Chapter Text
Life doesn't discriminate
Between the Sinners and the Saints
It takes and it takes and it takes
A glass of whisky on his table. The giant screen was on, monitoring what was happening in the dorms, after the rebellion his guards had now tamed and extinguished once and for all.
Yet In-ho couldn’t concentrate on anything happening on his screen. His mask in his hand, he kept staring at the chunky, heavy piece of plastic with agony of the mind.
He had been merely four days away from this room, yet it had felt like months. Back into his golden walls, his little sanctuary away from the world, where he could expiate his sin by sitting in a cage of make-beliefs and lies he told himself.
He had shot Jung-bae. His hand had trembled, ever so slightly, but he was doing the correct thing. The right step to take. Gi-hun had wanted to play the hero, so be it. In-ho had to make that idealistic fool understand that life wasn’t a hero’s journey. That not everyone deserves to be saved. There is no gratification, no compensation for good deeds.
The man had brought him on himself. He had deserved it. There was no question about that in In-ho’s mind.
Then why did Gi-hun’s horrified screams and wails keep echoing in his mind?
*
Seong Gi-hun felt like his soul was floating out of his own body.
He was aware of the pain throughout all his body. He was aware of the pain in his arm where the bullet had grazed him and finally, he was aware of the strong grip the guards had on both his arms, as they dragged him along with them through an infinite sequence of corridors.
Why hadn’t the frontman shot him right there and then? He understood why he killed Jung-bae first. There was no doubt in Gi-hun’s mind; the Frontman wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer before putting an end to him. He was sure he would have made his guards shoot him too, after forcing him to see his best friend die before his eyes.
But all they did was hoist him up and force him to walk, to who knew where. Was killing him when he was on his knees not enough? Did the VIPs want some sort of special spectacle? Perhaps torture, before the inevitable murder?
Gi-hun didn’t care anymore. He had failed. His friends had lost their lives because he had dragged them with him against that impossible foe. Whatever torture was in store for him now, the man was sure nothing could hurt him more than knowing that.
The staircases seemed to never end. Then an elevator which coating was vastly different from anything else he had seen in that building so far. It brought them to one final corridor, more luxurious and fine than any other floor. Was that the VIPs floor? Were they already seated, waiting for the show of his execution?
One of the guards opened one of the many doors, where they shoved him into. His hands were already tied, handcuffed behind his back, and once he fell on the floor, they tied his feet as well.
The room wasn’t particularly big, but not small either. The complete lack of furniture made it seem bigger, though. The walls of the were covered in a black geometrical pattern. The floor was also black, and a chandelier covered the room in an unnatural, golden glow.
Once the guards had left and slammed the door behind them, Gi-hun was left alone with his thoughts. His guilt, his regrets. How could things have gone so wrong? They were doing so well. If only they hadn’t run out of ammo. Dae-ho… what happened to him? Had he been killed on the way back? Gi-hun couldn’t think of that. He couldn’t endure to the weight of another life on his conscience.
Not after Jung-bae.
Not after Sang-woo.
Not after Sae-byoek.
The cold from the floor seeped deep into his bones. Exhaustion was overcoming him.But he couldn’t sleep. Not yet. He was waiting, waiting for the man who had ruined his life. If he wanted to kill the Frontman to stop the games before, now it was personal. He was going to make him suffer every possible pain for killing his best friend. Even if it was the last thing he did in his life.
After a while, two circle guards opened the door, bringing something in. It was his bed, from the dormitory. What did that mean? What would he need the bed for? To sleep comfortably one last time before dying? How gracious of them.
“Don’t try anything funny.” Another guard, a triangle one, pointed his rifle at him while the circle guards freed his feet and one of his hands, securing the other shackle to the bedframe.
Once again, the guards left and he was alone.
His wound hurt. And it was probably going to get infected if left untreated, but did that matter? After all the people he had failed, after all the bloodshed, what did his small wound matter? And after all, he wasn’t going to stay alive much longer.
The door opened once more. Gi-hun could tell even without looking that it wasn’t a guard. It was too slow, almost unsure. Could it be one of the VIPs? Perhaps, they had gotten tired of just watching. Perhaps, they wanted to feel the thrill of killing someone with their own hands. He wondered how much they paid for that.
“Has your spark finally left you?”
That voice. That altered, inhuman voice.
As anger flew in his veins once again, Gi-hun’s tiredness washed away as he lounged forward, forgetting he had been handcuffed to the bedframe. When his attack was stopped by the constraints, he used the only weapon he had left; his voice.
He screamed and screamed, like a wild, wounded animal.
“Never mind then,” the Frontman said. It was hard to tell, with how the voice was distorted, but he sounded almost amused.
“You bastard! I’m gonna fucking kill you!”
“You just don’t know when to give up, do you? You’re in no position to make threats.”
Logically, Gi-hun knew that. But he wasn’t the type to sit around and do nothing. Not when he had so much rage inside his body that needed to be let out.
“You killed my best friend!” Gi-hun yelled, his voice broken.
The frontman had a pink briefcase with a white cross on it. He let it fall on the bed at the end of the bed, far from Gi-hun’s reach, then opened it.
“At least show me your face! Let me see your face, coward!”
Ignoring the other man’s thrashing and yelling, the Frontman opened the briefcase that was nothing more than a fancy first aid kit. He picked up a syringe, filled it with a clear liquid, then gave it a light smack with his finger to ensure any air bubble would come to the surface. Before Gi-hun could react to that, the man had already sank the needle in his shoulder. The man screamed, not because it hurt, but because it was his only weapon. As the Frontman pulled away, he reached for the black mask, aiming to remove it but only grazing it with his fingertips.
Gi-hun groaned in frustration.
“That should make you stay put for a while.”
“What… what the heck did you inject me with?”
“Just a muscle relaxer. So you won’t try anything funny as I patch you up.”
Gi-hun looked up at him, muted anger and unadulterated hatred in his eyes.
“Fuck you.”
Once he was sure the drug was taking effect and the man wasn’t going to make any abrupt movement again, the Frontman knelt next to Gi-hun. He rolled up his sleeve up to his shoulder, and the man hissed in pain. The cut was deeper than it looked, you could almost see the bone. Carefully, he cleaned the wound thoroughly before stitching it. Luckily, the drug had not only served to calm Gi-hun down, it had also numbed the pain.
The masked man could feel Gi-hun’s knifelike eyes on him as he was dressing the wound.
“You don’t have minions to do this job?”
“I’m kind of short-staffed after that stunt you and your friends pulled.”
He would have laughed at his own joke, but that was Young-il’s thing, not the Front Man’s.
But Gi-hun did laugh. For once, he laughed at his pitiful jokes. Whether it was from the intoxication of the drug, or because the nervousness accumulated, In-ho couldn’t tell.
Gi-hun’s eyes shifted, from the black mask to his hands that were wrapping the gauze around his wound.
The frontman appeared to be left-handed. It was such a small thing, but for some reason, it sent a chill down Gi-hun’s spine.
To distract himself from that thought, his eyes went back to his mask.
“It must be hard to do that with that mask. Can you even see? You should remove it,” he said, almost tauntingly.
“I can see just fine.”
“Remove it. Coward. Let me see your face.” Gi-hun was ever defiant, even if he had to struggle against the drug in his system to get the words out.
“You don’t want to see it.”
“I do. I fucking do.”
Gi-hun’s eyes were struggling to stay open. The masked man was starting to wonder if he had given him too high a dose, he was supposed to calm him, not put him to sleep. He needed him awake a little longer, that night.
There were some recordings he had carefully chosen for him, that he needed to show him.
“Look at you. You could have lived happily. Seen your daughter. Built a better life, a life hundreds of people can only dream of. Yet here you are, bloodied, beaten, and restrained, and for what?”
“For saving those people you consider trash.”
The way Gi-hun stressed the word you, as if to say that was just what In-ho thought, but it didn’t correspond to the truth.
Gi-hun was wrong, and In-ho was going to demonstrate it. He was going to bring him to his knees, to break him just like he had been broken before. Maybe then, and only then he would finally understand.
“These people you so desperately want to save, are you sure they deserve to be saved?”
“Yes. They all do.”
The Frontman took out something from his pocket, that looked like a usb key,
“Let me show you something.”
Gi-hun hadn’t noticed the screen in the room, he only did when the Frontman turned it on.
“Since your friend destroyed all the cameras, I had to rely on the ones from the guards. But the footage is good enough anyway.”
The screen showed what was clearly the dorm, recording from the point of view of a guard, who had the camera more or less at the same height of his sternum.
Gi-hun sighed in relief when he saw Jun-hee, Yong-sik, Geum-ja, and Hyun-ju completely unarmed. They were gathered around a coffin, and his heart sank. Who could that be? Someone who died from the light-out massacre? He scanned through the crowd in the distance, and although the clarity wasn’t the best, he was able to clearly spot Dae-ho.
Then Jun-hee screamed.
It was a short, high-pitched scream, and she covered her mouth with her hand soon after, her eyes filling with tears.
“Mr. Jung-bae?!”
Gi-hun’s eyes darkened. He slowly turned his head to look at the Frontman, eyes full of questions and hate. Jung-bae didn’t die in the dormitory. Why were they showing his body to the others?
“Players, what you witness before you is what remains of those who broke the rules,” a guard started talking.
Of course.
It was the same nonsense Gi-hun had already heard three years ago. All that talk about fairness, about equality. But he could see what this spectacle truly was: a warning. Make an example out of Jung-bae’s body, so the players would think twice before starting another rebellion.
Then the guards started taking all the bodies away, including Jung-bae’s. It was only then, that the piggy bank was seen again, and more dirty, soulless money began being poured in it.
The voice on the speaker announced the deaths of the people who had died during the night’s massacre, then moved on to the rebels who had perished during the rebellion.
The following players were eliminated: player 072, player 206, player 047, player 015, player 324, player 145, player 246, player 390, player 001.
Geum-ja was crying silently while hugging and comforting a tearful Jun-hee.
“Wait, what about Gi-hun?” Hyun-ju asked. When the guard didn’t give a single sign of acknowledgement, she realized they didn’t know, and most of all didn’t care, about their given names.
“Player 456,” she corrected herself, “was he eliminated?”
“The eliminated players are the following. 072, 206, 047, 015, 324, 145, 246, 390, 001.”
“So where is 456?”
“We cannot answer this question.”
Gi-hun stared at the Frontman quizzically. What did that mean? Why couldn’t they tell he had been captured? Surely, letting the players know he was being kept prisoner, and lately probably tortured, would have been a great deterrent if anyone ever thought of starting another uprising. So, why the mystery?
Looking at the Frontman for answers was useless. That black mask was like a wall of stone. Hiding his heart and soul, if he even had any.
“What does that mean? Where is Mr. Gi-hun?” Jun-hee asked, her voice small, as she held a hand on her stomach.
“Ha! I knew that nutjob was a plant!” Said player number 100. “He was working for these guys all along!”
“Hey! Careful what you say!” Dae-ho, who had been silent in the background the entire time, came out from where he was hiding. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks still wet from tears and blood.
“Why should I? It was clear from the start! You guys were just too stupid to see it!” Player 100 reiterated.
“He’s right!” Player number 226 jumped on his feet, to back up his ally. “Past winner my ass! He knew about the first game because he works here! How else could he have gotten that far?”
“You piece of shit!” Dae-ho cried, “When Byeong-su wanted to shoot you all he put himself in front of the fucking rifle to protect you! Even now you’re doubting his good intentions?!”
“Tell us then, why else wasn’t he killed among the others who joined his suicidal mission?! Asshole’s probably putting on his pink suit as we speak!”
The ex-marine was about to attack the man when he was stopped by Hyun-ju.
“Dae-ho, stop trying to argue with these people,” Hyun-ju said, putting her hands on his shoulders and dragging him back to the X side. “They’ll never listen.”
“Try to deny it all you want, but you’ve been played! Don’t you see he only helped during the first game to earn your trust?” Player 226 continued. “And when he did, he brought you all to the slaughter!”
“And what would the point of that be, huh!?” Myung-gi tried to argue. “For what!? For getting us all killed later? More players dying only benefits you O bastards, not the game makers!”
Even the Os had to admit Myung-gi had made a solid argument, one not even they could debate.
“Man, you shut them up, that’s incredible…” Another X told him as they all retreated to their respective sides.
But it was clear something was broken. It was clear doubt had been planted in their minds.
The frame changed, and this time the shot seemed to be recorded from a fixed camera above the beds, one Hyun-ju hadn’t shot. So there were other cameras, aside from the more visible ones? Cameras so small, they couldn’t even notice them? It sent a chill down Gi-hun’s spine. The angle showed Gi-hun’s friends, all gathered around, sitting together, unable to sleep.
“Yong-sik, are you alright?” His mother asked him.
“Maybe… maybe number 100 had a point…” He began but was back-slapped on the shoulder by Geum-ja.
“Don’t you dare! I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you if it wasn’t for Mr. Gi-hun!”
“But… you have to admit it’s weird he was the only one who wasn’t killed…! And the rebellion was his idea!”
“What do you mean the only one who wasn’t killed? Do Hyun-ju and Dae-ho here seem dead to you?!”
“But they came back before the guards arrived, that’s why they were spared. Everyone else out there was killed.”
Geum-ja was about to retort, when another X player spoke. “He’s right. It is weird.” There wasn’t rage or malice in his words, but almost a tired defeat.
“I think so too. He was the leader of the rebellion, they would have wanted his head first. The fact he wasn’t eliminated is weird.” A woman with the X said.
Geum-ja and the others looked to tired to retort. The old woman just limited herself to giving the others dirty looks while Hyun-ju comforted Jun-hee, who was sniffling and rubbing her eyes.
In-ho turned the screen off, and the air was tense. Gi-hun didn’t speak. Just looked up at him with an expression In-ho found hard to read. He was almost itching to take off his mask, just so he could see better.
“See? You’ve done nothing but help these ungrateful bastards. Yet it took so little, for them to start doubting you.”
Gi-hun couldn’t deny he felt hurt. He had expected something like that from the Os, especially from player 100, that man never liked him. But he had never expected it from Yong-sik, nor had he ever expected so many of the Xs to agree.
“I don’t blame them. ”
His answer peeved him. He was never under the impression Gi-hun’s spirit would be easy to break. On the contrary, for a man to come back to a place like that, meant having incredible mental strength. But for him not to be shaken, not even a little bit, by what he had just heard? It bothered In-ho greatly. However, he had other cards up his sleeve he could play.
“Who I blame is you and your mind games.”
In-ho had hoped Gi-hun would elaborate a little more on that, but the man was breathing heavily, battling to stay awake. Beads of sweat started forming behind his mask; had he fucked up with the tranquilizer? Gi-hun didn’t look good. Luckily, they had a doctor on the island, he’d make sure to send him to check on the man as soon as he could.
“Maybe you should sleep on it,” he said, trying not to let his anger transpire from his voice, as he turned his back and left.
“Wait…!”
In-ho stopped just as he was about to shut the door behind him.
“There is a pregnant girl in your game,” Gi-hun said, heaving through his lungs. “Did you know that? You wouldn’t stop the games even for her?”
In-ho’s jaws clenched.
“In this game, everyone is equal. Jun-hee is a player like everybody else.”
The frontman slammed the door, a little harder than he had initially intended to. The thud made Gi-hun jump, then he was left alone with the realization of what the Frontman had just said.
“Jun-hee…?”