metamorphory

Hyun-ju briefly glanced at the arena not very far away, and returned to arranging the firewood you gathered on a neat stack. 

“We should sleep.”

“We should go.”

You both said at once, the quiet and supposedly peaceful night broken by a mismatched declaration.

“We can't go, you’re injured,” Hyun-ju admonished, shrugging dirt from your blanket. A silent adherence to the tranquility she envisioned for tonight. 

“Our visas will expire in two days,” you announced matter-of-factly, divorced with the idea of your survival, or anyone else for that matter, except for Hyun-ju. She ought to live. For the sake of your sanity and for the sake of escaping this hopeless world, she should live.

“What if it's a spades game again?” she argued, glancing at your leg. After being shot at the Five of Spades Tag game, you're pretty much useless for scavenging goods and foraging food. You'd die just by walking the distance of the arena and Hyun-ju knows this. 

“This might be our only chance to extend our visas.” You clenched your fists with one another. Useless, useless. “Thr next game might be towns away tomorrow, and walking that will hurt even more.”

Hyun-ju looked away, seeking for a resolution in this dilemma but there's nothing around but an empty collapsed building and the fact that you have a point.

“I don't want to die,” you muttered a lie, placing a fake selfish desire in Hyun-ju's thoughts as a way to say that you're doing this for your own survival. 

And it worked.

Hyun-ju only knew you for six days, and she couldn't place the determination to protect you roots from but it was there. 

Pulsing, adamant. 

But she's scared. It wasn’t the fear of the games, or being gunned down again but the fear of running out of luck.

The games increase in difficulty. The Five of Spades game sounded merciful in comparison to what awaits for the both of you the further you get involved in the games. 

This time you might not make it. Hyun-ju will be alone again. 

If she didn't make it, you'd be alone and injured. Even worse, preyed upon. 

She made her choice and stood up, the survival bag she made slung on her shoulder.

Offering a hand and some reluctance, she said, “Let's go.”

-

This part of the Borderland has very few people. Maybe others were trying to get as far as they could to find more games, and raise their chances of extending their visas. Of finding more people, more allies. Being on the edge in the vicinity of a flourishing vegetation, there weren't many available arenas to play on. 

Hyun-ju thought of this on your way to the glowing gymnasium, her strong arms firmly wrapped around your waist as you limped. 

She knew you were trying to move faster, pressuring your leg to just go, and hiding every wince from her. 

Hyun-ju prayed for the game to be a Diamond suit, a battle of wits you can win without killing yourself because of that leg. 

Once you entered the gymnasium, you first noticed two lift towers. Ones that reminded you of a Drop Tower in amusement rides, but these ones are shorter. About the height of an elevator for a two-storey building. On the foot of each tower, a stage was placed. The registration was right in the middle, along with a few players waiting 

“Great. More walking and climbing,” you muttered to yourself. Hyun-ju held your waist and arm, helping you up the stage. 

Several players looked at your direction, their judgment piercing the air. It didn't help that you already felt weak and useless, leaning half of your weight to Hyun-ju.

In the registration table, you saw four remaining sleek black bracelets. Something that will likely lit up based on your experience from the games. Either a punishing or identifying device for each player. 

You took some time observing your surroundings, from the small gray lockers with inserted keys. To the five seats each on the blue and red tower. 

Charging on a fight without information meant an early loss. 

Two other girls arrived at the arena a few minutes later. College students about your age, both justifiably wary and scared. 

The monitor above rang like a bell, and displayed a text in big block letters: REGISTRATION CLOSED. 

You glimpsed tell-tale red laser lines outlining the arena from the outside, same principle to the lasers and landmines in the Tag game. 

The text changed into: YOU HAVE THREE MINUTES TO CHOOSE YOUR TEAM MEMBERS.

The wristbands glowed blue and red, clicking a button will determine which color you'll play as in the game. A group of men already began talking on the other side, clicking red buttons on their bracelets. They didn't spare a look in your direction, going over this game by picking who seemed strong and capable. 

“Let's pick blue,” Hyun-ju decided, the click on her now blue wristband sounded like a futuristic sci-fi noise. You nodded and clicked on yours. The two other girls from earlier went in your direction and asked to be teammates. You ignored their unconscious glances on your limp, and called to the last player still struggling to find his own teammates. He didn't look like much either. But oddly, he seemed terrified of the red team as if he crossed them in some way. 

The terrified man clicked blue and silently went to your circle. 

The clock read 1:06 minutes left. Enough for Hyun-ju to ask their names and give them her observations. 

“Based on the teamwork aspect, this is likely a Club game. We need to work together and balance out each other's skills,” Hyun-ju began talking. “There are no weapons provided so it's safe to say that this game isn't mainly about violence. We need to figure out something, especially those towers. They might serve as team bases.”

Then to you, Hyun-ju continued in a quieter voice, “I don't think this is about running. You'll be safe.”

You came up with the same conclusion, and Hyun-ju's confirmation drew you closer to hope. Maybe you'll survive this together and go home. Your teammates– Ira, Kanda, and Marion– don't seem too hopeful at first but Hyun-ju has a way of making good teams, even to strangers. The Clubs category was made for her. 

However, the  illusion of hope dwindled when the voice from the monitors announced:

DIFFICULTY LEVEL: SEVEN OF CLUBS. 

GAME: LIFT TOWER

Game rules: There are 10 players in the game, equally divided into teams of blue and red according to their choice. There are fifteen lockers containing keys to the two elevator towers. Find each key corresponding to the five (5) ride seats.  The objective of the game is for one (1) team to complete the ride to the tower. The game will be cleared if one of the teams completes the ride before the boiling water reaches the stage. You have 10 minutes to complete the game.

PROHIBITION/S: Pushing opponents in the boiling water pool is strictly prohibited.

“Boiling water?” Ira asked, her lip trembling. The answer came in a steady stream from all directions. Hot steam rose from everything the boiling water reached, equipped with a telltale hiss. Plastic bleacher seats slowly deformed, the boiling water marking each and everything it reached until it was lapping gently at the foot of the stage. 

Kanda screamed, backing away from the edge. Marion was frozen in place. Ira was kneeling down near Kanda, as terrified as her friend.

This wasn’t a good start. 

The clock showed 9:45 minutes left.

“Let’s search the lockers,” you winced as you walked as fast as that leg would allow you near the lockers. The group of men were checking it at random, a little too harshly as if brute force would work into finding the key. 

Hyun-ju willed the three to help in searching. They had to be dragged to snap out of it. The red team has already found one key.

Shit. This is bad.

You opened two lockers at once, and saw five keys each. All silver.

How would you even know if it was the right one?

Think, think. You took each of them in your hands, looking closely. 

Then it hit you. Some keys have iridescence. When hit by light, they shone either blue or red. There was one red key in your palms.

It was no use, but you kept it in your pocket anyway. 

The red team was panicking, the larger man shouting commands about trying every key on the seats. 

They were too loud. 

Hyun-ju assigned Ira, and Kanda different lockers. Marion was checking the keys the other team was throwing at the ground. 

You breathed deeply, trying to stay calm as you opened more lockers. Keys were already inserted at each one so all could be open and inspected by each player. It made the game too easy for a seven of clubs game. Too easy.

It wasn’t right.

Ira and Kanda were frantically searching for the keys, some toppling over their shaking hands and so dangerously close to the edge of the stage. The boiling water was rising halfway after three minutes. Three.

When Kanda opened a locker, a sea of keys fell out. Then the unexpected happened.

The stage shook violently. A simulated earthquake. You fell into your bad leg and groaned. A thick wave of boiling water sloshed on the side, almost hitting two red team players and Marion. Some keys fell out the side. 

“No, no,” you groaned, crawling towards the keys near Kanda’s feet. You screamed as another violent shake pressed your weight on your bad leg. The fresh bandage Hyun-ju wrapped around it that morning blooming red once again. Before the next violent shake, Hyun-ju had already crawled next to you. Lifting you off the floor. 

“I found a blue one,” she said quickly. “I’ll take you to the seat.”

“No, I still haven't found any. I have to search too,” you protested, the red key growing cold in your pocket. 

“You’re safer on the seat,” Hyun-ju said firmly, closing the restraint on your waist. Before she could go, you took her arm and said, “Our keys glow blue. You noticed, right?”

“Yes, but some were on the other side.”

“What?”

“The red players were stealing stashes of keys. They've already collected three.”

No, no.

Four minutes left.

Your view spun, the Tower spun. You had to lean your good leg on the stage so it wouldn't spin so much. It was narrowing your vision of your teammates.

The shaking has stopped but now a red team player was throwing punches at Marion, claiming he was keeping a red key and some other nasty personal things, further confirming your suspicion that they know each other. 

When the circular tower spun back again, you saw blood. 

Blood pooled around Marion’s neck… The red team player wasn't throwing punches after all. He has a knife. He’s desperate. Hyun-ju had already intervened, disarming the man until his knife flew to the boiling water which was now an ankle away from reaching the stage.

You could only scream for them to find the rest of the keys. All five of them. 

You felt bad being strapped to safety, a baby in the stroller waiting to be pushed and nursed. 

Ira and Kanda found two more keys, and were opening their own seats. 

Only Hyun-ju was left. From the looks of it, Marion was dead. 

The violent man who stabbed Marion stopped tackling Hyun-ju and began attacking his own teammate. The last one. The three others had already opened their seats on the red tower, and even if they wanted to help, they couldn't. The seat can’t be unlocked. 

It would seem that the man has lost his mind. But knowing that there was probably only one key left for him, he needs to eliminate a teammate to take his place.

This seemed like a Heart game disguised as a Club.

Three minutes left. 

Ira and Kanda wanted to help out Hyun-ju but she firmly commanded them to get to their seats. There's no guarantee that the violent red team player will not go after them the way he did to Marion.

You gripped the restraint around your chest, blinking tears.

You can't help Hyun-ju. She can't die like this. You shifted your stare to the monitors above, reading the rules again. 

ALL TEAM MEMBERS MUST RIDE THE TOWER.

PUSHING PLAYERS IN THE BOILING WATER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

It makes sense now why the Tower spun when you’re the only one sitting. It was off-balance. With Ira and Kanda on the seats across, it began to stand still. 

It makes sense now. 

You watched as Hyun-ju's eyes grew wide, the key she was holding glowing blue. 

She was about to run back to her seat next to you when you stopped her. 

“You need to find another blue one!” you shouted from across where you sat.

A look of confusion passed her face. Marion is dead, there's no use. Hyun-ju wanted to say it aloud but couldn't.

Then you continued, “Dead or alive, the seats must be filled, Hyun-ju. Find Marion’s key!”

“There's nothing more! I searched everywhere,” Hyun-ju shouted.

Could it have fallen off the edge? Did a red player take it?

Think, think.

“Try the ones plugged in the locker! They are keys too!” you shouted. 

Hyun-ju quickly got to work, pulling out each key wishing for something to glow blue. You were beginning to lose hope on the tenth locker, until the twelfth key plugged on the locker flashed blue from the light above. 

“That’s it!” you shouted, so loud you felt it in your ears.

Hyun-ju dragged Marion’s body on the seat next to Ira, strapping his dead body. But on her way to her own seat, the violent man began to aim a punch on her back.

You shouted, “Look out!” and Hyun-ju ducked, the man tried again but hitting the blue seats this time. It spun along with the four of you.

Hyun-ju twisted the man’s arm the moment he tried another attack.

30 seconds left.

“Hyun-ju, come on!” you shouted. Hyun-ju began running back to the seat next to you, the man following closely and screaming about his arm.

You fished out the red key pocketed on your jacket, and raised it over your head, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

The man’s eyes grew round, an animal instinct kicking in as he went for you instead. Good. That will buy some time for Hyun-ju to open her seat.

“You want it?” you shouted, and adjusted your elbows. “Swim for it.”

You threw the red key on the other side as far as you could, the man chased it as it clanged to the metal red tower before dropping into boiling water. 

Hyun-ju closed the restraint around her chest and the blue tower glowed into life. A soft luminescent blue along with a joyous carnival ride sound. The seats began rising before the boiling water touched your feet. The violent man glowered, running to your direction and wailed as the boiling water burned through his shoes. He doubled over in pain, plunging face first to the rising boiling water.

The Lift Tower rose until a wide hatch opened on the roof, your restraints snapping off the moment it landed on the rooftop.

End of the ride. End of the screaming people down there.

Hyun-ju helped you step out of your seat as the electronic voice resounded from a single monitor placed on the rooftop.

It said: THANK YOU FOR RIDING THE LIFT TOWER! ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR DAY!

Just like carnival rides. Such a twisted humor when there are five people drowned in boiling water at the bottom, they can’t even scream for their life. Six people died, including Marion who was still strapped to his seat. Ira and Kanda remain slumped on the ground after getting off their seat, sobbing quietly, knees trembling. 

The sole monitor on the rooftop printed your new visas but no one had the energy to move. 

As for you, you haven't let Hyun-ju go. Not after she reassured you for the tenth time that she’s okay, not after trying to convince you that she needs to look at your leg. You didn’t care about the tears soaking her sleeves. It was your chance to cry. After getting shot on your first game together, you didn’t even shed a tear. You don’t know what cold, apathetic entity claimed your spirit, or perhaps it was the inevitability of death that momentarily took your ability to cry. 

Hyun-ju stroked your hair and let you, until you were both slumped to the ground too. 

“I’m sorry I can’t help you,” you sobbed. You remembered being powerless as a stinging slap in the face. Being the first one to be secured to safety and watching everyone scramble for their lives. 

It didn’t feel good. Sometimes Hyun-ju's will to protect you makes you want to throw a tantrum in her arms, and mutter “why?” until your throat gives out.

“That’s not true,” she whispered, her soothing voice gentle against your ear. “You saved our team too. Everyone did.”

On your way back to your tent, clutching your visas in hand, Hyun-ju occasionally reminded you how your observation skills saved your team. You had to wipe tears every now and then, easily giving in to her comfort. To her empathetic viewpoint of how teams play out. With Hyun-ju, you felt your value. 

You were worth saving. Hyun-ju already showed you twice, and she didn’t mind reminding you for twice a dozen more.

You grabbed the container by the handle and put it beside you instead.

"I want to try something cool I read about in a book," you answered, scooping the last of your chocolate ice cream out of your bowl.

"At Heather's party?" Hyun-ju’s eyebrows rose, inquisitive but with a hint of warning. She took it upon herself to keep you in line ever since you tried to skip math class and almost broke your arm while sneaking out a window. It only took about a week before teachers associated you with trouble, and always left it to Hyun-ju to discipline you. Your friend just won't listen to anyone else, they complained.

You put your hands up in surrender. 

“I won't make trouble. I promise.”

“You better not,” she warned, gently wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin. As ladylike as always. “I don't know why we should stop by Heather's party when we can just watch movies at your place.”

You bit your lip. “I wanna try out something.” Then you pouted, “Besides, you won't like the movies I rented.”

Hyun-ju shrugged, “I'm up for anything.”

“Aw hell no, you don't. The last time we watched The Killer Klowns From Outer Space, you fell asleep.”

Hyun-ju giggled, that shy, cute one that sends you out of orbit. The one she usually hides, unaware that you'd do anything to make her laugh again. 

“I like Gremlins, though. They're cute,” she responded. 

“That's just the tip of the horror iceberg,” you circled a finger near your plate, drawing an imaginary iceberg. “There's more, and I intend to dabble in the extreme.”

Hyun-ju rolled her eyes but laughed anyway, already used to your theatrics. 

But unknown to her, the iceberg you were upending wasn't just your usual cheap gore or slasher. Not even as extreme as that one time you poured gasoline around your own house to piss off your antagonistic mother with arson. This time there's a body count. 

-

Before heading to Heather’s place, you hid behind a bush and watched the area for at least five minutes.

“That bitchy liar. She invited everyone but us,” you half-whispered, looking over the bush as you pour the drain cleaner on an empty Coke can. You sloshed the content, sniffed.

“We look ridiculous hiding in the bush,” Hyun-ju commented, brushing leaves from her trousers. 

You plucked one out of her hair and stood up, “Come on, then. Let’s go inside.”

-

Heather's party swarmed with your schoolmates, the entire place bathed in her signature color: red. There were familiar faces here and there, and even if you pretend not to remember names and faces often, you remember those who sneered at you in the hallways or the ones who scrawled slurs on your locker. When you entered, no one batted an eye or even glanced at you walking hand in hand. Hyun-ju kept smoothing out imaginary creases from her trousers and squeezing your hand with the other. 

The music blasting from the center vibrated off the walls, making you wince and wonder just how these people manage to last in these kinds of parties without sporting a headache. 

From the smell alone, you can tell they've opened the keg. Heather sat on the dinner table, her own cup remarkably fancier than those plastic red cups distributed around. 

“Y/N,” you heard Hyun-ju say from behind you, so faint you’re surprised you heard it. 

“Yeah?”

She looked around uncomfortably as if looking for something. “I think I need to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you,” you offered, completely oblivious of the place but willing to go anyway.

“No, it’s alright. I can manage.”

“You sure?”

She only nodded and let your hand go. Probably for the best because you spotted Heather, who was about to leave the dinner table, leaving her precious iridescent cup standing out among the cheap red plastic ones. 

With everyone stoned and drunk, no one noticed anything the moment you emptied your Coke can on her red punch. It slowly turned into a soft purple. You could tell despite the red lighting. Heather had better come back and drink it fast before the ice melts.

You crushed the Coke can in your foot and followed her outside. She stumbled on the grassy backyard of her house, heavily in need of trimming and weeding since it’s beginning to look like an extension of the forest nearby. Heather held on the grass and puked her guts out from too much alcohol. You took the opportunity and went to her in slow, purposeful strides.

“Uh-huh, the demon queen is also a puke queen. I didn’t know such a layered personality exists under all that makeup,” you chuckled, plucking the knife out of your back pocket. It barely made a glint in the starless night sky. “Thought you’re just a pure she-demon in there.”

Heather spat on the ground and glared at you, “Didn’t you see the NO FAGS ALLOWED sign at the door?” 

Ironically, she took a cigarette from her shirt pocket, easily regaining her composure after lighting it up. She blew a disrespectful amount of smoke in your direction, her arrogance back in full gear as though she just hadn’t puked her guts out a minute ago.

“We saw it. Charming handwriting, you got actually,” you answered, grazing the tip of your knife on your sleeve.

“Oh, so your girlfriend came here as well? Is she bitter about not being invited?” Heather said it in an annoyingly emphasized way with discriminatory undertones that made your ears ring. It was no surprise, considering you heard her make fun of Hyun-ju behind her back. Heather would either jab at Hyun-ju's insecurities, whether her voice, her style, or her appearance, until you’re tempted to hit her square on the jaw and endure detention for a week in consequence.

“Yep, she’s here. But she didn’t want to come here to begin with,” you took a step forward, “I insisted. And I came here for you.”

You took another step forward, trampling the grass on each one. 

“What the hell do you want from me?” Heather burst in a shrill voice, trying to act tough despite seeing the knife neatly lined in your sleeve. “Are you obsessed with me or something?”

“You're not my type,” you tutted, pocketing your other hand. You leaned in again, and Heather began to back away. “I want you gone for good.”

“Ugh, what did I ever do to you?” she whined, backing two steps away.

“You really don't know what you did?” You expected her to at least have an idea. Making people's lives hell to the point that everyone divides like the sea when she’s around, when she conspired everyone against you after that seat issue in history class, until the only one that stuck with you was Hyun-ju, and now she’s punishing her for that too.

But her eyes widened, and she almost dropped her cigarette. Her face contorted into a mix of annoyance and fear as if you ruined her entire week. 

“Don't tell me you know? Who told you?” she accused.

“What the hell are you talking about?” you returned, confused. Heather must be completely out of it, too stoned and drunk. Probably confusing you for another person or thinking you found out a secret amongst their circle. 

“The prom night, of course! We'll make your girlfriend the prom queen,” she laughed. “And it's like Carrie all over again!” 

Your ears began to ring again, growing red and hot from what you're hearing. You were right from the beginning that these people befriending Hyun-ju was bad news, too good to be true. They didn't want her around; they wanted someone to toy with and bully until prom night. A lamb to the slaughter, a livestock to feed and butcher for their entertainment. That must be what the bloody mascots in the hallway bulletins were meant for. A sick school tradition. You’ve heard whispers about how Heather and her friend group buy students on Slave Day and douse them with pig’s blood and make them walk around in classes on that mess. That doesn’t sound like an exaggeration now.

“Say that again.” You didn't bother hiding your knife this time. And even before you could step closer, Heather took off running in the forest. Screaming for help that wouldn't come. No one will hear her over the music, no one will rescue her in those silent woods. 

You chased after her, knife edged-out on your fists until you disappeared in the darkness after her. 

-

The forest was carpeted with dried leaves, and every step you took was an audible crunch on the forest floor. Heather had stopped screaming long ago, probably hiding behind some thickets or bushes, or the thick felled logs with rotting bark. You didn’t even have to kill her to begin the satisfaction. Just imagining Heather holding her mouth and trembling in the dark while insects crawled on her legs was enough revenge for today. 

“Come out now, Heather. I won’t kill you,” you cooed, half-serious since you’ve easily grown bored of this. Besides, you promised Hyun-ju a movie night and you don’t want to be late for that. 

Any step further in the forest meant being swallowed in darkness. As much as you loved the thrill, you decided against it and turned away. Hyun-ju was probably out of the bathroom now and standing in one corner, waiting for you. Or looking for you since letting you out of her sight was trouble. Which was half-right since the party was missing their demon queen because you chased her through the woods. You could almost hear Heather's whiny voice the next day, telling everyone that you went there to kill her.

But as you neared the forest clearing, you heard Heather screaming. Wailing as if someone tore through her skin and broke her bones. For a fracture of a moment, you felt scared, concerned, even. Just enough to turn your back around and head to where the noise came from.

You didn’t get far enough when you felt an impact on your side that sent you stumbling on the leaves. Groaning, you sat up and cursed only to see Hyun-ju across where you sat, brushing leaves off her knees. She wasn’t supposed to bump against you in the dark, you’re both a mile away from the party, thinking the other is still there.

“Hyun-ju?” You blinked in the darkness, scrambling on your feet to get a good look at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, worried, taking your arm instantly as if the darkness would separate you. She sounded scared, which rarely happens.

“I followed Heather here.” You drew her closer to you, the soft glow of the moon faintly reflecting her face.

“She’s here?” Her eyes widened, you could tell even in the dark. “We need to find her and get out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“There's someone else here. Except for the three of us,” Hyun-ju's voice shook. Her hand felt cold against yours, trembling. Afraid. She was shifting her gaze in all directions.

“We need to get out of here now,” you said, tugging at her hand.

“No, we can't leave Heather here,” she protested, then looked you in the eye. “I think you should head back and call the police.”

“Call the police? For what?” 

“I-I can't explain. There's no time,” her face scrunched up slightly as if giving you any further explanation was troubling her. She asked you to run away before letting your arm go, and took off to where Heather's screams were heard.

“Oh, no no no. You don’t,” you muttered and began to run after her in the dark, almost losing her because of how fast she was running. A minute into the run, you were panting. Not because of your limited stamina, but because of the air in the forest. It felt too stuffy as if your shirt was strangling you by the neck, and the air was too thin to suffice for three, or in this case, four people in the woods. The rough patches and strewn roots on the forest floor were an obstacle course on their own, waiting for you to trip or step on the wrong stones.

It only took two minutes before Hyun-ju halted in another clearing. This one was flooded by the moonlight as if an oculus directed all its light to the surface. It made the forest glow a soft blue. Almost romantic if the air wasn’t too constricting and the darkness weren't rimming ominously on the sides. 

You didn’t know why Hyun-ju stopped until she took a step back from the single leafless tree left in the clearing. That’s when you saw Heather, redder and more peaceful than she ever was in life, her bloody corpse propped in awkward angles on the tree. 

Hyun-ju gasped, a scream stuck in her throat. You immediately went for her, pulling her close as she almost teared up on your shoulder and said that you should head back and call the police over and over again.

But for a minute, you allowed yourself to stare at Heather, her bloody face, and several leaking stab wounds. Her blue eyes were as lifeless as a doll's eyes, staring without seeing. Her blonde hair reflected the moonlight, like a sacred offering illuminated by the gods of heaven above. She looked like Carrie from the 1977 movie she was blabbering about earlier, her complexion complementing the red. 

As you held Hyun-ju's hand and took off to safety, you weren't scared or sorry for her murdered friend. You were pissed off that a budding serial killer emerged in town and beat you to killing Heather.

-

When the police arrived, everyone was on the ground, either screaming or trying to throw up everything they had consumed in the grass. This one girl was screaming, “Someone poisoned us!” repeatedly until a police woman had to intervene and calm her down. 

“What’s going on?” Hyun-ju whispered as an ambulance came, bringing out two stretchers. Two.

Hyun-ju wordlessly looked at you. You remembered the purplish liquid you left on the table, clearly in Heather's cup. Separated from the rest.

“Someone probably passed out drunk,” you shrugged and believed yourself until the medics brought out a pale corpse you only recognized as one of the lead quarterbacks, dating Heather on and off. They complement each other by being both hell-incarnate, with a common bonding of terrorizing students. The king and queen of high school both paraded in matching stretchers. What a laughably tragic story.

Heather's two other friends, oddly also named Heather, were bawling their eyes out when they saw the body bag containing Heather's corpse. You were keeping the muted joy to yourself until you overheard one of the investigators, leading out the door, saying that the cause of the quarterback's death was drain cleaner poisoning.

“That wasn’t me,” you said quickly. “That drink was for Heather to begin with.”

“That was the experiment you're talking about? Poisoning her?” Despite her calmness and effort to keep her voice down, you could tell she’s angry. And she was never angry with you, she goes out of her way to understand your actions, but this one is inexcusable. 

Her eyes left you, and she said, “I’m going home.”

It made you feel worse than you ever felt, worse than the guilt you felt after chasing Heather in the woods leading to her death, worse than accidentally poisoning that quarterback. Because this time, you might lose the person you began all of this for. 

“Wait, no. Hyun-ju, I’ll walk you home,” you chased after her. 

“I’m fine by myself,” she refused to look at you, hugging her arms close. 

“Hyun, I’m sorry. I really am,” you apologized, following her closely. “How about movie night? At my place. Please?”

“You remember that now?” She then stopped and looked at you. The trace of scorn behind her eyes hurts. It made you quiet, letting Hyun-ju speak. 

“I’ve been telling you that even before you bought the stupid drain cleaner. I told you I don’t care about the party or getting back at Heather. I just want to be with you, and that’s enough. But you weren't listening!” her eyes rimmed with tears. “As usual!”

You stood there frozen from the feet up, realizing the weight of your mistakes all of a sudden. The voice of reason in your head has Hyun-ju's voice, and she’s telling you that your sense of vengeance was awry from all angles. 

Hyun-ju began to walk away again, wiping the tears from her cheek, leaving you standing there. But you couldn’t stay frozen. You can't let her go home angry with you. So you chased her again like you’ve never chased anything in your life, hugging her back, and telling her the apologies never heard from your lips. 

Her soft heart couldn’t stay mad at you for much longer, not when you’re holding her hand, not when you’ve been there the whole time, accepted her, and worshiped her for who she is.

It was almost midnight when you reached home and settled with popcorn in bed as The Princess Bride played on the television.

“I thought you rented horror movies,” Hyun-ju asked, eating the popcorn in small bites. You held up a finger before answering, face stuffed with popcorn. 

“I did.” You fished out two DVDs under your bed: The Exorcist, which you watched for far too many times with Hyun-ju, and Re-animator. “I stole The Princess Bride DVD from my sister’s old room.”

Hyun-ju smiled. You felt relieved; you wanted to make her smile again.

“I love the story so far,” she said, looking at you. A softer one with affection, with the tenderness you’ve been dying to feel. 

“I’m glad you do.” You kissed her hand, promised her another slumber party tomorrow or any day she liked from now on. You don’t know how slumber parties work, or how to paint your nails as neatly as Hyun-ju does, or how to tie friendship bracelets without being confused by the pattern. But you'll try. You'll both try to be normal seventeen-year-olds. Enjoy life, skip classes, have sleepovers, bake brownies, eat ice cream, kiss under the blanket, play board games– anything. You'll forget the two dead bodies from three hours ago and stick with each other. But amidst the voices from TV and the hum of the fan, Hyun-ju spoke, “I didn’t tell you earlier why I was in the woods.”

You tore a gummy bear pack open and replied, “I'm wondering about that, too.”

“I saw someone,” Hyun-ju began, fiddling with her hands. “I never saw his face. But I’ve been seeing him in the school hallways for a while now. Then I saw him again earlier. He always wears this dark hood and can slip into the crowd easily. I had a bad feeling, so I followed him.”

“And you also followed Heather's screams. You’re breaking horror movie rules left and right, babe,” you said, offering her a pink gummy.

“My instincts kicked in, I suppose,” she accepted the gummy and replaced it with popcorn. “It still bugs me. What if he’s the one who killed Heather?”

“Frankly, I’m not surprised anyone is out there to kill her,” you shrugged. You weren't the only one with Heather on your hit list.

“I should have told the police what I saw,” Hyun-ju pondered. “It might help the investigation.”

Then a bright, dangerous idea clicked in your head.

“We should investigate too,” you voiced out loud. “It’ll be exciting. Catching the local killer in town. You get what I mean?”

“You’re kidding.”

You poked her cheek and teased, “Come on, I saw you reading The Hound of the Baskervilles. Don’t you want to play detective?”

As the movie credits rolled, you saw a hint of curiosity in Hyun-ju's eyes, the faintest smile, the silent “why not?” 

“Do you think we can do it?” she wondered aloud.

Then you grinned. Of course. With her wits and your daring, you can.

“Our love is god,” you kissed her cheek, grabbing the DVD beside you. “We should watch The Exorcist again.”

She huddled at the corner, wrapped in the nearest clean blanket she could get her hands on, and closed her eyes.

Breathe. One at a time. 

About three hours later, the metal doors slid open to let the circle guards in. Hyun-ju blinked her sleep away and saw the guards bringing a ribboned coffin in. 

Hyun-ju sat up and watched where they were heading.

The screen above them rolled down a single number, and piles of money dropped into the huge coin bank suspended above. 

Hyun-ju gasped when she saw where the guards were heading. She descended from her bed as quickly as her bad leg would allow. Wishing with all her might for her eyes to be fooling her. 

But when the guards took Geum-ja’s body hanging from one of the high beds, Hyun-ju felt the reality like a stab in the chest. Hot, stinging, growing colder, and numbing her fingertips. She limped over to where Jun-hee stood with her sleeping baby and watched as the guards took Geum-ja away.

They both shed the remaining tears in their reservoir as quietly as they could so as not to wake up the baby. 

Hyun-ju remembered Geum-ja inviting them to their home, she remembered her as an understanding mother to Yong-sik, and the first one to treat her like her own daughter. 

The reality edged on her resolve, the people who accepted her and saved her in their ways diminishing one by one. And despite her efforts, there are times when she can only watch.

But not you.

You had the money and power to change things, and you won’t spend time on this island lounging and drinking yourself to death like the rest of the VIPs. 

The Frontman was waiting in his quarters as if anticipating your inevitable arrival.

Maybe expecting to hear some sort of explanation as to why you seem to be interfering with his games. Lying about observing the game as a red team member and ending up saving three players seemed to be taking it too far as a mere observer.

He welcomed you inside and poured both of you a drink. You didn’t wait for him to speak; you had no time. The fifth game will start tomorrow.

“What will be the game tomorrow?” Your gaze dropped to the half-empty glass in front of you. Without your golden hyena mask on, a sudden wave of vulnerability seemed to envelope you. The people around you still think you’re a young girl with a father who has too much money. But you’re willing to take all that for Hyun-ju, for the bet you’re willing to win. For your future and her own.

“Why are you asking me this?” the Frontman asked, his modulated voice rid of any underlying emotion. “So you could also participate in the fifth game and save a certain someone?”

Your fingers bunched on your trousers, the dull throbbing of your wounds faintly crawling through your entire arm. You should say something, maybe a clever retort up your sleeve or something to shift whatever power imbalance the Frontman was willing to throw at your face. The firm sentence you’ve been putting together in your head erupted in a cloud when the Frontman beat you to it.

“Your father is a powerful and wealthy man, but I’m afraid his gifts end here.” 

“I’m not going to ask you for a favor, I’ll pay you for it,” you replied quickly, hoping the plan you’ve constructed in your head was enough. “I’m aware that this is not your only facility. There are too many bored rich assholes in the world to entertain and this one right here isn't gonna cut it.”

The Frontman paused, “Where are you getting at, Ms. L/N?”

“Tell me about the game tomorrow,” you said with all the resolve you have left. “And allow me to have a say on it.”

“You’re a smart woman, Ms. L/N. You must be aware that conducting the games is a collective effort among hundreds of staff members. Why would our team agree to that?”

“Because,” you shifted on your seat, fully meeting his eyes behind the mask. “By tomorrow, I will give you something you can't refuse. For your team, and the games.”

The Frontman tilted his head slightly, waiting for you to elaborate. His hard, unreadable demeanor still makes you feel like a naive girl offering him your father’s money right as you stood in his empire. 

“Funding for one of the facilities from our construction company. Even for something as big, or even larger than this one.”

He took a good look at you before replying, “ Do you know how many resources you’re willing to provide just for this one wish?”

You nodded.

Of course you do. You’ve calculated it at least three times before you stepped into his quarters, and you refused to calculate it again. Winning the bet will barely make up for the sum total of the cost. It won’t make your father happy, but he did promise he'd give you everything. Being his only daughter, he can excuse something this big. 

Because in the few minutes you spent with Hyun-ju in that deadly maze you designed, the whole point of being on that island shifted from being a victorious bettor to being a masked savior. You don’t want the recognition, you don’t want Hyun-ju to be tangled in the mess you called your life. You have a say in what her future would be, and you intend to make the best of it.

“I’ll also provide the architectural plans for the next facility. As many as the games will require,” you added, fully squeezing out all you’re willing to sacrifice to the last drop.

The Frontman was quiet. Perhaps fascinated by your boldness in playing this dangerous game, your tenacity is as thick as the people he’s condemning to death every year on this island. 

“The games end by 10 am tomorrow,” The Frontman said after a moment of silence. “I expect an indestructible proof of all these offers after that designated hour, or we'll have to take something equally precious.”

The Frontman clicked on the remote beside him, and the screen across from where you both sat flickered to life. Your breath hitched as you saw Hyun-ju's player profile on the screen, along with all the data about her that the site didn’t let you see.

The Frontman‘s way to tell you that you’re not in control. He is. 

Below Hyun-ju's name and player number was:

BETTOR: Y/N.

As if she were just another thing that belongs to you, reduced to a number, reduced from the complex person that she is. It never sat right with you.

Before you could say anything else, the screen shifted into a live video from the cameras in the dormitory. Showing Hyun-ju, injured and struggling to sleep on her bed. The bandage you offered her was dark with dried blood. 

“Upon your failure to comply,” the Frontman continued. “We’ll do everything in our power to ensure that Player 120 won’t make it to the final game.”

You hid the slight tremors in your hands, a permanent cold creeping up your neck. It makes you wonder whether you’ve laid out all your tricks too soon. It’s only the fifth game, and the person in control of the games has his eye on Hyun-ju. 

The moment you made your proposal, Hyun-ju's future landed in your hands. It was the Frontman‘s own twisted way of giving you the control you’ve been dying to possess.

“You have yourself a deal,” you said finally, standing up.

On your way out, the Frontman called, “The fifth game is jump rope. Based on our agreement, you get a say in it.”

“Change it,” you said, hand around the doorknob. “Change it to a game that doesn't include jumping or running. Make it about aiming if that's possible. The player with the best aim wins.”

You opened the door and left. 

Before entering your room to start the full night of work you signed up for, you paid a circle guard to slip the wound ointment in Player 120’s ration tomorrow. 

The next morning, Hyun-ju received it with a note saying, “For your leg.” She looked around, watched the circle guard closely for half a minute. Despite the confusion, she kept it to herself and limped to the bathroom to apply it. As you made the arrangements for the contract and copied initial plans to a hard drive, you allowed yourself a glimpse of her. Even with the screen separating your worlds, she still felt hopelessly near. As if you can touch her with an outstretched hand and tell her to stay strong. You'll take care of the rest. 

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, sweethearts <3

You expected the worst, like bullies threatening her again or her getting hurt in the process, and she can't call anyone but you. You've only been at that pathetic school for a month now, and were astonished by how hard discrimination goes even from the faculty itself. Being a transferee seemed the worst back then, with people looking at you from head to toe, or calling you a dyke behind your back as if you're carrying some sort of contagious disease. You've learned to deal with them, like staring viciously in their direction for at least half a minute or slamming your locker door loud enough to make them jump. How sweet it is when their prejudice turns into real fear as they scurry away from you. 

But not everyone deals with the same issue in the way you do. When you first met Hyun-ju, she was sitting quietly near the back of the class with her hands folded. You took the seat beside her, thinking she was alone like you. As bold as you were with the rest of things, you can't seem to find your voice to talk to her. What will you say anyway? 

Are you alone too? Can we be friends? 

But then someone else walked in, tossed a notebook at your desk, and said, "That's my seat. Move."

You eyed her from head to toe, and relaxed further in your seat. 

"Says who?" you scoffed. "I don't see a seating arrangement plan."

"Are you gonna stir up a problem, newbie?" she mocked, leaning close. 

"Try me."

The teacher had walked in a few seconds ago but didn't seem to notice your little dispute. Before anything could escalate, you heard a voice beside you, "It's okay, H___, you can take my seat instead."

You looked beside you, and that's the first time you met Hyun-ju's eyes. 

She rose from her seat and offered it to that bitch claiming your seat, which you began calling Heather since then, because that's the name of the bully back in your previous school, and you didn't bother remembering whatever her name was. Hyun-ju moved to the last row, sitting alone. 

"Awh, you're such a nice friend, Hyun-ju!" Heather chirped, too exaggerated and fake in your ears. She glared at you and opened her notebook with no notes when the teacher began his lecture.

-

"You didn't have to do that," you mustered up the courage and told Hyun-ju after the class ended. 

She looked at you as if surprised you were talking to her. 

"It's alright," she said. 

"No, it's not. She doesn't have the right to do that."

"It's not really a big deal to me," she shrugged with a gentle voice as she packed her things. 

You don't have an answer to that. Hyun-ju seemed assertive enough to know when to draw the line and when to let things go. She's clearly the bigger person in the situation, considerate but unbothered.

Heather jostled past you along with three other equally mean-looking girls and told “see you later!” to Hyun-ju without turning her head. 

You scoffed and asked Hyun-ju, “Are those really your friends?”

Hyun-ju had to bite back a chuckle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You smiled. Finally, you found your crowd even if it’s just this one person, this cute girl with even composure and a beautiful face.

“Wanna get some ice cream?” 

-

It was almost a month ago since you asked Hyun-ju to Dairy Queen and hit it off right away, sharing your common struggles in this teenage hell full of homophobic and transphobic lunatics. But today, as you met up at the school yard and expected the worst, you saw her arrive with that gentle smile you loved about her.

“What's wrong?” you asked right away. 

She shrugged, “I just want to see you.”

You could tell from her eyes that she had at least shed a tear or two. But you didn’t press. She'll tell you eventually.

-

“Do you have plans tonight?” she asked as you were both sitting on a felled tree, taking turns in practicing knife throwing at the tree across. Her aims were always perfect.

“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe watch the movies I rented. Why?” you said and took your turn with the knife. It was at least two inches off. You cursed as you retrieved it, and gave it to Hyun-ju, handle out.

“I was wondering if I could join you,” she said softly, throwing the knife. It hit the mark again, and she wasn’t even trying. You could tell something was bothering her.

“Of course you can, you know you’re always welcome,” you began. “But I thought Heather was hosting a party tonight?”

“I’m not going,” Hyun-ju responded. She retrieved the knife, and you were relieved that maybe, finally, she’s getting pissed off by Heather and will leave her for good. “I’m not invited.”

“Why?”

Hyun-ju handed you the knife. “She said it was an all-girls homecoming party.”

“So?” Hyun-ju looked at you, then you realized. “Hey, that’s not fair. You’re a girl too.”

“Not to her, I guess.”

You threw the knife and missed the target circle entirely. Probably 10 inches off, but it dug too deep in the tree trunk.

“Why are you even friends with those traffic light bitches?”

Hyun-ju was silent for a moment, fiddling with her fingers, polished nails sleek against the sunlight.

“Because I had to endure worse without them around,” she sighed. “People respect them. They leave them alone. If you’re with them, you'll get the same treatment.”

“But they're assholes too,” you grumbled, trying to get the knife off the tree.

“I know what they are,” Hyun-ju said and stood up to help you. She’s much stronger. She’s more capable than anyone you’ve ever met. She has good aim with knives and guns, and she gets impressive grades. She’s well-mannered, considerate, and reliable. And you love her. You don’t get why anyone would treat her differently just because of some unfair social construct that does nothing but harm.

There was nothing but silence when you both sat back on the felled tree, except for the occasional crunch of small stones as you drilled your knife deep into the ground.

“You don’t have to bear with those shitbags. I’m here, aren't I?” you said, voice edged with bitterness. You can't offer much, you’re in the same discriminated circle. You only have your knife and the will to use it, but you'll do anything for that to suffice.

Hyun-ju smiled, “And I’m so glad you’re here.”

There was genuine gratefulness in her voice, like you’re the break in the facade she’s waiting for. But your outcast status still stands; it’s the two of you against everyone else. And even if you prefer it that way, you don’t want Hyun-ju's last senior year to turn into hell. After this, you'll probably be moving to a different state anyway. 

“Do you trust me?” you asked, standing up. You cleaned the blade off your pants and sheathed it back on your side then offered your hand.

“I do,” Hyun-ju sounded confused, but took your hand anyway. It wrapped comfortably around yours, her soft skin pressed on your own. 

“Then let’s go.” You both walked hand-in-hand as the school bell resounded, signaling dismissal. 

“Where are we going?” Hyun-ju asked. Your shortcut to the ice cream shop was on the other side of the road.

You squeezed her hand and said, “We’re gonna crash a party. I just have to pick up some drain cleaner on our way there.”

At some point, everyone in your undergraduate class hoped to be emissaries of liquid architecture, creating spaces that adapt fluidly to the needs of people. It sounded like a noble pursuit for young designers. But now, as you sit bleeding in this room, once a piece of your imaginative creativity, a structure to promote dynamic movement and teamwork, you wonder at what point it turned hostile. Just how many died here before, and how many will die here in the future, with your work of art permanently associated with death and the unfairness of the miserable lives they led? 

You winced, terrified to fathom how deep the wound in your shoulder was, and more terrified by the thought that you'll end up bleeding and useless in this room while Hyun-ju and her friends were in danger. Probably being preyed upon by those vicious men in the seconds you were refusing to move.

You groaned, grumbled, and hit the door, but none of it helped. Slowly, you stood up, clutching the wound on your shoulder and hoping it was enough to stop the bleeding. 

Goddamnit. Being stabbed wasn’t part of the plan to begin with.

You stopped hobbling and dragging yourself pathetically across the floor when you glanced up at the timer showing that you had less than fifteen minutes left. One by one, you fished out the keys you pocketed and began to work. 

The most complicated part of an escape room was navigating rooms within rooms, figuring out which was north or west, and whether you crossed left or right. Then the confusion will start to mess up the players’ minds until they're desperately just walking through doors, hoping it was the right one. It’s a fatal trap, and it’s easy to walk into. 

You were glad you took the time to memorize the third to fifth floor specifically. After all, the rooms are designed with increasing complexity: increasingly confusing paths, increasingly frustrating dead ends. 

All you had to do was take the stairs between the fourth and fifth floor, turn right, descend on the nearest stairs leading to the floor above, and it would open the room directly across where Hyun-ju and her friends are. Along the way, you managed to elude the reds, bumped into terrified blue players, and watched them walk directly to the wrong rooms until it became an itch to your conscience. 

When you neared that room, you immediately went for the door and listened for the small cries you’d heard before. You sighed in relief as you heard it, so faintly you could mistake it for a voice in your head.

You cracked the door open and checked the aisle from left to right before running directly across the next room. You wrenched the door open and went for the safety lock on the top left corner of the door, groaning deeply as you remembered the stab wound in your shoulder. You can't reach it. Not on that wounded arm.

But then you heard the lock click shut, followed by a voice you’ve only heard in videos, and sometimes in your dreams.

“Are you okay?” Hyun-ju asked, her hand leaving the safety lock as your eyes met.

-

You could've been dreaming by then. Probably passed out nine rooms away and dreaming that you made it to the room where she is. Where Hyun-ju is. With the woman you’ve only known for days from the other side of the screen, who gripped your heart and melted your fears like no other.

She spoke in Korean, unaware that you can just understand the language but can't speak it as fluently as her. You tried anyway.

“I’m alright,” you looked at Hyun-ju. Then to Geum-ja, Jun-hee, and the baby in her arms, their names finally registering in your head. You seemed to remember a lot after being stabbed, and it’s funny. But then you slid across the floor, the pain, exhaustion, and relief crashing all at once.

You looked up. Twelve minutes left. 

“Every room has a safety lock,” you said when Hyun-ju crouched in front of you, observing the wound. Not very interesting first few words for the woman you’ve been dying to see, but you need to hurry. “I think I know the exit.” 

They all looked at you. Hyun-ju's soft, round eyes grew.

“Where is it?”

On the next aisle, third door to the right, then a left. A room within a room. 

If the plan in your head didn’t change. 

“I need to make sure first,” you said, confronted by the need to stand up again. The room wasn’t that far, but you need to be more careful.

“Hold on.” Hyun-ju's hands wrapped around both your arms, securing you in place. You got lost in the scrutiny etched with concern in her face. You knew how soft her face was, but you didn’t expect it to be as angelic up close. “We need to stop the bleeding first.”

You nodded. She was right. You reached up for the red vest tucked in your pocket and handed it to Hyun-ju before she could offer her own clothing.

“Use this,” you said. Hyun-ju eyed the vest. “I… I stole it from a player.”

Hyun-ju only nodded, taking the fabric in her hands before carefully wrapping it around the wound. 

“This might hurt a bit.” Her voice was so gentle that your heart ached. You tried not to look through her soft face framed by delicate bangs, her earring glittering like a fine piece of star on her ear. You whimpered as she tightened the makeshift bandage around your shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you assured her. 

She looked at you, truly looked at you as if she remembered something. “What’s your name?” 

Despite your half a day of preparation, you didn’t expect a certain point where you'd be able to tell Hyun-ju your name. For some reason, you told her your childhood nickname. The one you used to call yourself when you were two years old and couldn't fully pronounce your name. It made you think of your mother.

Hyun-ju took your hands, “It’s nice to meet you, N/N.”

“You too.”

“I’m Hyun-ju.” I know.  I know too well. “Are you sure you can walk there?”

You quickly nodded, reminded of how much time you were losing.

“Let’s go.”

-

Before you both left, you told Geum-ja to turn the safety lock on and established a secret knock only the four of you know. Three rapid knocks, two times.

Hyun-ju led the way outside, clutching your wrist as you both ran together. She wasn’t keeping you behind, or letting you get a little too forward in case anyone made a surprise attack from both sides. Being held so gently yet so firmly made your chest throb in some ineffable way, and messed your memory in rapid flashes. Hyun-ju followed your instructions: next aisle, third door to the right. It felt as if your plan was finally falling into place, but it was too early to celebrate because on the other side, two red players were waiting. 

Player 333 and Player 124.

-

Hyun-ju dodged the knife directly aimed at her chest, gripping 333’s wrist tightly as they both crashed into the wall, knocking you head first to the side with the impact. 

Player 333. Myung-gi. You remembered him from Mingle and saw him several times with Jun-hee. You listened closely to their conversations recorded in those videos and knew enough to figure out what their relationship is.

You had no interest in knowing anything about him further. All you had to know was he's bad news. 

There was this crazy glint in his eyes when he attacked Hyun-ju with that knife, as if he was seeing her as something else but a person.

Player 124 emerged from the door, looking at you like prey with unhurried steps, taunting you with a singsong voice while brandishing his blood-stained knife. He quickly sliced a gash on your arm and called it pretty. You bit down on a scream. You had had enough of the assholes trying to kill you in one day. Your hand felt for the knife tucked at your back, and you didn’t hesitate to stab him deep in the thigh.

When Hyun-ju and Myung-gi both crashed on the ground, she lunged at him and stabbed him in the shoulder. He cried, stopping the next oncoming stab to his chest. Player 124 was wrestling you to the ground with the tip of his knife dangerously close to your throat, spitting curses at you and calling you a bitch for stabbing him when he's being so nice. You screamed as you felt a knee on your torso. He’s too forceful, strong enough to knock the air out of your lungs. The moment you let his wrists go, his knife would dig into your throat. 

You’re going to die.

Amongst the cacophony of grunts and groans, Hyun-ju ran to you and knocked Player 124 away, digging a knife into his back before yelling at you to enter the room.

But you couldn't. 

You can't leave her with those monsters. 

Your head still spun from bumping your head on the nearby metal dumpster prop, and your hands were red and trembling from the force. You felt like crying. 

Hyun-ju was helping you to get up when Player 124 retaliated and stabbed her in the leg. 

She screamed, and that only fueled you to stand up and fight again, convincing yourself that the pain was just an illusion. Your throbbing head and shoulder wound was nothing. Especially when those monsters seemed so determined to kill both of you. 

You kicked 124 at the face as hard as you could, but that’s when Myung-gi rose from where he was and lunged another knife attack at Hyun-ju, but this time, you won't let him. You wrapped an arm around Hyun-ju's waist and dragged her to the room with you, trying to slam the door shut with 333’s knife wedged at it. He was desperately trying to pry it open, shouting at 124 to get up and help him. 

You and Hyun-ju barricaded the door with all your might, but there was no way you could keep them from trying to pry the door open.

Damnit.

“I know where 222 is!” you spoke through the door, hoping the information would bring him to his senses. You were serious about tracking everyone who neared Hyun-ju, and 333 didn’t escape your scrutiny. Prodding at his potential weakness might work. Even if it’s a lie. You repeated until the force behind the door loosened slightly. “She’s on the second floor…”

Then there was silence. Hushed talking. You finally heard a sensible conversation saying something along the lines of “we should check, we passed anyway,” and something about getting the hell out of there to treat their wounds. You flinched as one of them stuck a knife through the door, probably the one Hyun-ju dug on 124’s back, as if in warning that they'll come back for you if you lied about Jun-hee. Then their footsteps grew fainter as they went away.

Hyun-ju stabbed 333 at least two times, but failed to kill him because she saved you from 124. She knew you would have died in front of her if she hadn’t. She looked at you earlier, the way you looked at her when she just stood unmoving at the last round of Mingle. That same terrified look seemed to say, “I’m losing her.”

Hyun-ju immediately closed the door and twisted the safety lock above.

She slumped on the floor next to you, groaning at her badly bleeding leg. You pressed your forehead on the wall, stabilizing yourself, thinking of a sheep herd crossing in a straight line across a country road. Damn headaches.

“You okay?” Hyun-ju carefully touched your shoulder, which had grown numb because of the gash.   

“”m okay, it’s alright,” you winced, removing your vest. You folded the fabric vertically in three and offered it to Hyun-ju. “For your leg.”

“But your arm…” she whispered. 

“It’s fine, it stopped bleeding.” It hasn’t, you can feel it trickling beneath your sleeve. You pointed to her leg and said, “That stab was deep. Take care of that first.”

She accepted the fabric, almost hesitantly, as if the extended kindness was new to her. 

“Thank you.”

Frankly, you want to nurse her wound yourself, to brush your hand against her warmth just to feel that she’s alive, she’s real, she’s the woman you’re willing to take another stab for, but your architecture experience doesn't cover anything about first aid. With a swimming vision, you watched her hands wrap the makeshift bandage around her wound with expertise. You hoped it was enough to stop the bleeding. 

Hyun-ju brushed a hair from her brow, glancing at the clock above the exit. Barely six minutes to get out of there. 

You checked the room on your left and found the exit drawn with a huge rainbow. It was empty. The relief was palpable. When you told  Hyun-ju, you finally saw her smile. 

“I need to get Ms. Jang, Jun-hee, and her baby,” she announced, wincing and bracing herself on the wall to stand up. You placed a firm hand over her arm, gripped it a bit too desperately. 

Stay.

“I’ll go get them. You stay here,” you forced yourself to say. You were never the courageous type; you don’t give two shits about saving anyone but Hyun-ju. But she needed this. She needs her allies back, or she'll get herself killed trying to get them back.

You stood up, but it was Hyun-ju's turn to pull you back. Hopefully pull you back to the right senses too.

“Don’t. The reds could still be outside.”

“I don’t hear them.”

“You’ve helped us enough. I’ll take it from here,” Hyun-ju said firmly. That gentle assertiveness you loved about her. It felt like a blanket wrapped around you, telling you that everything's alright and you’re safe. 

But instead of succumbing to that comfort, you said, “You won’t go that far on that leg.”

Hyun-ju took a glance at her leg. Your blue vest had considerably darkened around her wound. The bleeding might be worse than you thought. 

“You don’t have to shoulder this, N/N. They're my responsibility,” Hyun-ju tried to reason one last time.

You knelt close to her, looking at her soft eyes edged with the hardness she endured in this world.

“They're not,” you said rather coldly. “Your responsibility is getting out of here alive. Beat those remaining losers and go to Thailand.”

She was about to protest when you continued, “But I know how important they are to you. So I’ll bring your friends back no matter what. Hold those keys and don’t open that door unless you hear our knock.”

Hyun-ju can't speak. You don’t want her to feel powerless but she should think of herself for once.

You touched her shoulder.

“Do you understand me, Hyun-ju?” Her name felt right on your lips. She nodded solemnly.

And for the first time, you cracked a smile.

“It was nice meeting you.” You unlocked the door but before going out, you tossed a hair tie to Hyun-ju. Instead of usual rhinestones, yours were lined elegantly with small diamonds. It was your favorite. “Tie your hair.”

You gripped your knife and went out to retrieve Hyun-ju's friends, wishing you could see her again with that hair tie to know if it suits her.

-

Hyun-ju hated waiting. She knew it was necessary, but it didn’t stop her from feeling useless at that moment. Just waiting, praying that her comrades were safe and hoping rescue would come at the right moment before it's too late.

But she trusted you. In some way she can't currently explain, she trusted you. Aside from her friends, you've shown her kindness she didn't feel like she deserved. Leading her to the exit, saving her from those monsters, and now saving her friends, too. 

It didn't feel right. Hyun-ju doesn't know how she deserves that. 

Several times, she was tempted to wrench that door open and get the three of you back to safety. Four minutes have passed, and so far she has only heard footsteps and screams; any step closer to that door meant danger. 

But when three minutes dropped into two, Hyun-ju finally made up her mind. She will come to get you. You were right about how badly her wound was, but she can manage. She still has her hands, she can use them to fight, she can–

Then someone knocked on the door, right above her outstretched hand that was about to open it.

Three knocks, two times.

Hyun-ju turned off the safety lock and opened it as fast as she could.

There was Geum-ja, Jun-hee, and her baby, unharmed but terrified. But you weren't there.

“Where's N/N?” Hyun-ju asked right away after pulling her friends to the safety of the room.

Geum-ja hesitated, meeting Jun-hee’s eyes, both figuring out how they could break the truth to Hyun-ju.

“She lured a red player away from us,” Geum-ja finally spoke, her voice shaky. Jun-hee’s baby cried persistently in her arms. The timer has dropped to less than one minute.

“I need to get her,” Hyun-ju whispered, staring blankly. She reached for the door, but screams emanated from the other side of the door as if a man was being stabbed right across their room.

“There's no time,” Geum-ja pleaded, firmly holding onto Hyun-ju. She shielded the door and tried to meet Hyun-ju's eyes and get her back to reality.

She can't go back now. Death awaits outside the door. 

Hyun-ju let a tear slip down her cheek. She thought of Young-mi crying for her help, she thought of you who had the same terrified eyes when she first saw you burst into their room and into her life with a wounded shoulder. She can't save Young-mi, and she allowed you to go alone, well aware that your life was on the line. Hyun-ju felt culpable. She could've stopped you and gone instead, she could've held Young-mi’s hand tighter. But she didn’t.

At that critical moment, Hyun-ju felt her regrets worming through her core. But she can still save Geum-ja, Jun-hee, and her baby. She had set it in stone that she would risk her life protecting the remaining people in her life. 

Hyun-ju was silent as she helped Jun-hee stand up and ushered Geum-ja to follow her to the room on the left. The room leading to the exit.

Ten seconds left. 

Hyun-ju fished out the keys from her sweater and inserted each key into their designated slots, and opened the door, soft yellow light spilling out of the room along a congratulatory voice.

As they entered, the announcement spoke: Player 120, Player 149, Player 222, pass. 

Geum-ja and Jun-hee noticed that Hyun-ju hadn't spoken since, not even when they were led back to the dormitory. She would look at her hands, or whenever the door opened as guards led successful players in, as if waiting for you to walk through and take the empty spot beside her. 

-

Don’t do anything foolish.

You repeated it in your head, not for yourself but for Hyun-ju. After leading Geum-ja and Jun-hee to the exit, it was true that you lured a red player away from them and barely escaped, if not for your good memory of those doors. 

In less than a minute, they will reach the room where Hyun-ju was and make it to the exit. You remembered how Hyun-ju helped save that man in the first game with five seconds left and prayed that Hyun-ju won’t endanger herself the same way just to find you. Because you are safe now. Bleeding, but safe.

When the timer ended, the guards easily found you and took you immediately to the facility clinic. The clinic was sterile and in mint condition, the wordless circle guard who carefully treated your wound certainly knows their thing. The pain subsided within minutes, and you were led back to your room, where you continued to watch the live broadcast. 

You zoomed in on the view of the players, bloody, dejected, and barely talking, only finding relief when you saw Hyun-ju safe with her friends. The stab wounds you took didn’t feel so bad after seeing them alive. 

Your mind was finally at rest for at least two hours, regaining the sleep you lost while a guard occasionally comes to your room to check your wounds, or bring you medicine and food. You found leisure in watching the live broadcast on the wide TV across your bed, following Hyun-ju with your eyes wherever she goes. That’s when you begin to notice her limping on her injured leg. The injury may be worse than you thought. It marked another short-lived comfort you have in that island. Hyun-ju was alive and safe for now, but what about the fifth game? The sixth? Her allies were dwindling in number and growing considerably weaker by the minute. Jun-hee just gave birth, and her priority was protecting her baby. Geum-ja was sitting alone in a faraway bed with a blank look on her face after finding out that her son, Player 007, had been eliminated. Player 456 was slumped near his bed, at the edge of his wits, and as unpredictable as a ticking bomb. Player 124 and Player 333 were nursing their wounds, shooting daggers at other players, and sometimes in Hyun-ju's direction. 

You sat up in bed, closed your eyes, and accepted that this won’t be the end of your efforts to keep her alive. You’ve already come this far, and you'll go farther if that means Hyun-ju will go home. 

Carefully, you checked your bandages and took the prescribed painkillers, pocketing one of the wound ointments in your trousers. 

You put on another pair of fine clothes, turned the televised broadcast off in your room, and went out. 

It’s 8 pm and you need to see the Frontman. 

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, sweethearts <3

You sighed and closed your eyes.

Damn it.

Hyun-ju can't die tomorrow because of your stupid birthday gift to your father four years ago. Besides, the designers could have changed the layout, flipped it entirely, and made adjustments that you wouldn't have known about. Even if you managed to contribute anything, it still felt like groping in the dark. 

You stood up, the layout swimming in your eyes in such an uncomfortably dizzying way.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

You reached for the mini counter placed in your room and activated the coffee maker. Sleep was completely out of the question, and rest belongs to the secured. 

-

By morning, at least three circle guards tried to knock on your door to wake you up and tell you that you’re late for the feast. You finally arrived at the door on the third call, feeling completely mismatched despite polishing your appearance with about ten minutes of sleep. Hoping your tardiness and questionable decorum could be attributed to a distinct style, you entered the room in graceful and unhurried steps before reaching your designated steps. The VIPs were having their drinks around the round table, and raised it towards you in congratulations. The Frontman must have told them about your contribution to the fourth game. The praises either sound genuine or artificial, but most with an underlying interest in participating in the design phase next year. The recognition ranks a higher place than money among the rich who have too much of that. 

You only took a few sips of your drink, determined not to ruin your sensibility in preparation for the fourth game. Hyun-ju survived this far, and you won’t have her dead for the next two.

After the minor celebratory gathering, some of the VIPs went directly to the viewing lounge while the others excused themselves to their quarters. As they went, you heard some of them talking about participating as guards in the next game. Describing it as a “hunt” when more appropriately, it’s called murder. They were casually expressing their eagerness on the matter since the gathering, but you didn’t hear them over your mental efforts to memorize the room layout.

The game will begin in half an hour. 

-

The viewing lounge had plush, vibrant settees and equally flamboyant artificial decorations. The exquisite wallpaper and strategically built platforms imitating floating islands would have drawn your eyes if they weren't too focused on the ticking clock on the screen. Behind the digital countdown were glimpses of the Starry Night rooms, same as you remember, except for the minor changes in color and design. Hopefully, that's where the differences end. All the layouts you’ve committed to memory should serve their purpose.

You found a place in a vibrant red settee near the screen, complete with refreshments on top of a human stool. Ignoring the chatter, the sudden shift in lighting, you stared at the screen until the countdown diminished to zero and cut across a different scene. 

In the middle of the room was a door shaped like a knife with its blade upwards. It made you think of a humongous keyhole when the players started pouring in, looking around the room, and finally to the huge gumball machine placed in the middle. The PA began welcoming the players to the fourth game and announcing that it would be played in two teams.

“Please take turns drawing a ball from the gumball machine in front of you.”

You gulped, taking a refreshment from the table. Something that looked like water. You drank, and it was bitter. This wasn’t right.

None of this feels right. A sudden chill crept up your spine. This isn't right.

The players took turns in the gumball machine. In Hyun-ju's turn, she was holding a blue ball and was directed to the other side. It doesn't feel right, not because you favor red in terms of color, but because of the ratio of her allies in that team. Most of them were placed in red, and if this game is supposed to be played in teams, Hyun-ju won’t have anyone on her side. 

This is bad.

You requested a glass of water from the waiter refilling glasses around. 

Who the hell thinks alcohol is a good breakfast anyway? These VIPs probably had some semblance of breakfast while you’re knee-deep into making a copy of the Starry Night rooms.

-

With a half-empty glass of water, a minute later, you listened to the mask manager as he began to brief the players about the game.

Hide-and-seek.

You were right on that one.

Each member from the blue team was given blue boxes, probably the keys leading to different rooms. But this still made you skeptical since your initial layout doesn't specify door locks, except that they can be unlocked but not relocked, with only the exit doors as the exception. You figured it would be too easy if a large group decided to work together, or if someone informed everyone about the exit. You designed it to be an escape room in the first place.

It seemed innocuous at first, but you expected the worst, and it came:

The Red Team, the taggers, must find members of the Blue Team and kill them within 30 minutes.

You set the glass down before you could drop it, pocketing your trembling hands in your arms as a voice in your head yelled “no!”

Hyun-ju looked around the red team with a telltale tremble in her hands as she held the box. She quickly opened it and found one key, then asked the masked manager what it was for. But you don’t have to hear anything else because you already knew it. 

This game was born from something you created years ago. It was almost unrecognizable to you when you first saw it again, and you won’t let it become a place in your nightmares.

Hyun-ju wasn’t meant to die there.

You rose from your seat the moment the Red Team players were handed out red boxes containing knives, and saw yourself out of the viewing lounge and into the next room where the other VIPs were trying out the pink jumpsuits. You entered what looked like a spacious walk-in closet filled with various costumes, including jumpsuits, masks, player uniforms, and props. Some of the VIPs chatted about how practical and stylish the costumes looked, and most were trying on the pink jumpsuits since the player uniforms will make them look like the horses they were betting on. 

You managed a smile or two when you were greeted inside, complimented because of the Starry Rooms, when in reality, you were agonizing inside. You were thankful that the walk-in closet was about twice the typical size of a residential walk-in closet because it allows you to move away from the other VIPs. You were in no mood to pretend that you could tolerate these people, even if there were just about four or five of them.

The live video broadcast continued on an 80-inch television situated in the middle of the room.

“Before we start the game, we will give you one last chance to change your fate.”

The masked manager said to the players after they burst in complaining about how unfair the chances of each team were.

“If any of you are not happy with your role, you may switch roles with someone on the opposing team before the game starts.”

It truly sounded like a last chance. Change your fate and choose whether to live or die. You stood there by the players’ uniform rack and prayed for Hyun-ju to switch teams with someone else because it felt safer to be the one holding the knife. It was control, it was your fate clutched in hand. Those rooms won’t whisper the way to the exit to you, they won’t open and shield you with their doors while you are being chased with a knife. 

You’ve seen Hyun-ju fight, saw her expertise in defense, plus her military background. But with her good and altruistic heart, you can't imagine her chasing a terrified blue player just to kill them in cold blood. 

Hyun-ju remained sitting in a corner and did not take her chances on switching teams with anybody. She was never the type to kill an innocent person with her own hands. 

You finally turned away from the television and grabbed a pair of the player uniforms in front of you. Number 023. A number stating your age, and the fabric felt right in some indescribable way. 

The separate changing stalls were located on the right. You entered one and began to change, bringing along everything necessary, which sums up to a neatly folded floor plan of the Starry Rooms, a ring with sharp edges, and a hair tie. 

After changing, you went for the props section containing real knives and keys. Three separate keys in those three ominous shapes you first saw in your home theater. You pocketed each one and grabbed a knife. Beside the table was a pile of blue and red vests. 

You knew the safest team would be red since you will be rescued anyway, even if you didn’t kill anyone, especially now that you’re a principal VIP. The Frontman promised all the sponsors’ safety. You touched the red pile of vests, considered, and grabbed the blue 023 vest and a random red vest with a different number. This wasn’t just about your safety but Hyun-ju's trust. You won’t spend the whole game running after her and promising her an exit while wearing that red vest with a knife in your hand. She’s not stupid, and she can outrun you even with an injured leg.

You wore the red vest and pocketed the blue one, your heart beginning to pound not out of fear but control. 

The blue team lined up towards the Starry Rooms with Hyun-ju among them.

Damn it. 

You held the knife tightly and approached a guard with a triangle on his mask stationed at the door.

“Put me in.”

-

With the confirmation from the Frontman, the masked manager verified your participation as a red team member. You promised not to interfere but to simply observe how the place you designed came to be. After two minutes, you will enter along with the red team. You splattered fake blood on your clothes and erased what remained of your makeup to avoid suspicion, hearing the faint hide-and-seek song from where you are. These people have 30 minutes to survive; they won’t bother trying to identify who you are, but drawing suspicion is also fatal.

As the green doors slid open, you took in the place, the finely made walls, and the Starry Night sky above. Brighter and more lovelier than you’d imagined it would be four years ago. You'll find time to thank your dad later.

The red team members have a weight of uneasiness and subtle tremors about them. Some from fear, some from the thrill. They smelled of sweat and blood, of violence, whether inflicted or endured. Half of these people around you will end up dead, but you can't find the room to care.

Hyun-ju. The last time you checked, she was on the third floor, along with Player 149 and 222. That's where you will go first.

-

From the floor plans you’ve memorized, there are exits on the fourth and fifth floors. Well-hidden near dead ends, difficult to locate if you don’t know where this place begins and ends. But you do, excruciatingly, you do. All that work, especially memorizing the floor plans and exit locations with barely any sleep, still sends your vision reeling with a throb on the temples.

How reminiscent of your sweet undergraduate days with a minimum of 10 hours a week of sleep.

I’ve endured worse, you thought, and began to run up the third floor. 

-

You admire how torturous their choice of material was, as your hardest stomps on the floor sounded like a light footstep. Perfect for sneaking up, adds tension. Red players whipped past you several times, only for you to hear them at the last second. However, there was no soundproofing in the rooms. You checked and opened rooms at random, spotting terrified blue team members ready to throw their fists at you if you dared to come close. But you didn’t bother, and quietly closed the door once again. It was one of the very few times people found relief in your apathy.

You scanned every door on the third floor, getting into minor scrapes with some blues as they try to push you away and run, only to land in a different predator's knife.

You grumbled under your breath. Hyun-ju's team was moving fast, and in between rooms too, because you didn’t spot them in the halls even as you stood in a place with a better view of the floor. 

Sweat beaded on your brow, the knife sliding against your sweaty palm.

Ten minutes had already passed, and you still hadn't found them. 

You decided to run up the fourth floor and saw a dead body of a red player.

226. Looks like an asshole, his knife was taken. 

The games didn’t say anything about forbidding blue players to kill in self-defense after all.

You took the stairs on the side and bounded to the fourth floor, beginning to check the rooms from left to right.

Not many red players here, just some trying out unlocked doors and hoping some blue was inside. You went past them and checked the third aisle.

That’s when you heard it. A faint, persistent cry from one of the rooms at the center. But it sounded too shrill to be a woman, let alone a grown adult.

A baby?

You gasped, the realization hitting you like cold water in the face. Player 222’s baby. She gave birth. You don’t know how she managed, but she did because the old lady and Hyun-ju were with her, helping her. It cannot be some cheap trick placed in the room to distract red players. Besides, you've studied each of Hyun-ju’s allies and found that Player 222, Jun-hee, was almost due. 

As you were about to locate the room, you stopped and noticed the red vest you were wearing. 

They wouldn't trust you if you just appeared at their door wearing that.

You fished out the blue vest you kept in your pocket and changed, folding the red vest small. But then, among the cries of the baby, you heard– or sensed– something else from across the aisle.

A Red Team member, eyeing you like prey. Player 202. He's a larger man you can probably outrun and outsmart, but not win against in a fistfight. You worried about yourself wearing that stupid blue vest, but more importantly, you worried that he's much closer to the door where Hyun-ju and her friends were.  The room where the baby was. 

You can't risk them. Not Hyun-ju, not the baby. You're not rotten enough to leave their fate to this monster. 

That’s when you began to sprint to the previous aisle, remembering the doors you opened the last time, leading him away from the room and hoping he didn’t hear the baby crying. You didn’t have to look behind to tell that he was following you, running too close.

Too close in fact that you felt a tug in your hair, followed by a stinging gash on your shoulder. It had you wishing you didn't stay up too late, because now your reeling vision worsened. 

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, sweethearts <3

No attachments, you warned yourself. If she dies in the third game, you'll give up and let her go. You won’t try. You'd stop all the foolish things you’re willing to risk for her survival.

When you landed on that remote island, you marveled at the facility and the effort they put into accommodating VIPs. The rooms were luxe and pristine, every statement item reminiscent of your opulence back home. They must have studied the VIPs too before curating such a space. 

For a few hours, you’ve only interacted with the masked managers, filling you in with information for the third game, which the majority voted to continue. 

You were led into a VIP room with sleek black walls and gold accents, and the countdown on the screen was set to almost four hours. Enough for a nap. But you knew your father wouldn't send you to such a place just to have fun. There is always room for making connections and strengthening bonds. 

Later on, you received a welcome from another masked manager who informed you head-on that you are the first VIP on the island at your father's request. You were beginning to fathom just how much money your father put into this setup. Vaguely, the manager said that the fourth game will be more interesting for your viewing, and the rest of the VIPs will arrive at that time. The third game was set to make an impression.

After all your necessary compliments about the place and the genius behind it, your conversation ended with the manager receiving a call.

The game was about to begin in 20 minutes.

When you went back to the viewing room, the countdown was displayed over a montage of the third game’s set up. It reminded you of carousel and carnival games; you could almost smell the honeyed popcorn and hard candies just from the clever assembly of colors. Promising, but not too distracting.

You allowed yourself a celebratory drink before the game began. It helped with disguising how much your stomach roiled from the inside, and how tightly you were clutching the statement loveseat you’re sitting on.

This is just a game. Hyun-ju will be fine. 

-

The game went well for the first two rounds, nothing your rapidly beating heart couldn't handle. You've managed to learn the screen settings and view the fifty rooms separately. You didn't care much about the other surviving players to check all the rooms, seeing Hyun-ju safe inside was the principal use of the cameras to begin with. But you took a mental note of the ruthless players, the ones who push others away from doors and leave them outside to die. Sadly, those greedy bastards were surviving well enough using their dirty schemes. 

When the PA announced 6, the visible panic in the players’ faces heightened. You clenched the edge of your seat as Hyun-ju’s team struggled to find an available room.

It was all a mess. Everyone pushed others around; you can't follow all their movement at that pace. 

When the doors automatically clicked shut, you checked for Hyun-ju in each room. Relieved by the appropriate number 6 on the bottom right of their screen, you didn't understand right away why Hyun-ju was pounding on the door. You increased the screen volume and heard her shouts, her hands desperately trying to wrench the door open. 

Then you noticed what was so different. 

Player 333. He shouldn't be there.

On the bottom of the screen,

Player 095, eliminated. 

flashed momentarily, followed by a series of players. 

You rubbed your temple, drank deeply. This can't be happening. This was a defining flutter of the butterfly's wings. 

Player 095 was Hyun-ju’s most trusted ally in the game. You've observed them closely from the beginning of their friendship. It was the best choice because Hyun-ju’s allies posed no threat to her. She was coupled with what were considered underdogs, scared but determined to survive, good people to the core. Betrayal was less likely, reducing Hyun-ju’s risk of being targeted. The remaining allies were enough, but losing 095 was a fracture to Hyun-ju’s resolve. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, no longer pretending that you're comfortable, to just sit and watch. You stood up and faced the screen directly. But even as you stood near the screen, you were powerless again, but on a different footing. 

Your throat began to constrict when the PA announced “two,” and Hyun-ju just stood there with her head lowered, the person she should be holding growing cold in a coffin box. 

But someone else came for her. Someone saved her. And as much as you were relieved, you couldn't help but stare as they ran together, breathing sighs of relief together as the door clicked shut and the third game came to its bloody end. 

You liked to believe that you were relieved, that the tightness in your chest was leftover anxiety. But truly, you were just jealous.

-

The Front Man you’ve heard from your father hasn't shown up upon your arrival. You were given a golden hyena mask for the tour, a way to establish your role as a sponsor. The masked managers managed to entertain you with a tour of the facility, but you took a specific fascination with the control rooms. It was a spacious room, lined with monitoring screens above, watching the players’ every move. The masked manager informed you that the place was mostly restricted for other soldiers in the hierarchy, but the Front Man has allowed sponsors a chance to view what controls all the setup. A way of involving them in the game, as he put it. You weren't unnerved by the quiet and stern nature of the managers controlling the games and watching the camera feeds. Executing the plan in your head involved these people, and what unnerved you was how you would be able to do it. You’ve heard about the Front Man’s plan of a more engaging experience beyond viewing pleasure, specifically for the principal sponsors, of course. And it’s good that your father is one of them. Upon taking his place, your main goal was to get as much information as you could get. God knows what dirty schemes the bettors were up to just to earn all that cash. 

A friendly, almost naive interest you were posing seemed to make an impression on the masked manager. You’re young, daddy's spoiled daughter, he's probably thinking. You loved the twisted thrill, your adventure as a spectator. You'd let him think that way as long as it serves you.

“The lights out is about to begin. We advised you to go back to your respective rooms and wait for the announcement of the fourth game. The VIPs will arrive first thing in the morning to join you in the feast,” the manager’s modulated voice vibrated through his mask. Despite his practiced formality, you couldn’t mistake the cracks of human reactions beneath.

“Perhaps, I can stay for longer to watch the lights-out. It’s still early,” you spoke, reading the 7 pm displayed on your watch. “You did mention, after all, that the money increases when players kill each other.”

“That is correct,” he responded.

“Then I’d like to watch how this will go,” you answered shortly. Your eyes followed the careful and anxious movements of each player, staring daggers at each other, pulling all the subtle intimidation tactics from the book.

They have the right to be wary after five players were killed in a bathroom brawl earlier. It was a brutal fight for the votes between the desperate who wanted to continue and the scared who wanted to go home. 

Frankly, all your efforts in taking tabs with the place will go to waste if they end up going home. It wasn’t a matter of human caprice in this situation, but a strong individual motivation. As you expected, Hyun-ju didn’t want to continue. She had had enough when she saw her friend die in front of her. You wanted her to go home and get the money she needs, but now isn't the right time.

When the lights went out, there wasn’t much to observe in the dark except for the vague moving figures caught in the thermal imaging cameras. You heard subtle scuttling on the floor, saw a few sneaky figures creeping in the dark to cross to the other side. 

Then there were screams. A varied crowd of screams, all of them frightened and desperate to survive. They scrambled in the dark, hiding behind a toppled bed for a haven to nurse their wounds. 

You tried to control your impulse, stopping yourself from digging your nails hard into your skin. You’ve seen Hyun-ju's team secretly whispering to one another before lights-out, conjuring a plan to survive the night.

They won’t foolishly join the bloody dispute and grapple for weapons in the dark.

You were offered a seat by the masked manager, which you politely declined, too focused on the screen, trying to find the familiar silhouette of your player. The lights blinked harshly, chaos bathed in stark lighting, cutting across the screen. 

Hyun-ju, where are you?

Your nails dug into your arm until it stung. 

“When would the other soldiers break the fight?” you asked the masked manager, keeping your voice from shaking. 

“The PA will announce shortly.”

The two minutes that passed felt like two hours with many things happening all at once, with dozens of people dropping dead like flies. 

The room cleared, the pink soldiers bursting inside with warning shots. You clutched your arm harder as the camera panned to the dead and unconscious people lying bloody on the floor.

Your breath hitched as you spotted Hyun-ju unconscious with blood on her clothes, nearby another equally bloody player. You felt your own blood bursting like citrus pulp beneath your fingertips, nails digging far too hard that the surface of your skin broke.

Is this the end? You thought to yourself. It can't be. Not when you’ve named things you'd sacrifice to get Hyun-ju alive.

But amongst the guards checking and identifying the dead, you heard another succession of gunshots. With a blink of an eye, Hyun-ju leapt into her feet, shooting with precision using a stolen gun from the guard. Her allies did the same, using upturned beds for cover.

The managers shifted slightly on their seats until the main manager commanded an immediate retreat. The screens burst sharply into static one by one as Hyun-ju shot each of them, hiding the uprising from the view of the managers and you. The next thing you remember was being advised to go back to your quarters. 

But you can’t. Being a spectator was bad enough, but being blind to Hyun-ju's fate was worse. You asked to stay in the room and found yourself a seat at the back, making an excuse about feeling safer in a room with people. 

You had to watch. You had to know.

-

Half an hour later, the screens shifted into different scenes, showing several views of the colorful staircases where a troop of revolutionaries led by Player 456 was bounding towards the captain’s quarters. That too was short-lived when Hyun-ju shot each camera on their way. You bit your lip, the jitters crawling up your knees. 

Despite the soldiers they managed to take down, you knew how capable and prepared their force was. Hyun-ju and her allies won't stand against such a huge system.

Some of the working cameras caught the crossfire between the players and the guards. Far too many gunshots, far more than what your anxieties could take. 

You watched closely as the gunshots dwindled to a few successions, the intervals far and wide. 

They're running out of ammo.

From a far camera, you saw at least four players covering Hyun-ju as she ran back to where they came from.

She’s going back.

You stood up, no longer comfortable at the back, and watched everything unfold. There are better things to do than listen to the pounding in your chest.

“They're probably out of ammo,” the masked manager heard you say. 

“The new batch of soldiers is on the way,” he said shortly with a rough bitterness at the edge of his voice. Even with their meticulous ways, they didn’t expect this revolution.

Be safe, Hyun-ju, you prayed. Prayed to the saints who don't even know you. Prayed to whatever would keep her safe. 

-

When the masked manager asked you for the fifth time to return to your quarters, you ran out of reasons to stay. The broken cameras are under maintenance, and you’ve been staring at static for nothing. Perhaps a way to calm your thoughts and focus on something else, just as hazy.

After a few hours of sleep, someone rang at your door. A circle guard holding a ribboned invitation. You thanked them before closing the door and opening the black envelope. 

It was an invitation from the Frontman. 

-

The Frontman’s quarters had the same black walls and gold accents, but it has a more luxurious and distinct appeal to match his character. With his geometric mask and hooded trench coat, he stood out as a cold, imposing figure at the top of the hierarchy. He spoke in a way that would have left you tongue-tied if you weren't reminded that you’re a VIP, standing on almost the same footing as he is. Thank heavens for small favors, you managed to pick a tailored blazer and wide-leg trousers with similar gold accents that shine in the same light as your golden hyena mask. It’s a good show of the glory and reputation you’re upholding

The Frontman spoke politely with an intelligence layered in each of his sentences. An admirable, reputable tone, you reciprocated with practiced responses and necessary pleasantries. But your time was ticking. Inch by inch, you made yourself known, either through the legacy of your father or your role in the games as one of the new principal sponsors. With his graceful enthusiasm, the Frontman acknowledged you and your major contribution to the fourth game: your father's second gift.

The Starry Night Rooms will be used in the fourth game. The Frontman explained that some sponsors, like your father, took an interest in the facility more than the spectacle of the games and were allowed to participate in the game design.

It was overwhelming to see your own design years ago in flesh, used in a game watched and participated in by many. Your father went that far to show your capabilities, not just to yourself but to others. Later, you'll find an appropriate, equally extravagant way to thank him. But this wasn’t the right time

The impression you were creating in front of the host was no longer for the bet or the recognition. You need to gain connection, to have even a fraction of his control over the games.

Hyun-ju won’t win against such a cruel place without an intervention. Whether in diabolical or divine means, you’re willing to take your chances. Especially now that throughout this conversation, the Frontman’s screen shows the players who joined Player 456’s revolution. Dangerously close to the middle was Player 120. Hyun-ju. Three of the faces weren't grayed, except for three, including her. 

She was an arm’s length from death if she didn’t return to the dormitory.

But even so, she was marked in the Front Man’s books. The moment you sat across the Frontman, you knew you had to do something about it. Clear her name if you must, make her appear the heroine that she is. Someone to root for. Someone worthy of the bold request you will ask of the Front Man. 

“Your father has been a very valuable VIP of the games for many years now,” the Frontman's modulated voice came from the mask. “It is one of his requests to let you immerse yourself in the games according to your liking.

“The VIPs took a huge interest in our proposal to involve them in the games. More commonly, as one of the guards,” the Frontman paused. “And on rare occasions, players.”

“Players?”

“Yes, but it's a risky endeavour,” he responded. “The decision lies in you. We'll ensure your safety either way.”

With that, the Frontman unwittingly handed you an opportunity, the last missing ingredient to the philosopher’s stone, something as sacred as a birth of a striking inspiration among the fireplace embers.

“I’ll be able to decide tomorrow,” you said finally.

He only nodded and answered, “Very well. Good night, Miss L/N.”

You left his quarters before the announcement of another lights-out. With your mask on and a lasting look in the mirror, you finally saw yourself not as a spectator but a true sponsor, a VIP. Someone with power. Then the voices of a hundred ideas refused to hush.

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated, sweethearts <3

You sat down. “Sounds unfair to me. I’m betting a lot of your money on a player I can't help.”

“It’s a matter of whether your luck and intuition will betray you.”

You sipped your coffee. Too bitter. “I don’t have luck.”

“Do you think so?” your father asked as if he wanted a true answer instead of a rhetoric. It made you think if seeing him at your doorstep five years ago wasn’t luck. If landing into a wealthy family like this wasn't luck when all you knew back then was poverty.

“I suppose it likes me occasionally,” you said finally before standing up. “I have a few things to take care of.” 

“Don’t forget to pack,” he called after you, not turning his head. 

“To pack? Why?” 

He still didn’t turn, but you could feel a smile on his lips. 

“It’s part of my graduation gifts. Pack for at least a week's worth of items.”

-

After packing, you took time to review the video of the first game, and then the players’ information. You bit your finger, nervous about Hyun-ju's odds. Despite being an ex-military, you feared for her safety since some of her opponents have equally brutal backgrounds that will probably give them leverage in the game.

Who to eliminate? You asked yourself. As if you have any say on the matter to begin with. 

You turned your tablet off, picked a handbag you own that will fit it for travel. The baggage you packed sat neatly at the foot of your bed. You have a vague idea of what the surprise was, but you will wait for your father's revelation.

Two hours before the second game, you were already sitting in the home theater, basking in the dim light. Thinking of things you’re always thinking in some form or another. Winning and money. But there was something new. 

Cho Hyun-ju. You’ve watched her for far too many times and for far too long in those videos available on the website. In the first game, in the dormitory, when she voted on the blue O. She accepted the risk, in a far heavier way than you did, with her life on the line. You were glad that you placed your bet upon someone willing to fight, but you couldn’t help but think that in a better and less discriminatory world, Hyun-ju wouldn't be there. Maybe she would be somewhere kinder, more sympathetic, somewhere you wouldn't even have a chance of meeting her. For years, you were nurtured with luxury, with pride, with greed, and she doesn't belong there. You belong in the circle of people who wouldn't lift a finger to help her have better chances. 

But you wanted to. You wanted to help her. In your own selfish way, you wanted to help. 

You sighed, looking at your glass brimming to the top with cold water. For years, your wishes were swayed by precaution. Don’t be poor like your mother, don’t be a twisted alcoholic like your father. 

You drank that water and convinced yourself you’re nothing like your father. 

But here you are, waiting for the second death game and wishing for one person's survival just because your money was on the line. 

Greed. You’ve nurtured that one far too much than any of your sins. 

-

The live broadcast began five minutes before your father could arrive, with a drink in hand and a phone pressed to his ear, talking to his staff in the construction company. Such a fitting family business, and you’re the only heir. It’s still music to your ears.

Your dad filled his glass again and ended the call, tossing his phone on the second row seat.

“Another conflict?” You feigned curiosity. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he shook his head, pissed. “No surprises with those incompetent fools.”

“The game hadn't started yet,” you patted on his seat. “Still on the 10-minute team selection.”

“They're working in teams?” your father asked. “Better be good.”

“I hope so,” you said with a true hint of hope, considering that Hyun-ju hasn't found a team member yet. Your eyes followed her whenever the camera caught her recognizable figure. Having witnessed her entire team selection journey, you figured out how hard discrimination goes with the rest of the players. You hoped it wouldn't ruin her chances, or won’t make her a particular target. 

A few minutes passed, and the intercom announced: THE TEAM SELECTION WILL END MOMENTARILY.

It was a relief to find that Hyun-ju found her own team before the timer could end. 

“Your player is coupled with underdogs,” your father observed. Hyun-ju teamed up with a terrified-looking girl, an old lady, and a man who didn't look like much. Your father pointed to the arriving fifth member running her mouth, continuing, “And a freak.”

“No need to remind me,” you breathed out a laugh despite the audible pounding in your chest. It crept uncomfortably up to your skull. To break the silence, you asked, “You don’t think she’s an underdog, do you?”

“120? Don’t think so,” your father said, not particularly caring to give a reasonable justification. “She looks tough.”

“She is,” you said. She should be.

When the game began, you thought right away that the five-minute time allowed for all five games was another big risk. Except for worrying about your teammates doing well, you also had to do well and accomplish the task in half a minute to guarantee at least one-fifth of the team's success.

The pink guards began linking the feet of the first two teams, securing each with a lock.

“I don’t like this,” you voiced a little too loudly.

“You’ve always hated working in teams,” your father commented.

“Well, it’s better than relying on others.”

“But you don’t get to blame anyone else when everything fails.”

“That’s right,” you sipped on your water. “Sounds better to me.” 

With the gunshot as cue, the first round began. You’ve figured out the two teams won't make it the moment the 2-minute mark hits. Your father was too engrossed in watching the reaction on the players’ faces. It felt wrong to join him with the same enthusiasm, especially since the camera has a special way of focusing on the players’ faces in a way that they seemed to be looking at you. As if you’re involved in the game, as if holding your attention was vital to their chances, as if you would help them.

I wish, you thought, as the five minutes ended and the lives of ten people followed. I wish I could help Hyun-ju with this. 

Before Hyun-ju's turn, you had to get another glass of water. Your unusually dry throat will kill you before getting to witness her win.

You came back quickly, just in time to see her tying her hair back in a slow, deliberate way. Your eyes traveled to the silky hair framing her face, the soft roundness of her eyes, down to the beautiful shape of her lips. She spoke with her teammates with a determination that only drew your attention closer. As if you’re truly seeing her for the first time, seeing her as Hyun-ju and not just Player 120 with potential. It was easy to picture what her life would be after the games. To see her shopping for fine clothes, cosmetics, and jewelry. To see her polite but firm femininity despite a prejudicial society.

She will win. She had to, you thought. But this time, you weren't thinking about money. 

-

“They're off to a good start,” your father observed after Player 007 passed the Flying Stone in the second hit. “A very composed group.”

You nodded, “They're more composed than I expected.”

The old lady in the middle did fine with the gonggi as well. They have enough time. Just enough to make it through the ribbon and survive.

But it started to go downhill with the fourth player. You noticed right away that she was wrapping the thread the wrong way. Even with your limited childhood outdoors, you’ve seen kids on your street play with the same toy. Observed them curiously from a window.

“The freak’s doing it all wrong,” your father shook his head. “I knew she was bad luck from the start. Shaman, my ass.”

You clutched your seat too tightly, nails digging crescents on the soft armrest. 

What a bitch, you muttered under your breath. When Player 044 burst into one of her crazy shaman hysterics, you were too transfixed on the time being wasted, figuring out what sort of miracle should descend for them to make it out of the first game.

Then, you hear a slap cut across the screen. Then you saw Hyun-ju slap 044, much harder than the first. She picked up the spinning top and said, “If you give up, I’ll kill you before your gods do.”

She thrust the spinning top back to Player 044 and hissed for her to hurry. The crazy shaman was too stunned to speak; she immediately wiped her bleeding nose and came to her senses.

You smiled widely, sipping on your water, and wishing it was wine, “That’s my girl.”

Your father clapped you on the back, cheering along the crowd as they repeated one, two, one, two over and over. 

In the fifth game, only 14 seconds were left. You looked at Hyun-ju’s face and trusted her. Hyun-ju felt so near yet so hopelessly far. Seeing her fight for her life on your screen made you powerless all over again. 

Everyone cheered as the two teams made it to the pink ribbon. Human empathy is truly fascinating. Half of those people won’t make it, but they found relief and energy in the players they are witnessing.

Hyun-ju survived. She survived, and you were proud. Proud of her, proud that your name was written beside her profile in that betting website. Proud that the rest of the VIPs knew she belonged to you. 

She survived two games without your help, but there were four more to go. You grew restless with the knowledge that you’re just another spectator. You’ve run out of wishful thinking that her stamina and composure were enough to survive the rest of the rounds. 

In some way, your intuition managed to creep in among the present relief of her survival, creeping on the surface just to tell you that Hyun-ju would not survive the rest without some sort of intervention. The oracle seemed to have given you a prophecy, a terrible omen which you don’t believe in. It was the sense of reason disguised as something more abstract and shallow.

“Are you going to tell me why you asked me to pack, or is that still a surprise for later?” you asked casually as your father watched. You’re itching to know if you were right.

“Oh, that,” he recalled and pulled out a ticket from his shirt pocket. It’s a ticket for a trip to South Korea. “You can witness all of this live, not just on the screen.”

He smirked and said, “But that's not exactly my gift to you. You'll see it the moment you arrive there.” 

He pointed to the screen and seemed happy with himself. All you had to do was ask a few questions, and he would spill the truth of his surprise gift.

“Won’t you come there with me?” you asked.

He shook his head, “Can’t. It clashed with my schedule at the company. Besides, I think you'll have fun on your own there.”

You smiled. It was one of the rare times your father acknowledged that you weren't a little girl anymore.

“Won’t you give me any hint?” you asked. “I’m not fond of surprises.”

He seemed to consider and lowered the volume of the live video. 

“Remember back when you were 19 and you gave me this elaborate plan for an escape room on my birthday?”

“The Starry Night Rooms?” you chuckled, remembering the imaginative escape room ideas you and your father had bonded over. “It was my favorite back then.”

“Yes, and I liked it very much,” he said, then sighed, as if he was holding himself back for the rest of the information. 

“Did you keep my drawings?” you asked curiously, hoping he'd say yes.

He smiled and said, “Let’s just say, you'll see it again tomorrow.”

You caught your surprised and confused reflection in his sleek, polished vehicle as he began talking. It went off to an awkward start like any conversation. Formal greeting, introduction, and his intention. He is the talking email letter structure you learned about last semester. You guess he was a few decades short of practice with talking to a daughter after he abandoned you to the care of your loving but otherwise poor mother, working on a teaching job. The job you began to hate because it squeezed compassion and time from your mother, all for barely a token of gratitude. Partly the reason why you barely stay afloat.

When he took the necessary pause after his intention and his offer of a new life, it did not make sense to you. Countless questions floated around in your head, waiting their turn to be spoken, but all that came was a shaky whisper, “I don’t need you.”

You slammed the door shut, all the good manners your mother taught you flung into oblivion. The tiniest whispers in your head broke the dam loose, and then anger is all there is. It has been the constant thing tying you to yourself. 

There was anger every time you smiled and pretended that you were your mother’s perfect child.

There was anger every time you stayed up at night thinking of the father that abandoned you, not because you needed a father figure in your life but because you needed the financial assistance he wasn’t giving.

You’ve seen your mother work two jobs, come home drained of the joy you remember her for. You’ve learned to maintain the house because there is nobody else even if you hated this motherly job to the point of tears.

You’ve cried soundlessly on your bed and swore to your pillows that you will tear out your uterus if it ever bears a child. You weren't meant to keep a home, rot indoors, or do chores; you weren't meant to spend your hours for survival while everyone else seizes the day.

You were meant for more. 

When your father and his bodyguards went for the third time to your doorstep, your mother was crying in the kitchen. She knew this day would come. You’ve always been ambitious like your father, after all. 

-

Once you ride your father's spacious car, you begin to notice your stark difference to him and his status quo. You chose your best casual clothes yet you looked like a washcloth next to him, even your belongings were stuffed like rags at the back of his car. 

You didn’t know what to do with your hands, but they certainly weren't meant to touch his pristine car. Plus, fiddling might make a bad impression on you.

The conversations you had blurred and were later flung to the back of your head. 

I shouldn't have left, you thought. 

You prayed for a quick way to fit in this new life without embarrassing yourself, without regrets, without damage to your resolve. 

All you wanted in your life was money and a comfortable life for your mother. 

But that was five years ago. It seemed like weeks since you saw that car in your dusty driveway. Your father spoiled you more than enough in those five years until you've known nothing but luxury. At first, they were material objects and experiences— food worth a month of your mother's paycheck, a wardrobe that could provide for at least three poor families a comfortable life. Being on a plane was no different than being in a car— available whenever you like. For a while, you consider yourself someone on top of the world, along with the countless rich people your father knew. Five years ago, you were the cheap, naive lovechild of your father from some woman. These people looked at you like prey, like dust under their name-brand shoes. But in those five years, you worked harder than you ever had to. Getting top grades in a prestige school, keeping up your image, watching yourself in the eyes of others. None of it was easy. 

But ever since you became your father's pride and joy, his daughter, an aspiring architect full of potential, you never wanted to go back to a life without those sweet melodies of praise and expensive comforts.

That was something your mother didn't see in you, or at least, your poverty-stricken situation didn't let her see. 

You were meant for more. 

For success, for luxury, for everything. 

So when your father mentioned one of his graduation gifts to his only daughter, it occurred to you that it would be more unusual and fulfilling than a new car or the rarest jewelry. 

Instead, he handed you a black rectangular box tied with a soft pink bow. When you opened the box, three shapes lit up in bright pink: a circle, a triangle, and a square. Embossed in gold was the acronym VIP. 

-

The luxe home theater you designed occupied the most space on the second floor of your home. You proposed a few tweaks early on to give the place a more luxurious look, your father would surely approve of, complete with modern sectionals and recliners. The wall-to-wall carpeting sported a muted palette, emphasizing the screen as the tray ceiling glowed a soft orange. 

Your dad took a seat near the wine bar, a drink already in hand, the moment the screen flashed with a five-minute countdown. The same three shapes appeared on the screen, animated with smooth transitions with undeniably sharp angles. It was hypnotizing to just stare at the pink and black animated screen, so you poured yourself a drink, expecting the worst.

The wine bar featured a physics desk ornament with a similar tone to a perpetual motion device. It shows a little boy and a little girl playing jump rope with a bunny. Something was unsettling about the sharp angle of the rope resembling a coping saw or the too-wide smiles in the children's faces, contrasting with the bunny’s rather fearful demeanor. Your father was quite fond of the strangest things. He managed to insert a few of his favorite taxidermies in the home theater, which always seems to be looking at you. 

With the desire to involve you further in his world, you’ve had a fair share of experiences in watching gladiator battles with strong and extinct animals, or seeing people fight in arenas only to be stopped at the edge of death. All in the comfort of your recliners in the home theater. In the silence of the night, you remember the bloody heaps that used to be animals, the desperate faces of people fearing for their lives, and you wonder if there is any worse violence you have yet to see. 

The moving shapes on the screen looked innocuous enough, just basic shapes suggesting elementary geometry. You sank into the chair beside your father, your glass wet and freezing against your grip. When the screen hit the two-minute mark, you noticed, or at least made an assumption, what was so wrong with those shapes. 

The circle moves almost as light as a noose, the triangle has sharp vertices resembling the tip of a blade whenever it cuts across the screen, and the square looks like a room with no circulatory elements when it transforms into a cube-like shape. 

When the screen flashed 00:00, your fear materialized into moving pixels. Your dad cheered at the screen, his drink spilling. 

What you will witness is more than just one of his leisurely games. 

-

A few things circled in your head the moment the screen flashed the live video: the first was the screaming man in green uniform in the middle of the crowd of at least 400 players. 

“Freeze!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Of course. It was a Red Light, Green Light game after all. He sounded like an army commander gathering his troops’ attention to ensure a successful battle. 

Second was the fear in those people's faces. You allowed yourself a laugh, reminded of the time you almost couldn’t hide your distress at Saturday poker nights with some of your relatives, or perhaps the screaming man in the middle was scaring them.

“What’s his deal?” You sipped from your glass, the stack of ice cubes touching your lips. 

Your dad sipped on his own glass deeply and beamed as though you asked him about his most recent taxidermy collection. 

“He’s a player in the previous games,” he smiled. “Tough and crazy.”

“Previous games?” you smiled, not cracking your lips full enough. You could not fathom how twisted your father's interests were, so you approached with adequate conscientiousness.

Before he could answer, a gunshot echoed in the room. 

“First kill,” your father chuckled. The loud gunshot came from the video. The speakers strategically installed in the home theater just made it sound too realistic… too near.

You watched intently this time, truly observing the set-up instead of just being a passive viewer to an obviously well-crafted game. The arena itself had you wondering how big the place must be, and how much money was put into the robotic doll turning her head at the players. 

Someone fired another gunshot, and the rest came in succession. You began to notice players scrambling away from the arena, toppling over each other, and screaming over the gunshots. The blood was too real, the screams were too convincing. You set down your glass on the holder before it could drop from your hand and onto the carpeted floor.

“Is this real?” It felt silly to ask; it made you sound like the little girl you used to be. Too naive, too scared. Your father peeled his eyes from the screen. You had his eyes, down to the color and shape. But now, as a grin curled his lips, you realized the only difference. 

His eyes were cold and empty. Cold as if somebody had died there a long time ago. 

He clapped your shoulder and laughed. It made you feel sillier. 

“Well, of course, it was!” He pointed at the screen. “Look at all those people.”

Before the doll could speak, the camera zoomed around the carnage, the pools of blood, the lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Your stomach churned, your dinner right at your throat, which you immediately drowned with the strong alcohol in your glass. Goosebumps crawled on your skin, and the room became too cold for your liking. 

The game was not as bloody as the animal gladiator fights your father favored, or as intense as watching people throw fists at each other. 

But it was a massacre, dozens of lives lost within a few minutes as a faint background music hummed a rendition of Fly Me to the Moon.

You forced yourself to match your father's enthusiasm, trying to smile as he laughs when in reality, all you’re waiting for is an excuse to go to the bathroom. 

“Oh, best part,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the screen as dozens of desperate people scrambled for the pink finish line. It was the ten-second mark.

You looked this time, a few more seconds before this game ends. 

It’s funny that your desperation goes as far as retreating to the bathroom while the people on your screen just wanted to survive. 

Before the doll could activate the time stamp, you saw the shouting man cross the arena again. Player 456. He was quiet this time, determined to help an injured player. When the timer flickered to life once more, they stood up and almost stumbled if it wasn’t for the tall woman who came to their rescue. 

You watched her. Truly watched her as she supported the injured man as the doll looked on.

Player 120. You can't see most of her face because of the hair curtained around her frame. Courageous, or foolish, you didn’t know exactly how it would differ in her situation.

Player 456 seemed determined to save everyone from the beginning, but this woman had no obligation to do so.  Perhaps it was true that good people always let their altruistic nature win even in the most life-threatening situations.

“Hm, looks like you’ve got an eye on a worthy bet,” your father observed, smiling almost proudly as if he was seeing a version of himself in you. 

“Excuse me?” Your eyes remained on Player 120, as if holding your stare mattered to her survival.

“You get to bet after the first game,” he explained, pointing at the screen.

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the five-second stamp resumed as the three players raced to make it to the finish line just in time. 

They did so, a hair away from imminent death. Slumped on the sandy ground and panting.

GAME OVER. The screen flashed. It must be a wave of relief to those people in the arena. And you can retreat to the nearest bathroom now if not for the flurry of curiosity bouncing in your head.

A few seconds later, the man Player 456 and Player 120 risked their lives to save was shot in the head. His blood splattered the faces of his two saviors. 

Player 444, eliminated. 

All of that risk for nothing.

Your father reached something on the second row of seats behind him and handed it to you. It was a 12-inch tablet opened to a betting site with the pictures of players along their respective numbers. The same three ominous shapes served as the website banner. The eliminated players have their pictures grayed against the bright pink and green of the remaining living players. 

You scrolled through dozens of faces before reaching Player 120. You clicked on the small circled i near her name for more details. It has the basic information, background, and how many times she won at ddakji. Your eyebrows rose but did not question anything further, all of this felt like a strange nightmare from the beginning.

Cho Hyun-ju. Player 120.

Even as you retreat to the bathroom, you cannot get her name out of your head. You ended up staring at the mirror over the sink, fiddling with the light settings. 

Your father left you the tablet and, in a rather serious tone contrary to most of his moods, said, “Choose wisely. That game costs some money.”

He showed you how much was at stake, but it didn’t worry you at first. It wasn’t a particular sum that would cause bankruptcy and eventual poverty. That possibility itself is a far-fetched idea. But then you saw all the money other bettors are willing to bet and heard your father's next words: “If your player makes it out as the victor, all that money will go straight to your bank account.”

He grinned, ruffled your hair as he always does, and said good night, carrying a half-empty bottle of whiskey on his way out. 

Even with your beyond comfortable means, all that money was tempting. It was enough to successfully establish an architectural firm right away without crawling your way to the top and relying on your father's money. 

Your father's graduation gift was a chance– an intangible yet so hopelessly rare gift. 

As you sat in bed, you read everything about the remaining players and trusted your judgment. Your father always believed in your ability to make intelligent choices from the day you chose him over your mother.

A countdown began to appear at the top of the website. A tormenting eight hours before the betting ends. 

You wouldn't waste away such an opportunity, especially now that no one has bet on Player 120 yet. You sighed, clicked her picture again, and entered the amount of the bet before verifying your vote with a green check. Beside her player number was an icon indicating your bet, and a golden hyena avatar indicating your role as a bettor. 

Sleep hardly came that night, especially when a special announcement was made at the 4-hour mark of the countdown. 

THE SECOND GAME BEGINS TOMORROW. 

At the 2-hour mark, you gave up and tried to sleep. You’ve been staring at all the architectural plans pasted on your walls for far too long, imagining everything you’ve labored for erected in your name. A company of your own, a success you’ve only dreamed of.

You better win, Cho Hyun-ju, you thought to yourself. Win for us.