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Minsu's son of a bitch.
He swears the bastard must have been hiding the fact that he played sports, because there's no way someone could throw a heavy metal cross across the bridge so easily.
He must have played volleyball, basketball, something!
The bastard threw the cross almost to the end of the bridge. Namgyu was so focused on not falling, so relieved to have made it through the hole, that he didn't even realize where he was. When he realized it, he had already crossed the bridge, throwing himself far enough to roll on the ground and hit his back on the base of the giant doll.
He gets up shakily and coughs dryly from the sudden lack of air. His legs are gone, so he drags himself as if he didn't even have them, until he touches the base of the doll, where he had nearly broken his back moments before.
Namgyu grumbles, irritated by the excited shouts of the other players. Some hug each other, others cry. The bastards must think that if even a broken addict like him could make it across, they can too.
Bunch of losers.
Adrenaline and withdrawal dull his senses. A quick glance at the rowdy crowd was a mistake. His vision is double and blurry, a result of the warm pain in his shoulder.
He tries to ignore MG Coin's smile. He must be hallucinating. That lunatic who came back to die has something wrapped around his chest, ready to jump. It must be the child, he thinks. The guards are truly sadistic to leave a baby in his hands. He can't see Minsu's crying face, but he can imagine his face: disbelieving, scared as hell, probably pissing his pants right now. If he gets past, Namgyu swears to himself he'll kill him like he did that bitch Semi.
But for now, there's something more important.
The cross. He finally has it.
He kisses the necklace, enjoying the cool touch of the metal. It must be dirty after being with that bowl cut boy for so long, but he doesn't care.
A smile breaks across his face. Finally, he no longer has to deal with these bad feelings, with this physical and emotional pain. He no longer has to remember the blood, the death.
He no longer has to remember that everyone is dead. That he'll be next.
He opens the cross with a wide smile and a false gleam in his eyes. But his expression slowly fades as reality hits him.
The cross is empty.
He has no drugs.
He has no drugs…
He has no… drugs…
He has nothing left to numb his feelings.
He no longer has Thanos.
Minsu didn't think much when he threw the necklace. Caught up in the euphoria of his own revenge and the remnants of the drug, he didn't realize he'd thrown the necklace too far, almost at the end of the bridge. He wished it had fallen at the beginning—that way, he could have more clearly seen the despair filling the killer's eyes as he realized his only source of happiness was empty.
The boy underestimated himself. And he could only watch from afar, seeing Namgyu leaning against the doll, like a dying man, opening the cross and finding… nothing.
There was satisfaction. Sadistic. In a way he never thought he would feel.
His hands are sweaty, and the pill slowly disintegrates between his fingers. The other players prepare to continue the game. That man jumps with the child in his arms, but he doesn't care, he can't bring himself to care. His eyes are still, frozen in the same direction, waiting to see what Namgyu will do next.
It's hard to breathe.
Not the kind where you hyperventilate or panic, but the kind of silent suffering that doesn't even let the sound of air pass through.
His chest hurts. Everything hurts.
He was wrong. He's the failure.
A drug addict, so trapped in his own mind that he's forgotten reality.
He swallows hard, feeling a lump in his throat, as all the facts of his life flood back.
He's a failure of a son. A failure of a brother. A failure of a friend. A failure of a human.
The marks on his arm are evidence. The blood staining his shirt is worse evidence.
There's no way he'll make it to the next game. He's more likely to go into cardiac arrest. His struggles with withdrawal have always ended badly.
Maybe it would be better to just end it all once and for all. At least he wouldn't feel the pain anymore.
Yeah… he's going to do it.
With effort, he drags himself forward, using his hands to propel his legs in the right direction. He wishes, at the very least, he didn't look so pathetic. With difficulty, he manages to stand. Now for the hardest part: walking. He no longer cares if he looks pathetic as he drags his feet to the edge. He knows he lost his shoe somewhere along the way, the thick white one, like grandma's slippers.
It's good to feel the cold floor on his bare skin.
Before, he was afraid of that hand-painted floor, as if it were something out of a surrealist painting. But now… now it seemed calm.
He didn't want to die. He never did. Even now, he doesn't.
Only this seems easier.
It's high enough that he won't feel the pain of falling. His brain will shatter like jelly on the floor.
Just one more step.
And it will all be over…
"Boy, what do you think you're doing?!" Suddenly, that beautiful flower painting wasn't so close anymore. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he was pulled back, and a sharp pain shot through his arm where he was grabbed. "Do you want to die?!" A male voice. Loud. Loud enough to irritate. He's not a child to be treated like this.
He doesn't respond. There's nothing to respond to. The answer is obvious: He wants to die. And that's the problem: those who want to die never succeed. Unless they do the work themselves.
"Are you okay?" Something changed. The tone softened, now calmer, more controlled.
It was then that he realized he was shaking. His face was wet. He was sure it was sweat, because his eyes were burning from holding back tears. Their eyes didn't meet, but he felt the other watching him.
The number on his jersey gave him away, even if partially obscured by the thing he held carefully to his chest.
456
What the hell did this guy want? Doesn't he already have a child to care for? Why are you here, risking falling and killing all three of them together?
"Are you okay?" He asks again. Without an answer, he sighs in frustration, wondering what to do. For a moment, he looks back, where the next player finally manages to cross the bridge. Now there are three players who have passed the game. Time is ticking, and every extra second is precious.
With determination in his heart, he ignores the boy's lack of response and pulls him away from the edge. With impressive ease, he forces the boy down, making him lean against the base of the doll, as he was before.
His legs move like jelly, lacking the strength to get up again. This vulnerability is what makes him trust this boy, for now.
"Hey," Gihun calls, bending down to his level. Other players are already crossing the bridge, so he needs to be quick. "Here." Carefully releasing the knot on his shoulders, he offers the baby to the other's arms, pulling his hands to wrap them around the child. "Take care of her for me." Even in pain, even without strength, he watches the boy instinctively hold the baby tighter, stretching him far enough away so the rest of his body doesn't touch, almost as if rejecting the responsibility.
"H-hey, wait, you can't—" 456 doesn't wait. He steps away to sort out the confusion that's beginning to form on the bridge. Namgyu watches the figure retreat with terror in his eyes. He can't be serious. Leave the baby with him?
A sound surprises him. A low, sleepy murmur. He remembers the child's cries as everything around him shook. Now she's there, falling asleep as if, at any moment, she might die like everyone else. Maybe it doesn't matter. Newborn babies live in eternal sleep and boredom, like old people, and they never complain.
"He-hey…" Namgyu calls in a low, calm voice, the same one he used when threatening whiny, pathetic boys like Minsu. The intention, however, is different—and it frightens him. "It's all so noisy, isn't it?" The baby murmurs uncomfortably. The way he's holding the child is wrong, perhaps even deadly, using too much force in one spot for such a soft, fragile body to bear.
Against all odds, he brings her closer, holding her more carefully to his chest. He doesn't need to be afraid of a baby. He doesn't need to feel too dirty to touch her. That coat wrapped around her should be in a museum after everything it's been through. "This guy's a pretty bad guy, isn't he?" He half-hears.
He can hear Gihun's voice arguing with another player who came after them. The guy had knocked the next players off the bridge. It reminded him a bit of Thanos, when he pushed players in the first game. They didn't even know the prize increased with each elimination. Thanos did it not just for the money, but because he wanted to. Just like him . Thanos used to rap with Gyeong at night to pass the time. He found it irritating at the time, but he didn't realize he was humming tunes during hide-and-seek when the drug no longer made him feel ashamed. A footstep beside him snaps him out of his trance. He lifts his head, adjusting to the light, and realizes he'd been closing his eyes the whole time. The first thing he notices is the number—it's always the number.
333
"MG Coin?" Why is that loser here? He should be with the child's mother, who is in even greater danger now. He might even hand the child over to the father with excitement if he didn't know how unwelcome his presence was near her. Myunggi reaches out, leaning in to pick her up.
"No." He replies, holding the child tighter against his chest and shifting his arms to wrap her securely. Myunggi twists his neck, his lip sticking out, irritated, but not backing down.
"Taking care of him is my obligation."
"Her." Namgyu retorts, watching the other frown at the new information. "Even if I think it's cool that people can be whatever they want, but at this age, the sex you're born with is important. But you would know, right? If you hadn't abandoned her mother." His face flushes, and the corners of his lips turn down. He tries to look serious, even though the anger is hard to contain. "Maybe, if you weren't such a piece of shit, an ultrasound would have been done to find out. But you remember, right? That you left not only the child's father, but also her mother broke."
"Son of a bitch..." He says quietly, trembling, a smoldering rage taking over. When the other's leg lifts, Namgyu can't shield himself from the kick to the face, which slides and hits his shoulder.
He screams through gritted teeth in pain. A voice shouts in the background, but he's too busy trying not to cry or scream anymore. Something trickles down his mouth, and he knows it's not water.
An argument breaks out, and then he feels arms on his shoulders, helping him stay seated. He hears a voice advising him to lift his head, and a hand on the back of his neck helps him tilt his face upward.
"Are you okay?" That phrase again. When will this old man finally realize he's not going to answer?
"Yes, I am," He answers without thinking.
"Good. You need to get up, the game is over." There's something different in his voice. A sadder, more melancholic tone, as if an eternity has passed since they last spoke.
When there's no movement, he holds him in his arms, each hand wrapping around his forearms, helping him to his feet again.
The guards appear, and the announcer's voice booms in congratulations. Soon, they're escorted out. Going up and down the stairs makes him nauseous. He'd had trouble with all those steps before; with a baby in his arms, even worse.
It's at that moment, when they're both behind the others—who don't care enough to slow down and keep up with him—that he realizes: he still has the child. Why? The fingers holding her are trembling. Gihun seems millimeters from collapsing. Ironically, to Namgyu, he looks more shaken than he is. The older man must be afraid to drop her, he's shaking so much. He wants to ask: where is 222? The mother should be here, not him.
The absence of that bleached hair and her small figure tells him everything he needs to know. All that's missing is MG Coin and that child will be an orphan. If God truly is as generous as they say, it shouldn't be long.
After a long, painful time, they reach the dormitories. It was... empty. Too silent. No one would sleep that night, he was sure. There was no way. Four hundred players had been reduced to less than ten in a week.
The hands on his arms give him a push, but to the side. "Come on, you need to rest." And then Gihun guides them to one of the beds, helping him sit with the baby.
Even though he's grateful for all the help, he can't shake that feeling of unease. He feels like he's just filling a void Gihun feels. There's no reason to be there, lying in a bed, wrapped in a blanket, while a newborn sleeps beside him. It was too sudden a change of life to seem normal.
"Go to sleep. When they bring dinner, I'll wake you." He nods, even though he knows he'll refuse whatever they try to feed him. A hand caresses his face, brushing the hair from his sweaty forehead.
And soon, he's asleep.