adri

ʜɪ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʙʟᴏɢ! ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ɪꜱ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! ᴍʏ ᴜʟᴛ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴀɪɴʟʏ ꜱᴛʀᴀʏ ᴋɪᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ꜱᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ʙʟᴏɢ!

————————————————————————-

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ

the cost of survival masterlist

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇqᴜᴇꜱᴛɪɴɢ

————————————————————————-

(chapter 4)

STRAYKIDS X SQUID GAME AU

previous chapter

series masterlist

This series is a work of fiction inspired by Squid Game and the members of Stray Kids. It explores themes of survival, moral conflict, fear, and the psychological cost of desperation.

The characters are placed in extreme situations that include violence, death, and emotional distress. While moments of connection and loyalty exist, this is not a romance-focused story-survival is always the priority.

———————————————————————

Chapter 4: After the Noise

The dormitory feels smaller than before.

It shouldn’t—nothing about it has physically changed. The same towering bunks, the same cold lighting, the same endless rows of green tracksuits moving in exhausted, obedient lines.

But something presses in on them now.

Fear has weight.

Chan notices it the moment they step back inside. The air feels thicker, harder to breathe. The metallic scent of blood still lingers faintly, no matter how clean the floor looks. Like the room itself remembers.

Jisung nearly trips crossing the threshold.

Minho catches him automatically, fingers tightening around his arm. Jisung doesn’t even look embarrassed. He just lets himself be steadied, shoulders slumping as if the tension holding him upright finally snapped.

“I feel sick,” Jisung mutters.

“You already were,” Minho replies quietly, guiding him toward an empty set of bunks. “Sit.”

Jisung obeys without protest, collapsing onto the lower mattress. His hands shake violently in his lap. He stares down at them like they don’t belong to him.

Felix steers Jeongin to the bunk beside them, easing him down gently. Jeongin curls in on himself immediately, knees to chest, arms wrapped tight like he’s trying to disappear.

Hyunjin stands frozen in the middle of the aisle.

He hasn’t spoken since the field.

His eyes keep flicking to the floor, to places where bodies had been dragged away earlier. His breath comes shallow, uneven.

Changbin notices.

“Hyunjin,” he says softly. “Sit down.”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond.

Changbin steps closer, lowering his voice. “Hey. You’re safe right now.”

Hyunjin lets out a short, broken laugh. “Don’t say that.”

Changbin falters.

Chan watches all of this from a few steps away, chest tight. He feels like he’s watching his members fracture in real time, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Seungmin leans against a bunk post, arms crossed, eyes sharp but tired. He’s quiet—too quiet—but his gaze keeps drifting to the ceiling, tracking the subtle hum of cameras hidden behind panels.

“They’re watching us,” he murmurs.

Minho glances up. “Of course they are.”

“No,” Seungmin says. “More than before.”

The announcement comes without warning.

A sharp tone cuts through the dormitory, snapping everyone’s attention to the screen.

“Congratulations to the remaining players,” the distorted voice says calmly. “You have successfully completed the first game.”

A graphic appears: a massive glass piggy bank suspended above them, already partially filled with stacks of money.

Each stack represents a life.

Jisung makes a choked sound.

Jeongin turns away, burying his face in Felix’s shoulder.

“Current prize total,” the voice continues, “is 11.3 billion won.”

Someone laughs hysterically.

Someone else screams.

Chan feels bile rise in his throat.

“This is sick,” Changbin snarls under his breath. “They’re showing us like it’s a reward.”

“It is,” Minho replies grimly. “Just not for us.”

The screen changes.

“Players will now be given the opportunity to vote.”

A ripple of tension sweeps the room.

“Vote?” Hyunjin finally speaks, voice hoarse.

“Rule three,” Seungmin says quietly. “Majority vote stops the games.”

Hope sparks like a live wire.

People surge toward the center, voices rising, overlapping.

“We can leave!”

“They can’t stop all of us!”

“This is murder!”

Chan’s heart starts pounding again.

“Everyone,” he says, turning to his members. “Stay together.”

They form a loose cluster instinctively, backs nearly touching.

Minho’s eyes scan the crowd. “This won’t be simple.”

The voting devices are handed out—small, black buttons with two options displayed on the screen.

Continue

Stop

“Each player has one vote,” the voice announces. “Majority decides.”

Jisung stares at the device in his hand like it might explode.

“If we vote to stop,” he whispers, “we go home. Right?”

Felix hesitates. “That’s what they said.”

“What if they’re lying?” Jeongin asks quietly.

No one answers.

Chan looks at each of them.

Minho meets his gaze, expression unreadable. Changbin’s jaw is clenched tight, anger barely contained. Hyunjin looks hollow, eyes red-rimmed. Jisung is trembling. Felix is tense, protective. Seungmin is calculating. Jeongin looks terrified.

“We can’t stay,” Jisung says suddenly, voice breaking. “Hyung, we can’t. People died.”

Chan’s throat tightens.

“I know.”

“But if we leave,” Minho says slowly, “we leave with nothing.”

Felix turns sharply. “Minho—”

“I’m not saying we stay,” Minho adds, tone controlled. “I’m saying that’s the choice they’re forcing.”

Changbin scoffs. “That money isn’t worth this.”

“Easy to say,” Minho replies quietly. “You didn’t see the numbers before you came here.”

Changbin bristles, stepping forward. “You think I don’t know what desperation looks like?”

Chan steps between them immediately.

“Stop,” he says firmly. “This isn’t us. Not like this.”

Silence stretches.

Seungmin breaks it.

“They want us divided,” he says calmly. “If we vote to stop, they lose their leverage. If we vote to continue, we accept it.”

Hyunjin’s hands curl into fists. “I don’t care about the money.”

Minho glances at him. “You might. Later.”

Hyunjin flinches.

Jisung’s eyes fill with tears. “I just want to go home.”

Felix wraps an arm around him instinctively.

Chan looks down at the device in his own hand.

Stop.

It should be easy.

But his mind keeps replaying the image of the piggy bank filling. The number climbing. The implication hanging heavy in the air.

He presses the button.

One by one, they all do.

The results flash on the screen.

Vote to Stop: 101

Vote to Continue: 86

A majority.

For a moment, no one moves.

Then cheers erupt. People cry, laugh, collapse into each other. Relief surges like a tidal wave.

Jisung sobs openly now, clinging to Felix. Jeongin lets out a shaky laugh that turns into tears. Changbin sinks onto a bunk, head in his hands.

Hyunjin exhales, shoulders slumping for the first time.

Chan’s knees nearly give out.

The voice returns.

“By majority vote, the games are suspended.”

The piggy bank stops filling.

Guards lower their weapons slightly.

Chan lets himself believe it.

Just for a second.

Then—

“Players will be released,” the voice continues, “and returned to their previous lives. However—”

The word lands like a blade.

“All debts incurred prior to the games will remain.”

The cheering dies instantly.

Silence crashes down.

Minho’s face goes still.

Jisung looks up sharply. “What… what does that mean?”

The screen shows images.

Loan notices. Eviction warnings. Hospital bills. Court summons.

Reality.

“This is bullshit,” Changbin snaps. “You can’t—”

“You may leave,” the voice says calmly. “The choice is yours.”

A door slides open at the far end of the dormitory.

Freedom.

No one moves.

Chan feels something twist painfully in his chest.

They can leave.

And go back to exactly what brought them here.

Minho exhales slowly. “So that’s the trick.”

Felix whispers, “They’re making us choose again.”

Hyunjin stares at the open door. “I don’t think I can survive another game.”

Seungmin watches the crowd carefully. “Many will come back.”

Jisung shakes his head frantically. “No. No, I’m done. I’m not coming back.”

Minho doesn’t answer.

Chan closes his eyes briefly.

He already knows.

This isn’t over.

As people slowly begin filing out—some determined, some hesitant, some already broken—Chan gathers his members close one last time.

“We leave together,” he says quietly. “No matter what happens next.”

They nod.

But as Chan steps toward the exit, a terrible thought settles deep in his gut:

This game doesn’t need bars or guards to bring them back.

It only needs reality.

And reality is waiting.

(chapter 3)

STRAYKIDS X SQUID GAME AU

previous chapter

series masterlist

This series is a work of fiction inspired by Squid Game and the members of Stray Kids. It explores themes of survival, moral conflict, fear, and the psychological cost of desperation.

The characters are placed in extreme situations that include violence, death, and emotional distress. While moments of connection and loyalty exist, this is not a romance-focused story-survival is always the priority.

————————————————————————-

Chapter 3: When the World Stops

The hallway is a maze.

That’s Chan’s first thought as they’re forced forward in rigid lines, pink guards flanking them on both sides, guns raised casually like accessories instead of weapons. The walls are painted in cheerful colors—pastel blues, yellows, pinks—geometric shapes stretching endlessly upward.

It feels wrong.

The brightness. The cleanliness. The way fear echoes louder here, bouncing off painted staircases and hollow laughter murals.

Jisung keeps tripping over his own feet.

Not because he’s clumsy—because his legs won’t stop shaking.

Minho notices before Jisung does.

He slows his pace just enough to stay beside him, voice low. “Hey. Breathe. You’re walking too fast.”

“I can’t—” Jisung swallows, fingers curling into the sleeve of his tracksuit. “If I stop moving I think I’ll pass out.”

“Then don’t stop,” Minho replies quietly. “Just… match me.”

Jisung nods, latching onto Minho’s pace like it’s a lifeline.

Behind them, Felix keeps his hand firmly on Jeongin’s shoulder, thumb rubbing small, grounding circles into the fabric. Jeongin’s eyes are fixed straight ahead, unblinking.

“Felix,” he whispers, barely audible over the shuffle of feet. “Are we going to die?”

Felix’s chest tightens.

He doesn’t lie.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “But you’re not alone. Okay?”

Jeongin nods once.

Changbin walks with his fists clenched, jaw locked so tight it looks painful. He positions himself instinctively between Hyunjin and the crowd, shoulders squared like he could physically block bullets if it came to that.

Hyunjin barely notices.

His thoughts are spiraling too fast, images replaying on loop—the gunshot, the body collapsing, blood blooming across the floor. His fingers twitch at his sides, itching to run, to scream, to do something other than walk obediently toward whatever nightmare waits ahead.

Seungmin watches everything.

The guards’ formation. The way cameras tilt and track movement. The absence of blind spots. The timing between turns.

“This place was planned for panic,” he murmurs under his breath, close enough that only Chan hears.

Chan exhales shakily.

“I know.”

The hallway opens suddenly.

Light floods in.

The field stretches out before them—wide, open, deceptively innocent. Fake blue sky arches overhead, clouds painted too perfectly to be real. Oversized playground equipment dots the landscape like props in a children’s show.

And at the far end—

A giant doll.

Its back is turned to them, pigtails stiff, yellow dress bright against the green field. Its presence alone sends a chill crawling up Chan’s spine.

“What… is that?” Jeongin whispers.

“Nope,” Changbin mutters. “I don’t like that.”

A massive screen flickers to life above the field.

Game 1: Red Light, Green Light

A collective murmur ripples through the crowd.

“This is insane,” someone laughs. “That’s a kid’s game.”

Minho’s expression doesn’t change.

“Kids’ games are simple,” he says quietly. “That’s what makes them dangerous.”

They’re lined up at the starting line.

The guards fan out, guns raised.

Chan’s heart pounds so hard he’s sure everyone can hear it.

“Everyone,” he says urgently, turning to his members. “Stay close. Don’t run unless you have to. If you fall—”

“Get back up,” Changbin finishes grimly.

Hyunjin nods stiffly.

Jisung swallows hard. “What if we mess up?”

Minho meets his eyes. “Then we don’t.”

The rules echo through the speakers, calm and cheerful.

“When the doll says ‘green light,’ you may move. When it says ‘red light,’ you must stop. Any movement detected during ‘red light’ will result in elimination.”

Elimination.

The word lands like a gunshot.

Felix squeezes Jeongin’s shoulder. “Eyes on me if you need to,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at anything else.”

Jeongin nods, breathing shallow.

The doll’s head begins to turn.

“Green light.”

No one moves at first.

Then one step.

Another.

Chan walks slowly, every muscle coiled tight, hyperaware of the ground beneath his feet. He can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Jisung stays close, shoulder brushing Chan’s arm. Minho hangs slightly back, watching the crowd, calculating angles and pace.

Hyunjin moves stiffly, like his body doesn’t trust itself. Changbin keeps glancing sideways, tracking everyone’s position. Seungmin walks evenly, measured, eyes flicking constantly to the doll.

Felix guides Jeongin forward gently, murmuring quiet encouragement under his breath.

The doll’s head snaps around.

“Red light.”

The field freezes.

A man near the center sways.

Just barely.

The gunshot cracks the air.

He drops instantly.

Screams erupt.

Jisung gasps, body jerking instinctively before Minho’s hand clamps onto his wrist, holding him still.

“Don’t move,” Minho whispers fiercely. “Don’t. Look at me.”

Jisung locks eyes with him, tears spilling freely, breath shaking so badly it hurts to watch.

Chan doesn’t breathe.

Neither does Hyunjin.

Changbin’s nails dig into his palms, pain grounding him.

Felix presses closer to Jeongin, shielding him from the sight as much as possible.

“Green light.”

People move again—but faster now.

Fear is contagious.

Someone bumps into Hyunjin hard enough to knock him off balance. He stumbles, arms flailing.

“Hyunjin!” Changbin hisses.

Hyunjin freezes mid-motion, terror flooding his face.

The doll begins to turn.

Chan’s heart stops.

Changbin moves without thinking.

He steps behind Hyunjin, gripping his shoulders, physically locking him in place.

“Don’t,” Changbin whispers. “I’ve got you.”

“Red light.”

A body collapses behind them.

Blood splatters the grass.

Hyunjin’s knees buckle.

Changbin holds him up.

Hyunjin’s eyes are glassy, lips trembling. “I—I thought—”

“I know,” Changbin says hoarsely. “You’re still here.”

The game continues.

Each round grows louder. Faster. Deadlier.

Someone trips and doesn’t get back up.

Someone screams for their mother.

Someone tries to crawl.

The guards don’t hesitate.

Halfway across the field, Jisung’s breath starts coming in sharp, painful bursts.

“I can’t—” he whispers. “I can’t breathe—”

Minho moves closer, body angled protectively. “Listen to my voice. Step when I step. Stop when I stop.”

Jisung nods frantically, clinging to the rhythm Minho sets.

Felix nearly loses Jeongin when the younger freezes completely during a red light, fear locking his joints.

Felix doesn’t let go.

He braces, grounding both of them, whispering, “You’re okay. You’re okay. I won’t move.”

Jeongin squeezes his eyes shut, tears streaming silently.

Seungmin notices something then.

“The sensors,” he murmurs. “They’re tracking speed changes.”

Chan glances at him sharply. “What?”

“People who panic are dying faster,” Seungmin says quietly. “Control matters more than distance.”

The finish line is close.

Too close.

The final stretch erupts into chaos as players break into a run.

Chan grabs Seungmin’s sleeve instinctively, pulling him forward. Changbin practically carries Hyunjin. Felix half-drags Jeongin, refusing to let go.

Jisung stumbles.

Minho catches him.

They cross the line together.

Gunfire echoes behind them.

Then—

Silence.

The screen updates.

Players remaining: 187.

They’re alive.

For now.

Jisung collapses to the ground, sobbing openly, hands tangled in Minho’s jacket. Minho sinks down with him, one arm braced around Jisung’s shoulders, face pale but steady.

Felix drops to his knees in front of Jeongin, gripping his face gently. “Hey. Hey. Look at me. You did it.”

Jeongin breaks, crying into Felix’s shoulder.

Hyunjin sinks to the grass, shaking violently. Changbin crouches beside him, silent but solid, presence unwavering.

Seungmin exhales slowly, hands trembling for the first time.

Chan stands there, chest heaving, staring at the field behind them.

At the bodies.

At the blood soaking into fake grass.

Something inside him fractures completely.

They didn’t just survive a game.

They crossed a line they can never uncross.

As the guards begin herding them away, Chan realizes the most terrifying truth of all:

This game doesn’t just kill people.

It teaches you how to live with it.

And they’ve only learned the first lesson.

(chapter 2)

STRAYKIDS X SQUID GAME AU

previous chapter

series masterlist

This series is a work of fiction inspired by Squid Game and the members of Stray Kids. It explores themes of survival, moral conflict, fear, and the psychological cost of desperation.

The characters are placed in extreme situations that include violence, death, and emotional distress. While moments of connection and loyalty exist, this is not a romance-focused story—survival is always the priority.

————————————————————————-

Chapter 2: Wake Up

Bang Chan wakes to silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The wrong kind.

It presses in on his ears, thick and unnatural, like the world is holding its breath. For a moment, his body doesn’t respond when he tries to move. His limbs feel heavy, distant, like they don’t belong to him.

Then the smell hits.

Sterile. Chemical. Too clean.

His eyes snap open.

White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. A vast, cavernous space stretching endlessly in all directions. Rows upon rows of metal bunk beds tower above him, stacked three high, packed so close together that there’s barely space to walk between them.

And people.

Hundreds of them.

All wearing the same green tracksuit.

Chan’s heart slams violently against his ribs.

He jerks upright so fast the world spins. His gaze drops immediately to his chest.

A number.

068

Cold floods his veins.

“What the—”

Movement to his right.

“Hyung.”

Jisung’s voice is thin. Fractured.

Chan turns. Jisung is sitting on the edge of the lower bunk beside him, fingers dug so hard into the mattress his knuckles are white. His eyes are huge, darting frantically around the room like he’s searching for an exit that doesn’t exist.

“You see this too, right?” Jisung whispers. “This isn’t… I’m not still asleep?”

Chan opens his mouth to answer, but Minho beats him to it.

“Oh, we’re awake.”

Minho stands a few steps away, arms folded tight across his chest. His face is pale, jaw locked, eyes sharp and calculating even as tension radiates off him in waves. He looks like someone trying very hard not to panic.

Changbin is pacing.

Back and forth. Back and forth. His footsteps echo too loudly in the space between bunks. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing heavy.

“This is fucked,” he mutters. “This is seriously fucked.”

Felix sits frozen on the lower bunk opposite them, hands clasped together in his lap like he’s praying. His gaze is fixed straight ahead, unfocused, as if he’s scared that if he moves, something worse will happen.

Jeongin is perched on the edge of a top bunk, legs dangling, gripping the metal rail. He looks smaller than Chan has ever seen him. Younger. His lips tremble as he looks down at the floor far below.

“Hyung,” Jeongin whispers. “I don’t like this.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything.

He’s standing still, too still, staring at the number printed on his sleeve like it personally offended him. His reflection stares back faintly from the polished metal of the bunk frame, fractured and distorted.

Seungmin is the only one who hasn’t moved at all.

He’s standing slightly apart from the group, eyes scanning the room methodically. Guards. Cameras. Entrances. Exits. His expression is calm in a way that unsettles Chan more than fear would.

Chan forces his body to move.

“Everyone—” His voice cracks. He clears his throat, tries again. “Everyone here?”

One by one, they respond. A nod. A quiet yes. A shaky breath.

Eight.

They’re all here.

That should be comforting.

It isn’t.

Around them, panic begins to spread.

People shout. Cry. Argue. Some pound on the walls. Others demand answers from no one in particular. The sound builds and builds until it feels like the room itself is vibrating with fear.

Then—

A sharp bang echoes through the dormitory.

Instant silence.

Every head snaps toward the far wall.

A massive screen flickers to life.

A figure steps forward — tall, dressed head to toe in pink, face hidden behind a black mask with a white square stamped where the face should be.

“Good morning, players,” the voice says, distorted and calm.

Chan’s stomach drops.

Players.

“This is a joke, right?” someone yells from the crowd. “You can’t do this!”

The figure doesn’t react.

“You are currently participating in a series of games,” the voice continues evenly. “There are six games in total. Those who win all six will receive a cash prize of 45.6 billion won.”

Laughter breaks out.

High-pitched. Hysterical.

“No way,” Minho mutters. “That’s not real.”

Jisung shakes his head violently. “This is illegal. This is—this has to be—”

The screen changes.

A video plays.

A cartoon. Bright colors. Smiling characters. A piggy bank filling with money as players are eliminated.

“Failure to complete a game will result in elimination,” the voice says.

“Elimination?” Changbin snaps. “What does that even mean?”

A man in the crowd laughs loudly. “It means you’re out, idiot.”

The pink guard raises a gun.

And fires.

The sound is deafening.

Chan flinches violently.

The man who laughed crumples to the floor.

Blood spreads fast. Too fast.

Screams rip through the room.

Jeongin cries out, scrambling backward, nearly falling from the bunk before Felix lunges forward and catches him, arms wrapping tight around his waist.

Jisung makes a broken noise in his throat, hands flying to his mouth.

Hyunjin stumbles back like he’s been punched.

Changbin freezes, eyes locked on the body, chest heaving.

Minho doesn’t move.

He just stares.

The guard lowers the gun.

“Player 271,” the voice announces calmly. “Eliminated for disrupting the explanation.”

Chan’s vision tunnels.

His ears ring.

That word — eliminated — echoes in his skull.

“This isn’t real,” Jisung whispers. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real—”

Chan grabs him by the shoulders. “Jisung. Look at me.”

Jisung’s eyes are glassy, unfocused.

“Breathe,” Chan says, even as his own hands shake. “You’re here. I’m here. Okay?”

Jisung nods weakly, breath hitching.

The rules appear on the screen.

Rule 1: You may not quit the game.

Rule 2: Failure results in elimination.

Rule 3: If a majority agrees, the games may be stopped.

Hyunjin swallows hard. “Stopped?”

Seungmin’s eyes narrow. “A vote.”

Changbin lets out a humorless laugh. “So they give us hope just to watch us fight over it.”

Minho finally speaks.

“If they can kill him that easily,” he says quietly, “they’ll do it again.”

Silence swallows them whole.

Chan feels something inside him crack.

He looks at each of them — Minho’s tight control, Jisung’s shaking hands, Changbin’s forced toughness, Hyunjin’s haunted stare, Felix holding Jeongin like a lifeline, Seungmin watching everything with terrifying clarity.

This is his responsibility.

And he has no idea how to protect them.

“You will be escorted to the first game shortly,” the voice announces.

The screen goes dark.

The lights dim.

Doors at the far end of the dormitory slide open.

Pink guards flood in.

“Get up,” one of them orders.

The crowd moves slowly, terrified, obedient.

As they’re herded toward the exit, Jisung presses closer to Minho without realizing it. Minho doesn’t pull away.

Felix keeps his arm firmly around Jeongin’s shoulders.

Changbin positions himself slightly in front of Hyunjin.

Seungmin walks beside Chan.

“Hyung,” Seungmin murmurs quietly, “this place is designed to break people.”

Chan swallows.

“I know.”

As they pass through the door, Chan takes one last look at the dormitory.

At the blood still staining the floor.

At the body being dragged away like trash.

This is the moment it becomes real.

Not when they were invited.

Not when they woke up.

But now.

Because now they understand:

This place does not care who they are.

And it will not hesitate to erase them.

———————————————————————

(masterlist)

This series is a work of fiction inspired by Squid Game and the members of Stray Kids. It explores themes of survival, moral conflict, fear, and the psychological cost of desperation.

The characters are placed in extreme situations that include violence, death, and emotional distress. While moments of connection and loyalty exist, this is not a romance-focused story—survival is always the priority.

Please read with care.

—————————————————————————

introduction

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

(chapter 1)

straykids x squid game AU

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION

warnings: mentions of smoking and that’s it !

—————————————————————————

Chapter 1: The Invitation

The man doesn’t remember the exact moment his life went wrong. Only that it did. For Bang Chan, it’s a quiet realization that creeps up on him sometime after midnight, when the studio lights are still on and the world outside has gone dark. The clock on the wall reads 2:47 a.m. His phone buzzes again—another missed call, another reminder he doesn’t answer because he already knows what it is.

Bills. Deadlines. Promises he made that he can’t keep.

He rubs his eyes, fingers pressing into his temples as if that might push the weight away. The music software is still open on the screen, half-finished tracks stacked like evidence of effort that hasn’t paid off. He used to believe hard work was enough. That if he stayed longer, tried harder, sacrificed more, things would eventually even out.

They haven’t.

The studio smells faintly of coffee gone cold and exhaustion. Chan leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hum of electricity. He thinks of the others—of how he’s supposed to be the one who holds everything together.

Leader. Protector. Anchor.

What kind of leader can’t even save himself?

His phone vibrates again. This time, it’s a text.

Unknown Number: Do you want to start over?

Chan stares at the screen. His thumb hovers, uncertain. He tells himself it’s a scam. A joke. Some algorithm targeting people who look desperate enough to answer.

He doesn’t reply. The phone buzzes once more.

Unknown Number: Then meet me.

A location follows. A time. Tomorrow night.

Chan locks the screen. He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Lee Minho knows exactly where his life went wrong. It was the day he learned how easy it was to lie—and how hard it was to stop.

The betting app glows against the dark of his apartment, numbers rising and falling with cruel indifference. He sits on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, cigarette unlit between his fingers. He quit smoking months ago. Or at least, he told people he did.

The account balance refreshes. Lower than before.

Minho exhales sharply, jaw tightening. He laughs once, humorless, the sound echoing too loud in the small space. The apartment is neat, controlled, almost sterile—nothing out of place, nothing personal enough to betray weakness.

Except the debt notices stacked on the counter.

He flicks the cigarette into the trash without lighting it. No point wasting money on something that won’t fix anything. His phone buzzes.

Unknown number. He doesn’t hesitate before opening it.

Unknown Number: I hear you’re good at games.

Minho’s eyes narrow. His fingers hover over the screen, instincts screaming caution even as curiosity pulls him in.

Minho: Who is this?

The reply is instant.

Unknown Number: Someone who can help you win. A location. A time.

Minho smirks, leaning back, arms crossing over his chest. Scams usually try harder than this. Flashy promises. Fake urgency.

This one is quiet. Confident. That’s what bothers him. He locks the phone.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Han Jisung’s hands shake as he counts the change.

Coins clink against the counter of the convenience store, loud in the empty space. The clerk watches him with barely concealed impatience. Jisung’s face burns as he scoops the coins back up, realizing he’s still short.

“I—sorry,” he mutters, voice barely audible.

He leaves without buying anything, the bell above the door chiming as he steps back into the cold night. The street is quiet, lampposts flickering. His breath comes out in uneven puffs, anxiety curling tight in his chest.

He presses his back against the brick wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the pavement, knees pulled in. His head drops forward.

He hates this feeling. The constant buzzing panic. The way his thoughts spiral faster than he can catch them. He checks his phone.

No new messages.

Then—buzz.

Unknown number.

Unknown Number: You look like you need money.

Jisung flinches, heart pounding. He looks around instinctively, eyes scanning the street as if someone might be watching him.

Jisung: Who are you?

Unknown Number: A chance.

A location. A time.

Jisung laughs weakly, fingers trembling as he locks the screen. His stomach twists, equal parts fear and something dangerously close to hope.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Seo Changbin punches the wall.

The crack echoes through the small room, pain flaring up his knuckles. He hisses, shaking his hand, but the pain grounds him. Keeps him from thinking. He’s tired of being strong. Tired of pretending he isn’t scared.

The eviction notice sits on the table, folded neatly like an accusation. Changbin stares at it, chest tight. He’s tried everything—side jobs, loans, favors. Pride swallowed and still not enough.

His phone buzzes. Unknown number.

Unknown Number: Strength alone won’t save you.

Changbin’s jaw clenches.

Changbin: You don’t know me.

Unknown Number: I know you need this.

A location. A time.

Changbin squeezes his eyes shut, breath heavy. He wants to throw the phone across the room. Instead, he sets it face down on the table.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Hwang Hyunjin watches his reflection fracture in the subway window as the train rattles forward.

His face looks unfamiliar lately—cheekbones sharper, eyes hollowed by nights spent awake. He touches the glass, fingers leaving faint prints. He’s surrounded by people, yet the loneliness presses in on him like a physical weight.

His phone vibrates.

Unknown number.

Unknown Number: You’re running out of time.

Hyunjin’s throat tightens.

Hyunjin: Running out of what?

The reply takes longer this time.

Unknown Number: Options.

A location. A time.

Hyunjin swallows, heart racing. He looks back at his reflection. At the person he’s becoming.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Felix doesn’t open the message right away.

He lets the phone buzz against the table, the sound grating against the quiet of his room. The walls are bare. Suitcases half-packed sit by the door, a life perpetually ready to move because settling has only ever ended badly.

When he finally reads it, his hands go cold.

Unknown Number: Do you want to stop feeling guilty?

Felix’s breath catches.

A location. A time.

No explanation.

Felix stares at the screen until it goes dark.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Kim Seungmin reads the message twice.

Then a third time.

He doesn’t react outwardly. He never does. But something inside him shifts—subtle, deliberate. He’s always been good at noticing patterns, at recognizing when something doesn’t quite fit.

This doesn’t fit.

Which makes it dangerous.

Unknown Number: Observation is a skill. We value skill.

A location. A time.

Seungmin deletes the message.

Then he memorizes the address.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

Yang Jeongin hesitates before opening it.

He’s sitting on his bed, feet not touching the floor, homework spread out in front of him like he still believes school matters. The world has been getting heavier lately, expectations piling up faster than he can grow into them.

Unknown Number: You’re not ready for the real world.

Jeongin frowns.

A location. A time.

His heart pounds, fear and curiosity tangling in his chest. He locks the phone, lying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He tells himself he won’t go.

⸻

They all do.

And yet—

⸻

The building is unremarkable.

Gray concrete. No sign. No windows on the lower floors. The kind of place people pass without ever really seeing.

Chan arrives first.

He stands across the street, hands in his pockets, hoodie pulled low. He tells himself he’s just here to look. To prove to himself this is nothing.

Then Minho shows up.

Their eyes meet instantly—recognition flashing between them. Relief, followed quickly by suspicion.

“You too?” Minho asks, voice casual, like this isn’t deeply wrong.

Chan nods once.

One by one, the others appear.

Jisung, hovering close to Minho without realizing it. Changbin with his shoulders set like armor. Hyunjin quiet, eyes darting. Felix pale but composed. Seungmin unreadable. Jeongin lingering at the back, clearly the youngest, clearly out of place.

No one speaks for a moment.

Then Changbin lets out a breathy laugh. “So… this is either a scam or we’re all idiots.”

Minho smirks. “Could be both.”

Chan looks at them—really looks. Something twists in his chest.

“We don’t have to go in,” he says. “We can leave. Right now.”

No one moves.

The door opens.

A man in a suit smiles from the shadows.

“Welcome,” he says. “Please, come inside.”

The door closes behind them with a soft, final click.

And none of them see daylight again for a very long time.

————————————————————————-

STRAYKIDS X SQUID GAME AU !!

This story is a work of fiction inspired by Squid Game and the members of Stray Kids. It explores themes of survival, moral conflict, fear, and the psychological cost of desperation.

The characters are placed in extreme situations that include violence, death, and emotional distress. While moments of connection and loyalty exist, this is not a romance-focused story—survival is always the priority.

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Eight men burdened by debt, desperation, and quiet regret accept an invitation that promises a way out.

They wake up in an unfamiliar compound, dressed in numbered green tracksuits, surrounded by hundreds of strangers—and a single rule: win the games or die.

As the rounds progress, childhood games twist into instruments of brutality, and survival demands choices no one is prepared to make. Alliances form and fracture under pressure. Loyalty becomes dangerous. Mercy becomes fatal.

Stray Kids enter the games as a group—brothers who trust each other with their lives—but the system is designed to tear that trust apart. Each game strips away another layer of who they used to be, forcing them to confront fear, guilt, and the terrifying realization that not all of them will leave alive.

In a world where survival is the only currency, the greatest question isn’t who will win— but what it will cost them to do so.

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