards not to pull the rug from beneath you, to throw some cruel spanner in the works. You’ve all been blindsided too many times in here. 

With a line behind you, there’s no time to dwell. You’re herded along like cattle. The next door is opened for you, the guard shutting it immediately upon you crossing the threshold. Instead of being met with a dressing room, however, this just leads to yet another hallway. The room comes two or three turns later. The door has no handle. Once the two of you step up, a strobing green light catches your attention. Above the doorframe, a small black camera scans the guard’s circle mask. The door swishes open with the same mechanical cadence the main doors of the dormitory have, and shut behind you just as fast.

You don’t notice until it’s locked up again that the guard didn’t stay inside with you. You’re alone. To your delight, the dressing room has not only a tall mirror, a side table and an armchair, but a small shower tucked in the corner as well. The stress and danger of your environment quickly falls away, replaced by the specific whimsey of entering and exploring a hotel room. The pink towel and bathmat are thick pile cotton, the shampoo and conditioner sweet and citrusy. The vanity table is laden with brushes and combs, deodorant and perfume, even a hair dryer already plugged in. 

You’re unsure how much time you’ll get in here, but before you even begin to get undressed you thoroughly scout the room for cameras. Satisfied at the privacy, you turn the shower spray up to the hottest it will go, and scrub yourself down from head to toe. 

While you debate having a quick shower and getting dressed right away, you decide to risk a guard walking in on you in favour of indulging in the luxury for as long as you possibly can. It’s not until three heavy thuds on the door give you a warning that you get out and put on the perfectly pressed suit from the box. 

Everything is the exact size to the extent that you suspect they’re tailored for you specifically, down to the plain white bra and underwear they’ve provided. The thought creeps you out, but not enough to begrudge finally feeling clean again. The pants and suit jacket are a rich black, your number a stark white on the left breast pocket, a red X on the right. Underneath, a white button-down you tuck in awkwardly to the waist of your pants. You’re unsure how these are even supposed to be worn, and the bowtie they’ve given you is a mystery. You give up after a few failed knots around your neck, and shove it into the front trouser pocket beside Thanos’ pendant. 

Taking as long as you did in the shower, there’s not nearly enough time to fully dry your hair. A guard enters without a second warning, and the slightly cooler air of the hallway makes you shiver. You follow the guard down the silent hallway, not passing another soul. When you finally reach the dormitory, you see only players 039 and 100 have returned yet. 

More eye-catching, however, is the grand feast laid out in the centre of the room. Past the red X and blue O on the ground is a circular patch of chessboard squares. Atop, a ring of tables draped in white cloth and full of food just like the exit room you and Namgyu were in yesterday. They all surround the cash-stuffed piggy bank, which 039 and 100 both seem entranced by. As you walk past the two older men and stand behind the third dining table, you hear footsteps.

Namgyu enters, hair no longer lank and tucked back but framing his face, cheeks cleared of those rusty flecks. The heat of a shower has brought life to his wan cheeks. The suit is your final straw. He looks like he’s meant to be in black tie, a James Bond-esque silhouette as he passes you. His own eyes drink you in as deeply. As he steps behind you, he leans in to whisper, breath tickling the back of your neck. “You look hot again.” You muffle a laugh at the ungraceful compliment and he takes his place with a puffed chest and heady gaze.

The remaining players enter in number order, the only exception being a bassinet stationed to Gihun’s right. Junhee’s daughter is carried in by him last, with a guard following behind with a baby’s bottle. The sight is almost comical, though the realisation that the baby has been without nutrition this whole time sobers you up again. 

The tables are all far enough away to make conversation awkward, so quiet rules until the square guard finally steps forward in front of the podium. “Please, take your seats.”

After a moment, you all step forward and comply. The waft of savoury and sweet foods hits you the second you sit. This time you won’t turn down the offer of real food. Your mouth waters and fingers twitch. 

“We have prepared as much food and drink as you need,” the guard declares. “If you need more, please don’t hesitate to ask.” 

Hesitation certainly doesn’t describe the men around you. Without a second to waste, they dig in, jamming their mouths full with a steady stream of food. Eying the range, you reach for a bowl of what looks like chicken noodle soup and happily sip at the piping hot broth. 

A loud grating sound interrupts your meal. You glance up in unison with the others to see Namgyu, shamelessly dragging his chair across the divide, abandoning his table to instead sit directly across from you. The promise of well-cooked food thankfully stops the rest of the players from staring too long, but you don’t miss the disapproving glare Gihun shoots you as he abstains from the meal entirely.

“How may I help?” you chime in your best customer service voice. 

Namgyu sets down his fistful of utensils and fiddles with the crystal stem of one of the three candle holders set to your left. “Mood lighting. Very romantic.” The flames cast a flickering reflection on his eyes, a soft glow across his skin, and you’re again taken aback by just how beautiful he looks like this. Without asking, he reaches over and steals a glass of white wine, taking a deep pull before setting it down again. “You a fan of fine dining?”

“Two Michelin stars minimum, or it’s not worth my time.” 

His lips quirk. “Atta girl.” After pettily sampling each of your drinks in turn - red wine, beer, unflavoured soju - he drags a plate of sushi in front of him. His chopsticks clink delicately against it when he picks up a piece of sashimi. “Tomorrow night. We’ll be dead or we’ll be out, you and me. You can eat all the Michelin stars you want with that thing.” He shoves the sushi into his mouth quickly as he twists to point his chopsticks at the gleaming piggy bank. 

“I was thinking about that,” you muse, “surely leaving with all those bills is a little impractical. You reckon we’ll get a big suitcase of it or something?” 

Namgyu ponders it as he chews, returning to you with a lazy hum. “After this week, we better get a limo to the bank itself.” 

Your smile falters a touch, spoon swirling aimlessly in the slowly cooling bowl of broth. “Fifteen minutes of freedom before the authorities finally catch up to me.”

“You’re being too negative,” Namgyu counters immediately. He leans halfway across the table on his elbows, ditching the chopsticks. “Once I take you to my guy, we can go wherever the fuck you want. The shitty lives we led before will die in here like everyone else. Tomorrow night. We’re out. I hope you’ve been thinking of what you want your new name to be.”

You let his words sink into you, warm you from the inside out. Was that not exactly what you wanted when you signed up to this thing? To cut off the tangled mess your life had become ever since you trusted the wrong person? “Hm, good point,” you offer up, biting back a grin. “What’s your last name?”

The musical chime of Namgyu’s pleased snicker is drowned out by the whirring of the main doors opening. The square guard takes his place front and centre as his men spread out, one rolling the voting podium over to you until it’s right in front of the cash-filled pig. You let out a groan at the interruption. You’re not sure whether it’s resignation or the promise of being so close to the finish line, but you feel no fear at the sight of him. You’re not winning the vote, and a big part of you doesn’t even care. 

“You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not,” he informs you once the guards all take their stations. You’re not the only one huffing at the premature ending to your meal. Some of the men don’t even pause their eating; you can’t blame them. “But before we commence, you will be given a hint about the final game.”

“Generous,” Namgyu quips sarcastically under his breath.

“They wanna make sure we don’t cash out early,” you correct. “Can’t have an oversized Saw trap go to waste.”

“You will each get to choose which players to eliminate.” You narrow your eyes at the guard’s hint. It doesn’t make any sense to go from games of skill, grit and luck to just dictating who to kill off. 

Jeongdae is equally disbelieving, speaking through a thick wad of rice. “What? We get to decide who will be eliminated?”

“That is correct. If you can all agree on which three players should be eliminated, everyone else will make it through the game.”

Everyone’s eyes dart around the room, already sizing up the competition. Yet again, you’re reminded of the five beds on one side of the room, outnumbering your three. “Oh, fuck off,” you huff to nobody in particular. Across from you, Namgyu is uncharacteristically silent. 

“So we just need to eliminate three people, and we get to decide who?” 

You roll your eyes at 039’s question. Yet again, the men feel the need to repeat themselves over and over, asking the same thing. The guard confirms exactly what he had just said, and a prickle runs down the back of your spine with the weight of the blue voters sizing you up. 

A particular word the guard uses makes you straighten up again. You’re not the only one who catches it. “‘Minimum,’” 353 notes, “are you saying we can choose to eliminate more than three players?”

“Correct. At least three players must be eliminated, however, the choice is yours.” 

“So we can also decide how many will be eliminated?” 039 is far enough away from you that he doesn’t hear your scoff. 

“Damn it,” 203 grumbles, waving a butter knife at the guard. “Explain it better. What the hell are you saying?”

Before you can help yourself, you’re huffing again, letting your voice carry this time. “Are you all idiots? We have to eliminate at least three to pass, but they don’t care if we kill off more. Do you need a Powerpoint presentation?”

“Fuck off, bitch,” he snaps immediately, long face soured at the insult, “you’ll be the first person on my chopping block.”

“I’ll take you with me, prick!”

“Player 123 is correct,” the leader confirms. You sit back in your seat, happy to have got the final word, as childish as it is. “Once you choose who and how many will be eliminated, the remainder of you will leave these games as the final winners. Now, let’s begin the vote.”

Namgyu ignores the guard’s words, sending you a dry look. “Genius tactics.” 

“They were pissing me off,” you defend weakly. 

His mouth twists. “I’ll be pissed off when you have five grown men earning you a bullet in the brain.” With a sigh, he scans the room, eyes lingering on Gihun and the baby. “As if we’re not toast anyway, I suppose.”

Having tuned him out, you perk up when the guard calls player 456 to the podium first. Not handcuffed this time, Gihun stands and approaches it. He presses the red button, as expected, and Jeongdae huffs through his noise like an angry animal. As if it makes any difference to the final outcome at all.

Predictably, both 353 and 336 are in favour of continuing. You sneak a few sips of the rich red wine as they place their voices without hurry.

“Player 222.” The room pauses, a strange sense of anticipation at the quietly suckling baby. After a beat, the guard continues. “Player 222 will be considered to have abstained due to their inability to make decisions.” 

Before you can hold it back, a snicker pushes past your lips. The absurdity of the situation briefly outweighs the horror of it, and like a pierced dam, you struggle to tamp down the laughter. Namgyu joins in, the two of you giggling behind your hands like schoolkids. 

“Does anyone have any objections?”

The question succeeds in cutting you short. “What difference does it make?” you call out tiredly. It may as well be rhetorical for the lack of response it gets you.

Player 203, ready to take his turn, stands up and adjusts his waistband. “I, for one, have absolutely no objections.” He looks like he’s stuffed himself full already, shoveling another mouthful before he requests more rice, making his way to the centre of the room. “Do we all agree, then?” After receiving a few lines of support, he leans on the podium with a pleased sigh, smacking down on the blue button before he’s even officially called up. As he returns to his table, he sends you a dark grin, pointing two fingers at you, middle finger crooked like a trigger. “That one’s for you, sugar.”

You open your mouth but Namgyu gives you a swift kick to the ankle. You groan, reaching down to rub at it with a scowl. “Since when are you the reasonable one?” 

“Since I made dinner plans with a pretty girl.”

You raise your brows. “You’re much nicer to me without your pills, you know?”

“Damn it,” he clicks his tongue, “because I was planning on buying a boatload of co-”

“Player 124, please cast your vote.”

Drumming his fingers on the table, he steals the final swig of wine from your glass and pushes himself up on his feet. The others watch as he strolls up, making a show of pretending to think on it before he opts to vote red. You revel in the displeased grunts of the others despite the pointlessness. Once he sits back down across from you with legs splayed wide, he pats his chest over the stitched X. “That one’s for you, sugar.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you rib, though the sharpness is lost behind a laugh you can’t hold back. 

“Player 123.”

You stand, giving him a vengeful kick to the shin when you pass. You’d rather the vote be done with instead of the pretense of it actually mattering, so you’re voting and coming back again in a matter of seconds. You try not to dwell on the weight of Gihun’s unreadable gaze as you do so. 

Jeongdae is next, happily voting to leave. As soon as player 039 is called as the final player to vote, however, he remains sentry in front of the podium. “Is that even necessary? We have the majority already, what difference does it make if he votes?”

Fawning under 100’s intense gaze, 039 gives a hasty nod. “Th-that’s right, it’s not necessary. I was going to vote blue anyway.”

The square guard drops the pretense of it being a fair vote and doesn’t insist. “As the verdict stands as five out of nine voting to leave, we will proceed to the final game tomorrow. Please enjoy your dinner, our staff are at your disposal if you require more.”

Jeongdae is clapping before the leader even finishes, and as soon as he turns to walk away, the older man is proposing a toast. “Congratulations to all of us. We’ve made it this far, and those who win tomorrow will truly have earned it. In the meantime, let’s all eat, drink and be merry.”

“That’s a good one,” Namgyu pipes up, turning to give you a rakish smile. “What say we go to the girls’ bathroom and be merry?” Any retort you have dies in your throat when his next breath comes heavy. He sits up like he’s trying to create distance from his own body, jaw working oddly. 

You frown, leaning forward. “Are you okay?”

He chances a smile but it’s stale. “Ate too much.”

“You’ve hardly eaten anything yet.”

“Drank too quickly.”

Your voice flattens. “Namgyu.”

He takes a beat to respond, slow breaths through a carefully poised mouth. “Leave it alone, it’s just- God, fucking Minsu of all people.” Namgyu shifts again, reaching up to press the backs of his hands against his face, eyes fluttering shut in an attempt to keep composure. You see the dancing flames casting glints across his forehead as he perspires. 

“Take off your jacket,” you instruct, though it comes out weaker than you’d intended. Wary of the way the blue voters have now congregated on the far side of the room, you try to take Namgyu’s mind off what are clear symptoms of his continued withdrawal. “There’s an empty bathroom waiting for us to christen it.”

The five men stare at the two of you. Still at his dining table, Gihun does too. You wonder if it’s for the same reason. Standing up, you help him out of the jacket himself. “You were fine two seconds ago, I bet you’ll be fine again in no time. Just hang on.”

His voice comes so quiet you barely catch it. “You don’t get it. You can’t get it.” Namgyu’s body is slack as he lets you unbutton the starched white cuffs of his button-down, rolling them back to free scorching skin. 

Unsure if the words were truly meant for you, you decide not to respond. You feel helpless, unsure what to do to help him. The best you can come up with is to encourage him to stand, making your way carefully to the bed you’d occupied earlier. It frightens you, the way he turns so quickly. Mirroring the unstable mood he’d had when high, though so much worse. He’s right; you couldn’t possibly understand what he’s going through right now. 

He lands heavy on the bed, cheek pressed against the pillow and shoes still on. Stealing another worried glance around the room, you’re actually relieved at the presence of the armed guards. The leader had implemented a no-violence policy, and you trust that at least the pink suits in here should uphold it. 

You perch on the edge of the bed beside his torso. “Maybe you should drink some water or something? I can- I think it should be fine if I just grab some off the table. They won’t try anything now. Would water help?” You’re met with silence, and when you look down, you see he’s got his eyes closed and lips parted, his breaths slow and steady unlike earlier. He’s fallen asleep. “Never mind, then,” you whisper to yourself.

This you can handle. You’re reminded of your late teen partying days, of friends who indulged too much and couldn’t stomach it. The familiar territory makes you feel less useless, gives you a purpose as you slowly untie and take off his shoes, tuck his hair behind his ear, undo the bowtie constricting his neck. You pull the blanket out from under him one painstaking inch at a time until he’s lying on the cooler cotton sheet instead. 

After that, there’s nothing left for you to do. The dinner drags on - the group of men return to the tables and gorge themselves, even grazing your table just to see if they’d get a reaction. You force yourself to ignore it. By the time the tables are finally unbraked and rolled back where they came from, they’re all patting their stomachs, taking off their jackets and loosening their bowties. Faces deeply flushed from all the alcohol, they too succumb to sleep within minutes of lying down. When the lights-out warning is given, only you and Gihun remain conscious. 

Namgyu, blessedly, is not a snorer. He lets out a quiet grunt or a snuffle every few minutes, shifting in his sleep, but the sounds comfort you, assure you that despite the health crisis ravaging his body and mind, he’s still here with you. He saved you earlier today, and now you feel a surge of protectiveness to do the same for him. When darkness falls, you lie down gingerly on the narrow gap beside him but refuse to sink into sleep. 

His breathing is close enough that it tickles your face. You wonder if he will feel better in the morning, if he’ll be able to pull through until you’re able to get out of here, or if this is his last night. The thought makes you nauseous; you force it out of your mind and busy yourself making mental lists of what you could do or buy or where you could go after this ends.

A slow scrape puts you on high alert. 

Your eyes fly open but you force yourself to stay still, squinting into the darkness. It’s not entirely pitch black anymore, however. A slice of light in the front corner widens a touch, flickers as a silhouette steps through before being extinguished just as silently. 

Someone left the dormitory. Someone was let out of the dormitory. The thought is enough to keep you from drifting off, theories buzzing in your mind and feeding on themselves until they grow unwieldy. It’s hard to say how long that person is gone, or if they’re even planning on coming back. Nonetheless, you stay up, carefully sitting upright and exposing your eyes to the dim light. Things gradually come into a weak haze, just enough to make out the beds and the few guards remaining. 

You wait. Working up worse and worse conspiracies, you wait until finally your patience and curiosity is rewarded. 

When the grating starts, you squint into the blooming light and your blood runs cold. Gihun. 

Days ago he was accused by members of the blue team - Jeongdae himself, you recall - of being a mole, of secretly working for the game runners, but until now you never believed it for a second. 

You hold your breath, worried even the rise and fall of your chest would be enough for him to notice you. As he steps through the doorway fully, you see that while he doesn’t have Junhee’s daughter, his hands aren’t empty. 

Held low on his right side is a wicked-looking blade. Not the narrow daggers you’d been given in yesterday’s game, but something you’d see a butcher wield. The door closes behind him, and your fuzzy vision flattens him, only able to make out his general profile as he slinks across the dormitory like a ghost. 

You’re so tense, shallow sips of air all that you allow yourself. Instead of returning to his own bed - a relief, for that path would’ve taken him straight past yours - that tall charcoal smudge steps over to one of the others, hovering at the bedside with his head hung. In a smooth upward swing, Gihun raises the knife up past his shoulder.

You watch with bated breath, convinced you’re about to witness a murder the guards don’t seem to be intervening. You can’t even tell which of the men he’s chosen. When the knife comes down, though, it’s without force. Gihun hunches over the sleeping player; you can imagine him holding the knife to the man’s throat or over his chest. 

Moments pass, maybe even minutes. He doesn’t move. It’s almost like he’s trying to work up the courage, and you’re captivated, running through which of your theories may hold water given this strange display. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to interfere with the results of the game if he really was one of the men in charge - it would take away their sick thrill of watching the dregs of humanity fight to the death, after all. Besides, you still can’t see Gihun as one of them. Even now, as he seems on the verge of killing someone in cold blood, you believe every word he’s ever said. 

Something within him is too weak. Or, perhaps, too strong. He steps back, cradling the knife against his stomach. There’s no slash, no struggle, no death rattle. The hollow quiet of the room remains unbroken. That is, until Namgyu’s sleeping body shuffles around onto his side to get more comfortable. The subtle creak of the springs is deafening; you know even before Gihun turns that he’s heard it too.

His silhouette is still just static dots of grey but you’re certain he’s staring right at you, sitting upright in your bed. Unaware, Namgyu lets out a throaty grumble and digs his cheek into the pillow. You quickly drop your chin to check if he’s woken up - the drool on the pillow suggests otherwise - before you return your focus to the unmoving outline opposite you. Gihun still has his arms tucked in, it looks like. He seems to just be standing there, staring at you. Your heart thuds uncertainly and you wish he’d just break his silence so you could know what he was thinking, what he was planning. 

You squint harder. The lighting hasn’t changed, but in the muddy darkness his ghostly figure seems to have grown larger. A blink. You rub your eyes, will them to hone in more. It hasn’t grown larger. It’s growing larger. 

He’s coming directly at you.

You were stupid enough not to connect the dots sooner, that by the time you suck in a panicked breath and push yourself upright he’s already close enough for you to hear his footsteps. A light patter on the glossy concrete almost as fast as your stuttering heartbeat. 

Mere metres away now, you’re able to make out more detail - two deep pits where his brows cast his eyes into shadow, the slight reddish glint to the blade where it reflects the X on the ground. 

Hastily, you get to your feet, not leaving Namgyu’s side but rather stepping in front to block him. In your last few seconds, you fumble around the floor until your fingers close around the solid heel of one of his dress shoes. It’s not much against a knife, but you hold it defensively in front of you nonetheless. 

Gihun whispers your name in a rough hiss. 

“Go away,” you return shakily, the tremble in your hands obvious even in the absence of light.

He lifts the knife - you hope like hell he didn’t catch the embarrassing whimper you let out at the quick motion - but you realise he’s not pointing it directly at you, but rather waving both of his hands in what you think is meant to be a placating gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he insists lowly, “or your friend. That wasn’t- That wasn’t what it looked like.”

You keep the shoe aloft, posture rigid. “What was it, then?”

His head drops. He attempts to move in closer, holding his hands higher in surrender when you skitter back until the backs of your legs hit the metal bedframe. “I just wanted this to be over,” he explains, glancing down at the knife before he carefully places it on the floor beside you both. Hands empty, he risks another step, letting out a slow sigh when you allow it. 

Looking up at him, he’s finally near enough to you that you can make out hints of expression. He seems genuine, not the hateful front he’d been sending you for the past day or so. You relax slightly, though your eyes keep wandering to the weapon he’d left on the ground.

Gihun keeps his empty hands open in front of him. You can’t help but think it looks like he’s trying to calm a spooked horse, and at any other time the notion might have made you laugh. As it is, you stay silent and wait for further explanation. “He took me aside. Said he would let me end it. Leave with the baby, find a safe home for her.”

You don’t have to ask who ‘he’ is, though you do marvel at the fact that Gihun had spoken directly to the person who ran this whole thing. Who was culpable for all of your suffering. “‘End it?’ You mean, if you were the one person who… eliminated three players?”

Gihun’s head drops for a moment. “...Yes,” he says after a beat, though the word comes out stilted. He shifts his weight, face pinched. You think for a second that he’s not going to explain himself further, when at last he lets out a burdened sigh, reaches up to rub at his face. “No. Not three.”

You don’t respond with words. Just nod, numb. Safe passage for an innocent child in exchange for the guilt of seven deaths on your hands. Eight, if you include Daeho. It’s hard to believe it was only yesterday that you’d spoken with him. That version of you feels distant, locked away. Gihun himself is different now, too, but clearly not enough for the game runner to have broken him one last time.

“They’ll try to get the four of us killed,” Gihun continues flatly, “then turn on each other. That’s what this place does to you.” He steps closer again to lower his voice almost impossibly quiet. Your ears strain as much as your eyes. “Do you have a plan for tomorrow? Will you… Do you think he can handle it?”

It isn’t hatred in his voice, just level disapproval. Whatever dilemma he’d struggled through across the other side of the room seems to have taken the poison out of him. You nod again. “He doesn’t deserve to die any more than the rest of us.”

He mulls this over for a beat. With a click of his tongue, he crouches down to pick up the knife. You tense up, fingers tightening on the dress shoe, but instead of a sharp end you’re met with the handle. He’s passing it to you. Dubiously, you accept the weapon from Gihun, frowning up at him. 

The older man looks down at you, at the knife. “Do whatever you have to to get out of here,” he instructs, “but just know: even if you do win, you’ll never really leave this place. Do you understand?”

Your eyes sting, nose prickles. You’re reminded of his guarded disposition as he divulged what he knew of this place in those early days. He’d seemed tortured by it even then, but at least held a fiery purpose to put an end to these games. The Gihun that was carried back into the dormitory in a coffin after your failed mutiny had lost all purpose. Futility had broken him. Shame floods you at the thought of Gihun watching the two of you giggle over dinner after all he’d sacrified to get this far. After it was all for nothing. Your head sinks, gaze falling to the knife in your hand. “I understand.”

The firm but forgiving hand on your shoulder startles you, makes you glance up in surprise, but Gihun is already turning to leave. “Get some rest,” he advises over his shoulder.