m🔮

So he really is a part of this, now. 

They’re standing in the observation room just beyond the interrogation chamber, invisible behind the one-way glass. The inside of Gi-hun’s uniform smells like the inside of his wardrobe - cedar and clove. Like the scented pouches hung up next to the clothes. Something rich and spiced, like an autumnal cologne.

The observation room smells like metal and antiseptic.

He taps the cane once or twice against the brushed-concrete floor as if testing its sturdiness. Testing to make sure it’s real.

It didn’t feel real, before. This job. This position. This new reality, here with the man that is not Oh Young-il and not quite the Captain of the Games from Gi-hun’s nightly visions, either. Hwang In-ho, flesh and blood and infuriating, straddles the line between dream and nightmare. Resisting definition, evading classification, the Front Man now stands in a category all his own: Gi-hun’s own personal problem.

And now, he’s face to face with this choice he’s made.

(Full aesthetic board in one image under line)