Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kang Sae-byeok is a cold-hearted killer.

She never wanted to be a murderer. But for the past three years, her hands have been stained and tainted with the blood of four hundred and fifty-five people. No matter how aggressively she scrubs, she doesn’t think the red tint will ever release its grip on her skin.

Sae-byeok is a killer, but she is also human. She feels guilt for things that she did not do, wonders what could have been different if she truly had done something else. She recognizes the difference between who she once was and who she is now, and she grieves endlessly for the people who could have — should have — been with her today. The people who taught her how to be human.

Those games have turned Sae-byeok into a killer, but she found more than just reasons to cry in there.

Over the course of six long, agonizing, terrifying days, Kang Sae-byeok found humanity.

That came with a cost, however; while she found it, Cho Sang-woo lost it. Perhaps that was his reasoning for trying to kill her, for killing his childhood best friend when he tried to intervene.

Perhaps that was his reasoning for killing himself, once he realized just how far he had gone.

One thing does not change with the introduction of empathy and humanity, however; Sae-byeok is a killer.

She always has been.

-

“What’s your name, huh?”

Sae-byeok looks over her shoulder, eyes falling on the girl walking behind her. 240 meets her eyes expectantly; she isn’t smiling, but her expression is light nonetheless.

There’s a moment of silence as they walk, before Sae-byeok finally turns her head away. “Why do you care about that?”

“So I can use your name,” 240 replies, tone lilting with something teasing. “Duh!”

Sae-byeok has to stop herself from blurting it out. She’s exhausted, and sweaty, and hungry. Her arms are sore, and her legs are shaking the slightest bit, and she’s already forgetting the first rule she ever made to herself in these games; make no attachments.

“It doesn’t matter,” She mutters.

240 puffs out air. “So secretive.” She goes quiet, but her footsteps and heavy breathing are still audible.

The scenery shifts, changes. In hours or days or simply the blink of an eye, Sae-byeok is taken from one game hall to the next. Tug-of-War to a small, fake town. Bag of marbles in hand, player 240 at her shoulder.

She doesn’t look down at her when she speaks. She keeps her gaze forward. “It’s Sae-byeok.”

She hears a shift, and then feels 240’s eyes on her. “What is?” Her voice is low, almost gentle. Kind, in its own way.

“My name,” she clarifies quietly. “Kang Sae-byeok.”

There’s a slight pause between sounds. A distant murmur is audible, the source being the other players. Sae-byeok wonders, briefly, what happened to the man competing against his wife.

“Sae-byeok,” 240 repeats, like it’s something to remember. Like it’s something special. She smiles up at her. “Pretty.”

Sae-byeok finally, finally turns her head, eyes landing on 240. She squeezes the small bag in her hand, perhaps for comfort. “And you?”

“Ji-yeong.”

Warmth blooms in Sae-byeok’s chest. Hearing the name sounds familiar. It feels like coming home, like the warm breeze of a summer’s night.

It’s her.

She feels like she knows Ji-yeong. Thirty minutes spent together, less than an hour of one-on-one time, and she thinks that she knows Ji-yeong inside and out.

She thinks, for a fleeting moment, that Ji-yeong might just know her, too.

In the end, it’s a muffled voice that shatters the moment. One that she would prefer to forget. “Player 067.”

She turns. Her location changes as she whirls around, transforming the town setting into her own home. The door is wide open, revealing someone who she has only ever seen once.

The frontman stands before her. At his feet, the card given to her by the recruiter.

Her breath catches in her throat. She takes a trembling step back, foot landing in warm liquid. When she looks down, she finds that it’s blood, a painfully familiar shard of glass lying discarded within the puddle.

She snaps her head back to the man at her door, shoulders tense. He’s unfazed — although she’s not sure if she would be able to tell if he reacted at all — and all she can bring herself to wonder is if Cheol is still in the house, and if she’ll be able to get him out.

The frontman just stares at her, until he finally makes a move. “Looking for these?”

He raises his hands, fistfuls of hair between his fingers. Held up by his simple grip are, to Sae-byeok’s horror, the heads of Cho Sang-woo and Seong Gi-hun.

Their eyes crack and flutter open, and they stare at her. She flicks her gaze between them, breath coming heavy and fast, hand tightening around the gun she’s holding, and— and when did she get a gun?

Her foot slips in the blood, thick and warm and so, so wrong. She falls backwards, a sharp hiss escaping as her back lands in the small puddle.

The frontman towers over her. She stares up at him, and suddenly she can’t remember how to breathe. She can hear Gi-hun and Ji-yeong and Sang-woo and Ali calling her, their voices combining and harmonizing and rising into a cacophonous symphony of memories that she wishes she could block out.

She can see the sparkle of Ji-yeong’s eyes, the smile on Gi-hun’s face. She can see Sang-woo’s calculating eyes, Deok-su’s fury, Mi-nyeo’s vengeful plot, blood and stacks of beds and flashing lights and—

And she jolts into wakefulness.

Sae-byeok’s chest heaves as she shoots upwards, heart pounding against her chest. She raises her head, blood running cold as she recognizes the familiar warehouse.

She’s here. She’s really here again, even after all the pain that the first time sent her home with.

She looks to her side, and a woman meets her eyes. A sinister smile curls across her face, eyes flashing with something knowing. Something new.

And then she pulls her gaze away in a panic, unsure of how to navigate this.

Sae-byeok is, for the first time in a long time, truly afraid.

She spends a moment blinking, chest heaving, attempting to regain her composure. She came here on her own; she wasn’t taken away without her knowledge, this time. She wanted this; she wanted to end these games, and she wanted to gain the information necessary to do so.

That information might be somewhere in here. That’s why she came back.

That’s why she’s doing this again. She knows that. She should feel more confident in that knowledge, she decides, but she isn’t.

Cheol is okay, she thinks, desperate to reassure herself of that. And he is; he should be, at least. If Jun-ho is fulfilling her requests, he should be bringing her little brother to stay with Sang-woo’s mother for a few days.

She thinks that she should probably be more hesitant to trust the mother of a man such as him. But she’s a sweet woman; Sae-byeok has eaten free food from her more times than she can count, and Cheol loves her.

He’ll be fine, she promises to herself internally. Her brother is okay. He has to be.

With that out of the way, she looks around the room once more. Just like the last time, many people are looking around with wonder, a few others conversing with the people around them.

The players  around them.

She catches a few glimpses of familiar player numbers, a chill skittering down her spine like ice. She can spot both 069 and 070, and she has to pull her eyes away before she starts to envision the look on player 069’s face in the aftermath of the fourth game.

Her eyes catch on a jacket that reads 066. Her shoulders tense up as she remembers a number near to that, pressed into her brain as though it’s been tattooed on it. Her breath catches in her throat.

She looks down, heart feeling as though it’s stopped as her eyes linger on the patch attached to her jacket.

067.

Sae-byeok thinks that she should feel more afraid, being back here again. And yet, once the initial spike of fear passes, all that she can feel as she reads and rereads the patch is nothing. A bone-chilling numbness.

After a few moments, she shakes herself out of her stunned stillness. She has work to do, she reminds herself; she has a game to stop. She can’t do that if she doesn’t get moving.

So she slides off of her bed, travelling down the steps and taking them two at a time. She sweeps her gaze across the surrounding area, taking in every person nearby with a critical eye, until her eyes pause on a woman standing nearby.

It’s the very same woman that was staring at her when she first woke up. She’s leaning against one of the bed frames, head low, but she glances up when Sae-byeok stops right in front of her.

Both of them are silent, for a moment. And then the woman leans forward slightly, eyes still gleaming. “Player 067,” she greets, keeping her voice low. “I can sense that you’re holding on to many heavy things. You may feel frozen, perhaps unable to leave or stay.”

Sae-byeok takes a step backwards, shoulders tense. “You don’t know that,” she states in a flat tone, effortlessly masking the anxious energy that thrums beneath her skin.

“You can’t fight it,” the woman hums, following her even as she steps away once again. “It’s your destiny, 067. You have lost souls etched into who you once were and who you have become, lingering near you and refusing to leave this world.”

A weighted hush falls over the two of them as the other players flow by without a care to the strange interaction. “You are not here of your own volition,” the odd woman declares. “Rather, these souls have pulled you to this place.” She tilts her head to the side.

Sae-byeok thinks, fleetingly, of the souls that this woman could be speaking of. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which spirits would be around her, but she’s not sure how many there would be. If ghosts are real, that is.

She’s pretty sure that Gi-hun and Ji-yeong could be the lost souls in question, perhaps joined by Sang-woo or even Ali. If she’s really unlucky, Deok-su could be involved. He’d be the type to drag her here.

“Once we return to our homes, come to me at once,” the woman continues. “Let me perform a cleansing ritual. It seems that you need it.”

There’s a loud buzzing, uncomfortably familiar. Sae-byeok shakes her head, glancing at the woman once more before she moves back once more and strides down the rest of the stairs.

Those are just the ramblings of a crazy woman, she assures herself. I don’t have lost souls with me, or whatever. Even if ghosts are real, they all have other people that they were closer to. They wouldn’t be around me.

She joins the gathering crowd, slipping between unfamiliar people and nudging a few others out of her way. As she reaches the front, she feels herself freeze up.

Standing in a line in front of the large doors to the warehouse are nine guards, dressed in that familiar, bright pink uniform. Eight of them wear a white circle on their masks, while the one in the middle is adorned with a square.

“Good afternoon, players,” the square guard greets, voice masked by whatever kind of voice-changing mechanism that all of their uniforms must come with. “We would like to extend a hearty welcome to you all.”

Sae-byeok shudders, feeling an unwelcome sense of déjà vu. A few nearby players shift around her, some distrusting and some curious.

“Everyone here will be participating in six games over the course of six days,” the guard continues.

Between his words, Sae-byeok prepares herself for what comes next. She remembers this speech.

“Those who are lucky enough to make it to the end will be rewarded with a handsome cash prize.”

And just like last time, the excited murmuring begins.

“Excuse me,” comes a new voice. Sae-byeok turns to see a tall, muscular woman walking slowly. There’s a skeptical look on her face as she moves smoothly through the crowd.

Her presence seems to silence most, if not all, of the other people around her. It’s almost impressive. “If we’re just going to be playing a few games, then why would you basically kidnap us? How are we meant to trust you?”

Oh. She’s smart.

Sae-byeok is secretly pleased to see someone who has not yet been blinded by the prospect of escaping her debts. She gives the woman the smallest of smiles, but it goes unnoticed, even as she comes up to stand right next to her. The height difference is immediately noticeable, and it’s a little frustrating, but whatever.

“I apologize,” the masked manager says, his voice flat and conveying absolutely no emotion at all. “Please understand that our methods of bringing you here, as suspicious as they may be, were merely to maintain the confidential nature of these games.”

“What’s with the masks, then?” Another woman’s voice rises from the crowd, although it’s impossible to tell where, exactly, it comes from. “Is your face also a secret?”

“Yeah,” a man agrees, sounding much more frustrated than the past two speakers. “Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of… illegal gambling house?”

“Even the dealers don’t cover their faces in those places,” someone else argues.

“To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality,” the guard interjects, “it is our policy not to disclose the faces or identities of our staff. We hope you can understand.”

A slender hand rises above the heads of all the other players, which Sae-byeok catches sight of once she turns around to get a better look of the people behind her. “Did you take off my clothes to put these on me?” she asks, her tone incredulous.

“And what’s with these shoes?” A man with bright purple hair raises his hand, too. In his grip is one of the plain white shoes that adorn each players’ feet. “Mine were limited edition, assholes! They don’t even make them anymore, let alone sell them!”

“This jacket doesn’t fit and the colour sucks,” the girl holding her jacket complains. She looks back to the guards, expression instantly brightening. A smile finds its way to her face. “Can I just switch with you? The pink is so much cuter.”

Sae-byeok has to physically fight back an annoyed groan; don’t these people have better things to worry about? Maybe the fact that they’ve practically kidnapped and numbered?

“I’m sorry, but we can’t do that. You’ll need to be in your uniform to ensure that the game runs smoothly and as planned.” The slightest hint of annoyance creeps into the guard’s tone. Honestly, Sae-byeok finds herself feeling a little bit impressed, beneath her growing irritation; the other players here have actually managed to get one of these guards to show the smallest sliver of emotion. That feels like an incredible development.

“I need my phone!” one man shouts, voice laced with frustration and fear. He pushes to the front of the crowd, ignoring annoyed looks from each of the people he moves past. “Can you give back my phone and wallet?”

“Your belongings will be stored in a safe place until all six games come to a conclusion,” the guard tries. It does nothing to quiet the now-angry crowd, though.

“I need my phone, at the very least,” the man argues. A couple of the other players murmur in hesitant agreement. “I need to check the crypto market. If I lose money because of this, will I be compensated?” Sae-byeok rolls her eyes, but stays silent.

“We will return them to you once the games are over.”

“I need to monitor the real-time prices! Do you know how much money I’ve invested?” It’s more than just frustration, now; the man is growing furious.

The guard finally seems fed up with all of this. With absolutely zero context, he says, “Player 333, Lee Myung-gi.” He raises a remote that Sae-byeok wasn’t even aware was in his hand, and a television above flickers to life. On its screen is a recording of the man in question playing Ddakji, presumably against the recruiter. “Age 30. Used to run a YouTube channel known as MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down your channel and disappeared. You’re currently wanted for fraud, and for violating telecom and financial investment laws.”

Many people turn to the man, but the guard isn’t finished. “Your current debt levels are 1.8 billion won.”

The recording changes to one of the girl that was so concerned about the colour of her clothing. The video simply shows her being slapped during the game. She’s pretty, Sae-byeok will give her that; she looks like she could be a model. She really should get her priorities straight, though.

“Player 196, Kang Mi-na,” the masked manager continues. “45 million won in debt.”

A new video appears on the screen, this time of the tall woman, the one who seems to be the only person in this damn place with some common sense. “Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju. 330 million won in debt.”

“Player 230, Choi Su-bong. 1.19 million in debt.” A video of the purple haired man is up next. He can be seen raising a blue and pink vape to his lips, which causes a woman at his side to look at him with disgust.

“Player 198, Jang Do-yeong. 1.4 billion won in debt.”

“Player 226, Kim Yeong-sam. 1.9 billion won in debt.”

“Player 444, Kim Nam-du. 2.02 billion won in debt.”

“Player 343, Sim Jae-seok. 2.89 billion won in debt.”

“Player 006, Park Mi-hwa. 3.1 billion won in debt.”

“Player 283, Lee Eun-ju. 4.02 billion won in debt.”

Faster and faster, the recordings flash across the screen. Each person ducks their head as their name is called, as though they don’t want to be seen. That’s understandable, though, considering each is having a video of themselves being slapped displayed on the screen above them.

“Player 100, Im Jeong-dae.” The guard pauses between words, likely for dramatic effect. “Ten billion won in debt.”

“One more game!” Jeong-dae insists in the video, despite the multiple bruises already forming on his face. Sae-byeok can’t help but wonder if he’s desperate, stupid, or just has a really high pain tolerance.

The crowd murmurs, a multitude of people turning around and standing on their toes in an attempt to find the man. His name echoes across the room, alongside the amount of money he owes; everyone seems to be in awe of it. Even Sae-byeok’s interest is piqued, if she’s being completely honest. Even in the last game, nobody had that level of debt.

“What are you all looking at?” Jeong-dae finally snaps, apparently having been in the middle of the crowd the whole time. Everyone turns to him, despite most people having been looking around to see if they could find him on the sidelines. “Do you think it’s easy to get a ten-billion-won loan?” His voice drops with anger. “They don’t lend that kind of money to just anyone! They only give it to people who will be capable of paying it back!”

“And yet, here you are,” Sae-byeok mutters, unable to stop herself. At her side, the woman named Hyun-ju snickers quietly, sneaking her an amused glance.

The screen splits into nine smaller recordings, each one playing at the same time. More and more pop up, sized down so that they don’t cover up any of the others. Sae-byeok half expects to see her own video from three years ago on there, but luckily, it doesn’t show up.

“Each and every person in this room has crippling debts, and are now standing on the edge of a metaphorical cliff,” the square guard calls out, drawing everyone’s attention back to him — or, perhaps, her. It’s impossible to tell, with every guard’s voice sounding exactly the same. “When we first came to you, not a single one of you initially trusted the intentions of our hard-working recruiter. But, as you all must know, we played a game. As we promised, you received money when you won. And so, you trusted us, and volunteered to participate in these games according to your own free will.”

Sae-byeok remembers when she was first approached by the well-dressed man. She remembers the night being bitingly cold, and she remembers only having one thing in mind; pickpocketing a stranger. She had just failed to keep up with his speed when a man with a calm smile, an ironed suit, and a briefcase approached her.

She still remembers his voice, still hears it in her dreams. Especially now that she’s seen him again; especially now, after witnessing him lose at his own game of Russian Roulette against her.

She snaps her gaze back upwards, refusing to lose herself in the memories. “Now, you will have one final chance to decide. Would you like to live like a piece of trash? Spend your whole life running from creditors, avoiding paying back what you owe until they finally catch up to you in the end?” Many in the room look horrified at the prospect.

“Or… will you seize this last opportunity that we are offering today?”

Silent in response to the words, Sae-byeok runs her tongue over her fake tooth. Unlike last time, when she managed to sneak a blade inside, the tracker within the tooth is the most important item on her.

She just has to hope that Jun-ho is doing his part.

-

Nothing is ever fair in these games, Sae-byeok concludes.

With the massive, glowing piggybank above the massive crowd of players, the guard explains what the prize for completing the games will include. And then, he delivers a line that has Sae-byeok’s head spinning.

“For these games, you will be given a special new advantage. After each game has concluded, players will be given a chance to decide if they want to take a vote. Should you choose to, you will be allowed to vote on whether to continue the games, or terminate them there. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point.”

(“If you wish to end the games here, the 25.5 billion won will be split amongst the bereaved families of the eliminated players, with each family receiving one hundred million won. However, the rest of you will return home empty-handed.”)

Sae-byeok steps forward, her hands already trembling with fury. “Are you saying,” she begins, thinly-veiled rage beneath her steady, clipped words, “that we will still receive the money, even if we decide to leave after the first game?”

“That is correct.”

Anger and disgust block her throat. She looks down, brows furrowed and eyes wide, and then turns her head towards where she knows a camera is stationed on the wall. She stares at it, disbelief glittering in her eyes, and wonders if the frontman is just playing his own sick kind of game with her.

The yelling of an old woman catches her attention. She turns her head, peering around Hyun-ju, and locks her intense gaze onto the interaction. A mother and son, apparently, neither one having been aware that the other would be arriving at the games.

“Mom, stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” the son hisses.

“Embarrassing you?” The mother’s tone is irate. “If you knew what was embarrassing, you wouldn’t be here at all!”

“Stop it, okay? We’ll talk about this later!”

The mother attempts to drag her son away from the crowd, pulling him with surprising success and ignoring his protests as she does so. He stops and tries to argue with her at the edge of the room, but Sae-byeok doesn’t pay attention. She looks up, meeting Hyun-ju’s eyes with a bewildered expression. Neither of them speak, but enough is said in one simple glance.

The man continues fighting with his mother, eventually turning and yelling at the guard for allowing an elderly woman to participate. The rest of the crowd is shockingly quiet; it seems that nobody wants to interrupt.

Sae-byeok watches with dull eyes. She wonders if she made a mistake by coming back here.

When she looks back to the camera in the corner of the room, she finds that she truly believes that she did.

-

“If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who would not like to participate, please speak up now. We will always give you a chance to leave the games.”

Seven long lines form across the room, an anticipating murmur spreading across the room as participants begin to sign the consent forms. The mother and her son continue to argue, the volume rising above all the other talking in the room.

A physical fight very nearly breaks out, with the purple-haired man — Choi Su-bong, apparently, although a few people have been calling him Thanos instead — gaining a firm grip on the back of Lee Myung-gi’s neck. He mutters something to the other man, anger clear in his widened eyes, before Myung-gi breaks free of his grip and the argument devolves into actual yelling. Su-bong grabs him by the front of his shirt, fist raised threateningly, but another man who Sae-byeok assumes must be his friend stops him.

A short woman, shorter than Sae-byeok, gives Myung-gi a look of recognition, but quickly tears her gaze away. There isn’t any time to question it before it’s time to sign the form.

Sae-byeok looks down at it, a troubled furrow in her brows. She reads over the rules carefully, deciding that she must not have read into them enough the first time.

Player Consent Form

1. A player is not allowed to voluntarily quit.
2. A player who refuses to play will be eliminated.
3. The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. In case of a tie, players will vote again.
4. If the games are terminated, players will divide the prize equally.

Sae-byeok flicks her eyes over the guidelines, again and again, burning the words into her mind, committing them to memory. She lingers on clause three, momentarily lost in the memory of Sang-woo calling it out so easily.

“Players who do not wish to participate, please speak up now,” the masked manager repeats, the words very monotone and yet very pointed, specifically at Sae-byeok. She scoffs and, satisfied with her knowledge, finally signs her name once again.

-

When Sae-byeok once again finds herself in front of that familiar camera, the digital smiley face taunting her, she starts to feel dread dripping down her spine.

“Smile,” says the automated voice from the camera. Sae-byeok is momentarily tempted to stay straight-faced, or perhaps even scowl at the camera.

Instead, she does smile. She gives a small, spitefully taunting smile, and then she walks away and heads to the stairs.

-

Stuck in the crowd, Sae-byeok doesn’t realize where, exactly, she is, until she hears the familiar humming of the large doors opening.

Her breath catches in her throat as that damned field comes into view once more. She feels her legs freeze up, hearing gunshots and screams and voices that aren’t there.

It takes her a few moments to shake herself from the fog of the memories. Once she does, she still hesitates.

This is her last chance to turn back. She can go to the guards and ask them, beg them, to let her refuse now. It isn’t likely that they’ll accept, but she can try.

She looks behind her, considering the possibility. And then she shakes her head, takes a breath to steady herself, and pushes through the crowd into the field.

She hears that familiar, faceless woman’s voice over the speakers, a shudder passing through her at the sound of it. “Welcome to the first game.”

There are too many people to see the two guards at the end, but it doesn’t take a genius to know what the large, metal head that’s visible is.

“All players, please wait on the field,” the feminine voice requests. “Let me repeat; all players, please wait on the field.”

More and more people flow into the field. Questions are repeated and echoed, many people wondering what the massive doll does and why it’s there.

Eventually, the doors shut with a thud.

“The first game that you will be playing is Red Light, Green Light.”

And Sae-byeok feels herself fall still.

She thinks of panicked screaming, an old man calm despite the blood and gore and death. She thinks of her own hand in Deok-su’s hair, throwing him behind her for a speed boost. She thinks of watching Gi-hun trip, of Ali saving his life, of the roof closing slowly and trapping them inside.

And then she blinks, back in the present moment, and finds that her hands are shaking.

She reaches into her mouth quickly, ignoring the surprised look from Hyun-ju, who has been beside her for the majority of the walk. Her fingers find the fake tooth, her breathing ragged and irregular although her face is flat.

With a bit of a struggle, she pulls the tooth out. The people around her erupt into questions, but she pays no attention to them.

She looks down at the hollow insides of the tooth, and, to her horror, she finds that the tracker is gone.

“Your goal is to cross the finish line without being caught within five minutes. If you do, you will pass and go on to compete in the next game tomorrow. If you are caught moving after red light or don’t cross the finish line within the allotted time, you will be eliminated.”

And as Sae-byeok looks up, cold fear washing over her, she knows with a steady certainty that she should not have come back to these games.

”Players, please get ready to begin.”

Chapter Text

“Players, please get ready to begin.”

Sae-byeok feels her breath catch in her throat. The fake tooth falls from her hand, bouncing soundlessly against the dust-covered ground. She feels frozen, almost; perhaps that so-called crazy woman may have been onto something.

Her eyes fall upon the doll once more, standing at the end of the field. Her heart stutters and pounds. She glances at all the people around her, these unassuming, innocent players, and guilt curls in her stomach.

Unwillingly, Gi-hun’s face appears in her mind’s view. She just wants to get herself through this and find the information she so desperately needs, but he wouldn’t. He would try to save all these people, and she knows that.

She looks around again and heaves a sigh, already knowing what she has to do before she even moves to do it. Maybe it’s the guilt of the fact that Gi-hun went down saving her, or maybe she wants to save all of them, deep down. Maybe there’s a part of her that wants to get as many as possible out before the blood turns them cold, as it has for her.

So she pushes herself to run to the front of the line, ignoring the bewildered calls of Hyun-ju. She knows that the guards aren’t inside yet, with the exception of the ones waiting at the end. She doesn’t know how much time she has, but she can at least try.

“Hey,” she calls. And then, when no one looks over, louder. “Hey!”

A few glance over. She can spot the elderly woman with her son, and she thinks of the old man from the first time. “Listen up! I’m going to tell you all something that could save your lives, and I’m only saying this once!”

That catches the attention of a couple others. None of them look like they’re taking her seriously, however; they look at her like she’s crazy. Like she couldn’t possibly know something to save them.

That’s fine. They don’t have to believe her. They at least have to know, though, and that won’t happen if she gives this up now.

“Look at that doll,” she instructs, doing her best to fight against the panic slowly rising as she remembers the bloodshed of the last time she was here. “It’s got motion sensors in its eyes. They’re going to start the game soon. They won’t tell you this, but if you’re caught moving,” she swallows between words, “they’ll shoot you.”

A pressing silence follows her words. Then, a new chatter builds up. Conversations begin, built on the distrust of these people. They stare at her as though she’s on drugs, or perhaps genuinely insane.

“What are you saying?” The shout comes from one of the women shown on the television screen not long ago. “Do you seriously think we’ll believe that we’re all going to die playing Red Light, Green Light? Come on, none of us are that gullible.”

“Yes!” Sae-byeok snaps, frustration finding a place in her once-flat voice. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying! It’s exactly what they announced to us; if you’re caught moving or don’t cross the finish line, you’ll be eliminated.” She whips her head around, glaring at the doll and the guards, and then turns back to the rest of the contestants standing before her. “Eliminated just means killed. It is not that hard to understand.”

More and more of the other players are starting to make jokes amongst themselves, laughing at her expense. She flicks her eyes around the field, watching for any possible threats. There could be guards trying to take her out before she can get the players to believe her. She doesn’t know, which is the problem.

But she doesn’t see anything. Not a flicker of movement from the shadows where the walls rise high, not even at the end, where she can’t quite make out details. Absolutely nothing.

She can see that elderly woman laughing quietly with her son. Su-bong or Thanos, whichever one his name is, seems to be taking the opportunity to… flirt?

Sure enough, when Sae-byeok looks closer, he is, in fact, flirting with that pretty girl from earlier. Mi-na, she thinks her name was.

“You cannot be serious,” she mutters, one hand raising to rub at her forehead. She shakes her head, turning away from the two to focus on everyone else.

Hyun-ju is giving her a skeptical look, but she isn’t partaking in the jokes. The man with ten billion won of debts is outright insulting her, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

“What the hell are you talking about?” An unfamiliar man asks, looking her up and down with a scowl. He absolutely isn’t taking her seriously.

Someone else nudges him, scoffing. “She’s obviously just trying to scare us. She’s trying to make us stay at the beginning,” he insists. “She wants the money for herself. I’ve gotta say, it’s a smart move, but we’re smarter.”

There’s a ripple of agreement following his words, and Sae-byeok groans in irritation and defeat. “Don’t believe me, then. See what happens, dumbass! Just know that I tried to warn all of you!”

She trudges back behind the starting line, hands clenched into fists. “This is what I get for trying to be a good person,” she grumbles under her breath, casting one last glance toward the doll before lowering her head to stare at the ground.

There’s a loud, mechanic whirring that immediately draws her to pull her gaze back up. The doll turns around slowly, its hand rising to rest against the tree as though it has to brace itself. The guards next to it are motionless, each holding a gun.

“With that,” the voice on the speaker says, “let the game begin.”

There’s a beep, and then two slow ticks as the timer begins. And then…

“Green light.”

Sae-byeok stills instantly, reminders of the first game washing over her. But she shakes her head and pushes through the initial panic, jogging ahead of the group.

She can’t let herself lose focus. If she dies here, if Cheol is left alone because of her own selfish hunt for information, she’ll never forgive herself.

She thinks, for a heartbeat, about how ironic it would be, if she were the first to die. She imagines the people that questioned her realizing that she was right, that they should have believed her, that this truly was more than just a game. She imagines someone else leading the rest to victory, to survival, instead of her.

“Red light!”

And then she cuts those thoughts off, covers her mouth just in case, and stops moving.

The doll scans the field. Sae-byeok resists the urge to yell something to the others, to tell them to freeze or hold still or don’t fucking move. She keeps her eyes on that doll, the one that haunts her nightmares on occasion, and she stays quiet.

After all, if these people already don’t believe her, what good will yelling at them do?

“Green light.”

She launches herself back into motion.

Sae-byeok runs. An unstoppable force, spurred on by instinctual panic and the promise of answers, feet moving on instinct and carrying her to the finish line. Others match her pace, although it’s clear that none of them are taking this seriously.

That short girl from earlier manages to catch up to her. With one careful glance out of the corner of her eye, Sae-byeok finally finds her identification; player 222.

Of course, she knows that 222 obviously isn’t the girl’s real name. But she’s grown used to referring to people as numbers, as sick as that sounds to her. Their identities overwritten by a quantitative measure, countless people killed, surrounded by hundreds of others who merely know them as a number.

“Red light!”

She keeps herself carefully still. 222 stops right beside her, following her lead in covering her mouth.

“Hey,” 222 breathes. Sae-byeok flicks her eyes over to her, allowing her focus to be torn from the game for just a moment. “Are you serious about this? Are we really— will they really kill us if we lose?”

Sae-byeok inhales shakily, pulling her gaze away and looking back to the doll. “Yes,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “On the next green light, get behind me and stay low. It can’t see you if you’re behind something. You’re shorter than me, but don’t take risks.”

“Green light.”

222 nods and slips behind her, and they continue moving forward.

The game is going surprisingly smoothly. They’re on the third green light, and still no one has died. If Sae-byeok remembers correctly, the initial panic and bloodbath of the first game had already happened by this point.

“Red light!”

She shuts her eyes for just a moment. Just a moment, and yet it’s so easy to get lost in.

She imagines, so very briefly, that she is not here. That she’s just a kid again, playing this very same game with her friends. Stance low and wide, suppressing giggles as an acquaintance or a best friend or a stranger stands, waiting for movement, watching for a simple slip up.

“Green light.”

And then she opens her eyes, dashing forward with 222 just behind her, and imagines herself back in the games. Only, this time, she’s brave. She’s racing forward despite the death, the only other person moving being a fearless old man. She’s leaving Deok-su behind her for only a few moments, yet somehow already knowing that he’ll catch up again.

It’s just simple logic, she tells herself. And then she blinks forcefully, squeezing her eyes shut for only a heartbeat to remove herself from the past, and bites her lip.

Deok-su won’t be passing her, not this time. He can’t. He’s dead.

But it’s not just him; it’s everyone. 069 and his wife. The bloodthirsty pastor from her Tug-of-War team. That other man who she never got to know. Mi-nyeo. Il-nam. Ali. Ji-yeong and Sang-woo.

Gi-hun.

Her breath hitches.

They’re all still dead. No amount of memories will change that, and she won’t ever go back to that day, playing this same game with a different group of people.

“Red light!”

She stumbles just the slightest bit at the rough reminder, catching herself as the doll swivels its head around. 222 makes a concerned noise behind her, but she keeps her gaze straight and grits her teeth.

Everyone is still alive; whether they’re good at this game or all taking her more seriously than they’d like to admit, nobody has died yet.

She wants to be impressed, wants to let the lack of gunshots lighten her mood, but she refuses to do so.

“Green light.”

And so they continue, the field looking much longer than it seemed before the game started.

Sae-byeok hears someone fall behind her, but doesn’t risk looking back. They’ll be fine, she tells herself, desperately hoping that it’s true. They can get back up. It’ll be fine. They aren’t going to die.

“Red light!”

She holds her breath.

No gunshot.

“Green light.”

And she breathes out in relief, moving forward again.

“067,” 222 calls behind her. Sae-byeok doesn’t spin around, but she does angle her head slightly to the side to see the other girl through her peripheral. “Are you… are you sure about all of this?”

“Red light!”

“I’m sure,” she mutters through a clamped jaw.

She hears a noncommittal hum and takes that as her response.

“Green light.”

The game is going well. It’s going well, she repeats to herself, over and over in a quick mantra until the words feel as though they’ve been imprinted on the very foundation of her brain.

“Red light!”

She can see the finish line. If the game continues like this, they might all make it out. Things might turn out okay in the end; maybe she’ll even learn to trust again, somehow. She’ll find a way to convince the majority of the other people to vote to go home, and they’ll all return to their lives.

She hears screaming. Shuffling. Her heart falls.

And then she hears a huff of laughter. It sounds like the girl from earlier. Mi-na, the one who was so concerned about the colour of her clothing and the fit of the jacket. “Oh, shit. I just moved, didn’t I?”

A chill rushes through her. She knows what’s about to happen. She’s seen this before, heard this before, been here before—

A gunshot rings out, followed by a thud, and then there is silence.

And the world crashes down around Sae-byeok. She knows exactly what has happened, without even needing to turn around to see. She knows that, if she does, she’ll see a corpse and a pool of blood. And then, before she knows it, she’ll be the next dead body on the ground.

“Player 196, eliminated.”

The doll is taking longer to scan the field, now. Most likely watching for any panicked movements, waiting for someone to realize what just happened.

… Now would probably be a better time to start yelling at the others to stay still.

“Nobody move!” Sae-byeok commands in a shout, praying that her subtly trembling hands won’t be detected by the doll. “Do not panic, and stay exactly where you are! If you freak out, if you run, if you even look down, you will be shot!”

She hears another scream, and then a second shot. Well, there goes the don’t panic and you’ll be fine route. She can already predict what comes next before it even goes down.

Because apparently not a single person in this goddamn place knows how to stay still when it is absolutely necessary, the loud panic begins. She doesn’t blame them, but she’s also not pleased. Horrified shrieks begin to ring out across the field, and the sound of frantic running comes next.

After that is the rapid gunshots.

With one hand luckily having been behind her back, Sae-byeok reaches carefully and secures 222’s hand in hers. “Don’t run,” she hisses, breathing laboured as she keeps her eyes on the doll. “If you run, you’ll die, too. Stay behind me.”

“Okay,” 222 responds in a breath.

Sae-byeok shuts her eyes, so tight that she feels tears pricks at the corners of them. Her shoulders tense, and she does her best to stop shaking. She’s still not quite certain exactly how much movement is necessary to be detected by the doll, and she sure as hell isn’t about to try and find out.

The shots continue. She hears them overlapping with the echoes of three years ago, hears voices that she recognizes mixing with ones that she doesn’t. She’s trapped, caught between two different times, drifting between the first game and this one.

And then, finally, silence.

“Allow me to repeat the rules of the game,” says the automated voice, the one that echoes through the field and through Sae-byeok’s head just the same. “You may move forward when ‘it’ calls a green light. You must stop when ‘it’ calls a red light. If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated.”

The words take on a new meaning, one much more foreboding. One much more bone-chilling.

Part of Sae-byeok wants to gloat. Half of her wants to say I told you so. The other part of her wants to curl up into a ball and weep, a hopeless woman pleading for the souls of her dead to save her.

“Green light.”

Nobody moves. Not even Sae-byeok.

“Red light!”

The man with the yellow hair on the ground, blood spurting from his mouth, a choking sound coming from him before he falls still. The scene glitches, flickers, fades, and then it’s Mi-na in his place.

A man backing away from the first corpse. Looking up and down, gaze flicking between the bloodstained ground and the massive doll, shaking his head. Turning, running, dying.

A woman screaming. A third gunshot. The crushing, instantaneous realization that this isn’t just a game, that the gambling addicts are now playing with their lives and not their savings. Panic and blood and bang after bang after bang.

Deok-su shaking in front of her. Her hand in his hair, a teasing threat lingering in the space between them. A plead, a hitch in his breath, her grip tightening. False confidence and plans for the next call.

(“Don’t, don’t— please.”

“Quit shaking, asshole. They’ll kill you if you get caught.”)

Blood leaking from a leg wound. A man holding Gi-hun’s leg, forcing him to stay where he is. Watching out of the corner of her eye as he looks helplessly at the bleeding person below him.

“Green light.”

Deok-su’s grunt as she throws him behind her. The old man crossing the finish line.

She’s jolted back into reality at the thought of him when it reminds her of that mother and her son. She inhales a shuddering breath, and finally finds that she can move again.

“Red light!”

Okay, never mind.

But she does regain her ability to speak, momentarily stolen from her in her moment of frozen vulnerability. Her arm still covering her mouth from before, thankfully, she shouts, “Remember what they said! If you don’t cross that line, you’ll still be eliminated. They’ll still kill you.”

Sae-byeok prides herself in being a very quiet woman. It means that she can move through shadows with ease, nimble fingers slipping a wallet from someone’s pocket without them even hearing her footsteps. She tends to keep the upper hand in deals, because she doesn’t give out all the information that she truly has. She always knows far more than she lets on, content to simply observe others; it’s beneficial, sometimes, when she discovers things that they want to keep hidden.

But today, she’s willing to give that up, even for just a few hours. She doesn’t know how many have died so far, and she doesn’t know how many are left. But she vows to herself that she’s going to do everything she can to get the rest of them out.

She feels 222 squeeze her hand, and it reminds her that neither of them have let go. But she does so now, regretfully, moving her hand behind her back as an example.

“The motion sensor is in the doll’s eyes, like I said. If you get behind someone, it won’t be able to tell if you move,” she announces, keeping her gaze stubbornly forward. “At the next green light, form lines. If you’re short, get behind someone. We can still get out of here.”

They wait a few moments longer. Another gunshot rings out, and Sae-byeok tries not to flinch.

“Green light.”

She hears frantic shuffling and shouts of heights. Before she knows it, many lines have formed across the field. She’s impressed, really, with how fast the other people have worked.

She glances to her side, locking eyes with a determined and absolutely terrified-looking Hyun-ju. She nods to the other woman, trying to cross as much of the field as possible, but—

“Red light!”

Both stop carefully with their arms covering their lower faces.

“How’d you know?” Hyun-ju asks. “They never even hinted at something like this happening. But you already knew, somehow.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t look over at her. “I can’t get into it right now, but I’ve been here before.”

“So… if I stick with you, I’ll be alright?”

“Don’t get too confident,” she hisses. “I can’t promise anything.” She hesitates, thinking of how badly Gi-hun’s death broke her, before continuing. “Watch your own back, and I’ll watch mine.”

“Green light.”

The crowd surges forward.

It’s an impressive display of teamwork, really. The way they all stay single file, how people turn to check on others and to do the occasional headcount. Sae-byeok feels her confidence returning, slowly, a quiet hope that she knows is foolish. And yet, she can’t help but feel it.

The finish line is within view. If she can just make it, if she can just push herself forward enough, if she can just take one leaping, extremely lucky bound…

“Red light!”

She stops.

She hears three consecutive thuds, and tenses up. Three panicked voices rise, silence ringing once they quiet, and then the shots follow.

All that Sae-byeok can hear is heavy breathing, until—

“Tag.”

She recognizes that voice. It belongs to that purple-haired man; Su-bong or Thanos. She still isn’t quite sure what to call him.

She doesn’t need to turn around to know what the simple word means. Based off of the reactions of the eliminated players alone, she can guess.

“Green light.”

She doesn’t let herself stop or slow. She spins around, grabbing onto 222 and pushing her towards the finish line. She breathes a sigh of quiet relief once the other woman crosses the white border.

A few others make it; namely, Hyun-ju, that elderly woman and her son, and other nameless faces that Sae-byeok doesn’t care to become acquainted with. She’s about to run across as well, except that her eyes catch on a girl to the right of her.

She’s very short, but she isn’t behind anyone — in fact, her position just about lines up with where another player has crossed the finish line, so Sae-byeok can guess why she’s in front. She looks downright terrified, and for good reason.

“Red light!”

The colour drains from the girl’s face. Sae-byeok can’t help the way her heart twists, if only the slightest bit.

The person to the girl’s right stumbles to the side, towards her, just as the doll turns its head. Sae-byeok does her best not to wince as one of the concealed guards shoots him quickly.

His body falls just in front of the girl. She keeps her eyes forward, but the rising and falling of her chest is erratic and jagged.

“Green light.”

Sae-byeok can only watch as the girl steps backwards, finally looking down at the body. And then she tears her eyes away and tries to run forward.

Except that her foot catches on the dead man’s shoulder.

Now, Sae-byeok is no hero. But she can’t help the way that she instinctively dashes towards the girl, ducking slightly and bracing her before she can hit the ground.

“Red light!”

She keeps herself steady. She can see the girl’s face, her head hanging low. Her eyes are wide, lips slightly parted as she gasps for air.

Hyperventilates, Sae-byeok realizes. The girl is hyperventilating.

She glances at the girl’s jacket, scanning the number printed onto the patch, and speaks in a low voice. “095, look, we’re almost at the end,” she murmurs, fighting to keep any emotions out of her tone for now. “Just breathe. I’ll get you there, okay? Try not to focus on the gunshots.”

“Green light.”

She wraps one arm around 095, stubbornly refusing to think about how familiar the height difference feels. She tries to tear herself from the memory of Ji-yeong standing next to her, tries not to compare the heights of the two girls.

And she runs.

They very nearly make it to the finish line. Sae-byeok breathes heavily, the feeling of 095 gripping onto her jacket grounding her. She’s just a few steps away, now, and 222 is watching, waiting for her to cross.

She looks up at the doll, its voice having been much quicker at the last call. She swiftly realizes what that may mean. And, in one fluid movement, she pries 095 off of her and shoves her over the finish line. The push is rather rough, but it gets her to the end.

“Red light!”

She was right.

095 sits up slowly, shakily. A soft-eyed man nearby crouches down to check on her, murmuring something as he pulls her to her feet. And yet she doesn’t pull her eyes from Sae-byeok.

Sae-byeok, who can see her clearly. Sae-byeok, who stays perfectly still, eyes flicking between the people over the finish line, now in the hundreds, and the timer. Sae-byeok, who takes a breath to steady herself.

“Green light.”

Sae-byeok, who dashes over the finish line and has to force herself not to collapse.

The timer ticks down, down, down, five seconds turning to four, four seconds turning to three. The few players who have not yet made it begin to scramble forward, shouting at each other and themselves, pleading for their lives, and then—

One final beep, is all it takes.

“Congratulations to all players who have crossed the finish line; you have passed this round and will move onto the next tomorrow. The remaining players who have not yet reached the end have been eliminated.”

That’s when the screaming begins again.

There aren’t many people on the field; despite their frenzied running for the finish line, even with their time being up, Sae-byeok can count seven of them who didn’t make it. That’s considerably less than the last time she was here, even with the hundred or so dead bodies that litter the faraway beginning of the field.

Seven gunshots, that’s all it takes.

Seven gunshots, and the game is over.

Seven gunshots, and Sae-byeok is left alone with the other survivors, the roof closing in on them and that cheerful voice informing them that they must make their way back to their sleeping quarters.

Seven gunshots, and yet it feels a little like the end of the world.

-

The players’ sleeping quarters are quiet, freezing, and empty.

Every so often, low conversations will start up; questions of how are you and clipped responses of how do you think i’m doing that leave the quiet feeling heavier than ever, the few nurses within the confines of the room checking up on the players nearest to them, the occasional panicked what the hell happened out there and a lack of a response.

Sae-byeok sits between Hyun-ju and player 222, the three of them exchanging exhausted and worried glances every so often. 222 looks like she’s in pain, clutching subtly at her stomach, but Sae-byeok doesn’t want to say anything.

In front of them sits a girl with shaggy black hair, who turns around every few minutes to look at Sae-byeok again. She has two piercings — one on her nose and one on her lip — and her hands are adorned with rings that the guards must have deemed perfectly fine for her to keep with her. She doesn’t speak or introduce herself, but the patch on her chest reads 380.

And then that loud, incessant buzzing returns. The doors slide open, revealing countless guards in those bright pink uniforms. They begin to filter into the room, causing a solid chunk of the players to back up.

Sae-byeok looks around, finding many young men and women trying to hide. She furrows her brows, simply observing the movements of the other players.

“Congratulations on making it through the first game,” the square guard says. “We will now reveal the results.”

The board above his head begins to change. The number of players ticks down, down, down, so quickly that it’s impossible to read the numbers as they pass by. “Out of the 456 total players, 91 have been eliminated. That leaves 365 players who made it through the first round. Congratulations again.” The board finally stops, the number matching his announced result.

After a moment of stillness, the elderly woman pulls her son to the front of the crowd. “Sir,” she shouts, voice raspy and panicked, “please— please don’t kill us!”

(A tall woman with long, curly hair runs into the empty space between the crowd and the guards. Her player number is covered by a few strands of hair, but Sae-byeok can just barely make out the number 212.

“Please, sir!” Her voice breaks over a sob, her hands coming up to rest against each other in a pleading gesture. “Sir, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay what I owe, I swear! I’ll— I’ll pay it, I’ll—”

She lowers herself to the ground. “Please. I have a baby at home. They— they don’t have a birth certificate, I don’t even have a name for my baby— just let me leave, please!”)

“I’ll do whatever it takes to pay off my son’s debt!” The old lady lowers to her knees, pleading and desperate. She turns and grabs onto her son’s arm. “Don’t just stand there! Kneel and beg for forgiveness!”

Her son falls next to her, apparently convinced. “I’m sorry,” he cries out. “Please, forgive me. I promise, I’ll pay it all back!”

“There seems to be a misunderstanding here,” the masked guard tries, exasperation already heavy in his tone. His words have no effect on the steadily-growing crowd of people on their knees, pleading for forgiveness, for their life. Sae-byeok, with sharp hearing, thinks that she can hear him sigh. “We are not trying to harm you. We are trying to provide you with a new opportunity.”

The crowd continues to beg, and Sae-byeok finally snaps. She can’t take it anymore.

(“Consent form clause three!” One man stands alone, no fear in his gaze as he stares down the guard. Sae-byeok doesn’t know him yet — only knows him as a stranger, as player 218, and only because she can see the number on his uniform — and she doesn’t know that she ever will. Not yet, at least. “If the majority of the surviving players agree to stop playing, the games may be terminated. Isn’t that correct?”)

She thinks she knows something that she can do.

“Consent form clause three!” Sae-byeok shouts, straining to raise her volume above the clamour, voice echoing and overlapping with Sang-woo’s in her mind. “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. That’s the exact wording. Correct?”

She doesn’t even need to ask; she knows that her statement is correct. But, sue her, maybe she’s trying to follow Sang-woo’s lead this time. He did fine until he started getting people killed, after all, so she should be alright as long as she avoids that part.

She shudders slightly at the idea of following his lead, even as the thought passes through her mind. He tried to kill her. He killed Gi-hun. She should probably not follow his lead, actually.

“That is correct,” the masked manager concedes.

“Then let’s take a vote right now,” Sae-byeok suggests. She looks around at the room and doesn’t see anyone disagreeing, so she takes that as a sign to keep going. “The rules clearly state that—”

“Okay.”

She blinks.

“…Okay?” She narrows her eyes, scanning the guard for any form of deceit. “Just… okay?”

Alas, there isn’t any real way to tell if the guard is lying when she can’t see his face at all. “Of course,” he agrees. “We will always respect your right to freedom of choice. It was one of the values that this game was built upon, after all.”

Sighs of relief spread throughout the room, hope glowing brighter than ever. “But first,” the square guard continues, “allow me to announce the monetary results of the first game.”

And that damned piggybank returns.

Stacks of bills begin to drop into it, just like last time. And just like last time, that seems to begin to change many people’s minds.

Here we go again, Sae-byeok groans inwardly.

-

As it turns out, the money changed more people’s minds than Sae-byeok originally thought.

The player directly after her is called, both of them having made it through the game, and the votes are tied, somehow. There’s an excited chatter amongst those who have voted to stay, and Sae-byeok can’t stop thinking about Cheol.

Player 068 votes to stay, and that’s what breaks her.

“Are you all fucking stupid?” Sae-byeok finally snaps, roughly shoving past the people standing between her and the crowd of players that have already voted. “You’ve seen all those people die because they lost a child’s game, and you’re still willing to stay? I knew there would be gambling addicts here, but I didn’t know you’d all be so keen to playing with your life.”

Player 100 — Jeong-dae — pushes his way to her. “And just who do you think you are?” He stands face-to-face with her, eyes blazing. “Why are you just egging everyone on? Before the game even started, you were trying to scare us by saying we’d all die if we lost!”

“I was trying to warn you all, you stupid fuck,” she spits, holding eye contact with him. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You kept going on about how we would be shot, and I almost did because of how nervous I was,” one woman adds angrily.

One of the other men who made jokes about her claims before the game — player 226, Yeong-sam — steps in. “Yeah, and how did you know, anyway? Are you involved in all of this?”

“I bet they planted her here to mess with all of us,” Jeong-dae agrees. “How else would she know when none of us did?”

The guards are still unnervingly silent despite the argument. It’s clear that none of them are coming to her aid.

But someone else does. Hyun-ju comes forward and shoves at Jeong-dae’s shoulder, her eyes narrowed. “Oh, be quiet. That’s absolutely uncalled for. She saved our lives. You should be thanking her!”

“She stopped me from falling,” 095 chimes in quietly, voice trembling. It’s obvious that nobody hears her.

Yeong-sam steps up again. “And who are you?” He looks Hyun-ju up and down. He looks disgusted as he does so, which absolutely infuriates Sae-byeok. She’s just about ready to kill him right then and there, really. “Are you conspiring with her?”

“No, I’m just not an idiot,” Hyun-ju snaps back, clenching her jaw.

The elderly mother rushes in to stop the fight that may start. “Don’t do this,” she asks, turning and putting a hand on Sae-byeok’s arm. “Look, see? We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for this nice young lady here. Let’s just put our lives before our debts and get out of here!”

The side that voted to leave begins to shout in agreement with her words. There’s a moment of connection between all of them, people grasping at the hands of strangers and raising their arms together, a common goal between everyone; get out of this hellhole alive.

It’s loud. Jeong-dae is still staring at Sae-byeok as though she’s the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Hyun-ju moves to stand at her side, rigid and silent, a stranger and yet defending her honour so loyally. An argument begins breaking out as the other side of the vote raise their voices too.

And suddenly, Sae-byeok simply can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve played these games before!”

The crowd falls silent.

“I’ve done this before,” she repeats, voice echoing with the absence of other sounds. “I knew about the first game because it wasn’t my first time playing. Because I’ve been through all of this, just three years ago!” Her chest heaves. She claws angrily at the sleeves of her jacket. “You know what happened to everyone who was here with me? They all died. All of them! I was the only person who got out alive.”

The argument quiets. The elderly mother gives her a sympathetic look, while her son simply looks stunned. 222 lifts a hand hesitantly, but doesn’t reach out. The crowd simply allows her words to settle over them all.

“If you really did win like you say you did,” Jeong-dae eventually starts, stepping towards her, “then why would you come back? Did you blow all the money in three years?”

She lets out an irritated huff, anger building in her throat. “I’m back to stop this from happening again,” she says, eyes narrowed as she regards him coldly. “I came back in the hopes of stopping another four hundred and fifty-something people from dying.”

“I don’t buy it,” someone says from the gathering crowd. A ripple of agreement follows their words, a multitude of other contestants trying to speak at once.

Sae-byeok groans, resentment stirring in her gut. She looks around at all these people — breathing and alive — and thinks of being here three years ago.

She catches sight of a man wearing a jacket that reads 456. Her chest tightens . Near him, two women with patches, labels, who inform her that they are players 199 and 212.

Seong Gi-hun. Ali Abdul. Han Mi-nyeo.

Flashes of people she once knew fill her mind as the clamour of accusations rises in volume, her silence being taken as an admission of guilt. Cho Sang-woo. Oh Il-nam. Jang Deok-su.

Ji-yeong.

The fury boiling in her throat explodes outwards.

“Do you want to know why I survived?” Sae-byeok asks in a shout, looking around as the room falls silent. She doesn’t like how they all turn to look at her.

“I got out of here three years ago because four hundred and fifty-five others didn’t.” She turns her eyes to the man with Gi-hun’s number, watching carefully as he looks down at his patch and then back to her. She grits her teeth and tears her gaze away.

Her heart pounds. She feels like she’s being burned by every gaze that rests upon her, a million searing sets of eyes setting fire to her skin. “I won because I spent thirty minutes talking about dreams that I didn’t even know I had, with a girl that went on to sacrifice her life for me. Because a man hung himself after being forced to compete against his wife. Because another man fought to the death with his childhood best friend to stop him from stabbing me in the neck.”

She thinks about Gi-hun’s final moments. She thinks of him looking up at her as she stumbled over to him. Smiling despite it all, despite the knife in the side of his neck, despite the blood coating the side of his neck.

(“Get out of here for me, yeah? Help my little girl out.”)

“I— I won because a man named Cho Sang-woo killed himself instead of trying to win.” She narrows her eyes, a tightness in her chest as she backs away, towards the edge of the crowd. “You don’t believe me? That’s fine. Don’t listen to me, if you don’t want to. I couldn’t care less.”

She looks down at the patch containing her number, grumbling angrily as she looks at the remaining players. She focuses on the ones who haven’t voted, and then looks back to the board on the wall. Realizing that it’s her turn to vote, she scowls.

The square guard doesn’t even have to call out her number; she storms toward the voting table and slams her hand down onto the button angrily. “Just give me the fucking patch,” she hisses, snatching the red accessory the very moment that it’s offered to her. And then she turns and rushes into the crowd of people trying to go home.

Distrustful mutters follow her as she holds her head high, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. She crosses her arms.

(“You can do it. Don’t die in here, okay?”)

I’m sorry, Ji-yeong, Sae-byeok thinks, rage and regret battling within her as a new player strides up to vote. I’m so sorry. I made it out like you wanted me to, but I think I’m going to die in this place anyway.

-

The voting doesn’t take too long, after that. One more person tries to argue, but once they have a gun pointed at them, they don’t have very much else to say.

It’s down to a tie, by the end of it all. 182 voting to leave, and another 182 voting to stay. It just so happens that only one more person is left to vote; it all feels straight out of a movie.

Player 001 strides through the gap in contestants, head held high as he reaches the voting table. He hesitates slightly, hand resting between the buttons, before he finally makes his decision.

He votes to stay.

Ecstatic cheers erupt from the side lit up in blue. The players who voted to leave turn, groaning, and start to make their way back to their beds.

Once they’ve all cleared out, two people remain in the center of the players’ sleeping quarters.

Sae-byeok and this final man. 067 and 001.

She looks up once more, and she finds that his eyes are lingering on her.

And as she finally turns to make her way back to her bed, Sae-byeok can’t shake the feeling that she must have simply seen him before. Perhaps while crossing the street or buying her groceries, or even back before she joined the games three years ago.

After all, there isn’t any other reason that the man labelled 001 should look so familiar to her.

Chapter Text

When Sae-byeok hears a rustle near her bed, she immediately expects the lights to start flashing.

Lights out hasn’t even started yet, and she didn’t say anything related to the other players harming each other, so how could somebody already be preparing to kill her?

She tenses up, readying herself for a fight. There isn’t much that she can use as a weapon, minus the items on her bed. She’s pretty sure she saw someone suffocating another person using their pillow, last time she was here.

But she shoots upwards, eyes bright and alert, and finds two friendly-looking men staring at her.

Her eyes flick down to their patches. 388 and 390. Sae-byeok immediately registers that 388 is the very same man who came to check in on 095 after Red Light, Green Light. She also recognizes him as the man who was repeatedly screaming sir at 390 just a few minutes ago, for some reason.

“Hi,” 390 chirps quietly, looking far too cheerful. “I’m Park Jung-bae. And this is…”

He nudges 388, still smiling. The other man instantly straightens up as though he’s trying to look strong. “Kang Dae-ho!”

(“I know your name already, though,” 199 interrupts, still smiling. Always fucking smiling, that one. 456, too, honestly. They’re far too happy right now, in Sae-byeok’s personal opinion. “Ssangmun-dong.”

456 chuckles. “Ssangmun-dong is just my hometown,” he explains, eyes warm. “The name is Seong Gi-hun. Seong Gi-hun of Ssangmun-dong.”)

Sae-byeok shakes herself out of the memories, gritting her teeth stubbornly. She can’t get lost in them. She can’t. Not now. She has to focus.

She gives both a dry expression. “Kang Sae-byeok,” she greets, fighting to keep her voice monotone.

“Sae-byeok,” Jung-bae echoes. “That’s a—”

(“That’s a pretty name,” Gi-hun says. He’s looking at her with such trust. She almost wants to break it, for a fleeting moment. To give him a reality check. “Though, I’m not sure how well it fits.”)

“Stop,” Sae-byeok interrupts. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to stay steady, if he says the same thing. “Just stop. What do you want?”

Both of them blink, taken by surprise. They glance at each other, then back at her. She starts to wonder how long they’re going to let the silence stretch.

Thankfully, Jung-bae breaks it. “We wanted to ask you a few questions,” he tells her tentatively. Almost hesitantly. “About— about the games. Would that be alright?”

She regards him with a cold, calculating eye. He doesn’t look like he’s holding any kind of malice; quite the opposite, actually. He almost seems like someone she could feel safe with, if given the time to get to know him.

But that’s stupid. She hasn’t felt truly safe with anyone in a long, long time. She sure isn’t about to start now.

“Depends,” she hums decisively, leaning back against the bed frame. “Do you think I’m lying?”

There’s a few moments of tense silence, and Sae-byeok becomes painfully aware of the eyes on the three of them. And then, finally, Dae-ho shakes his head, looking to Jung-bae, as though for confirmation, and then back to her. “No. Well, I don’t, anyway. I mean, how else would you have known about the game?”

“You’re too trusting,” she quickly warns. “I could easily be one of the people that run all of this, sent in to make this year’s games more interesting.”

“Why would you warn us, then?”

Sae-byeok shrugs. “To scare you, maybe.”

“We all ended up being pretty damn scared anyway,” Jung-bae interjects, tilting his head as he scans her features. “So, that probably wouldn’t have done much. I believe you.”

She looks over at him, and then tilts her head up. “Ask your questions,” she urges in a low voice, eyes flicking to the other people watching. “I’d advise that you do it quietly. You never know what information people could use against you, in a place like this.”

Jung-bae nods. “Alright. Who was with you, last time you were here?”

Oh.

Her shoulders tense, and her eyes sharpen. She sits up immediately, posture stiff. Of all the questions he could have asked, she thinks that may have been the only one that she hadn’t been expecting. “What? Why do you— why?”

“I recognized that name you mentioned earlier — Sang-woo, was it?” His voice is uniquely soft, unlike most others whilst speaking with her. She winces at the mention of the man that very nearly took her life, but nods. “I had a friend who knew him, I think. He went missing around this time three years ago; I’m just wondering if he was here, too. The timeline lines up, after all.”

She raises one eyebrow. “We didn’t all know each other by name, but I might’ve met him.” She runs through her mental catalogue of the people she knew by name. “What was his name?”

There’s a pause before he speaks, where both lock eyes. Dae-ho is quiet beside him.

“His name was Seong Gi-hun.”

Seong Gi-hun.

And just like that, Sae-byeok’s world shudders to a stop.

She doesn’t respond for a long, long few heartbeats. She stares blankly ahead, momentarily lost in the memories of a man so kind, the very same man who saved her life. She thinks of him throwing her behind him to save her from Deok-su. She thinks of him lunging at Sang-woo to stop him from putting an end to her agony.

She thinks of him dying at her feet, while she could do nothing but collapse next to him and numbly meet his eyes when he smiled at her.

And she feels something inside of her break.

Her words fail her. All that escapes is a small noise from the back of her throat, one that she isn’t quite sure that the two men hear at all. So she just nods, refusing to meet Jung-bae’s eyes.

When she finally regains her ability to speak, she decides on a sentence. “I… yes, he was here,” she says simply, eyes averted. “He helped me more than he’ll ever know. He’s part of the reason I came back; I know he would have.”

He’s dead now, is what goes unsaid.

Jung-bae sighs and looks to the side, sorrow clear in his features. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he mumbles, lowering his head.

I hoped he wouldn’t be, is what he doesn’t say.

When that ever-heavy silence returns, pressing down on the three of them, Dae-ho clears his throat. “And… the others?” He sounds hesitant, as though he’s not quite sure that he truly wants that answer.

Sae-byeok wouldn’t blame him, really. She’s not entirely sure that she wants to give him his answer.

But, eventually, she just sighs. No use in ignoring it, she supposes. She’ll have to answer that question eventually, anyway. “I didn’t know who a lot of them were; most of us only knew each other as our numbers. But I did have a team of people that gave me their names, if that’s what you’re asking for.”

Jung-bae nods at her. She bites her lip, shutting her eyes for just a moment to inhale deeply, and then opens them again. Her throat feels like it’s closing up at the idea of revealing memories so sacred to her.

Might as well start at the beginning, she decides. “There was… well, there was this asshole named Jang Deok-su, the only person I knew before coming to the games,” she starts haltingly. “He was player 101.”

“My team, the ones I worked with the most, was around seven other people. There were two extra men, but I never got around to asking their names.” She doesn’t think she ever really planned to ask, but that doesn’t matter. “There was player 212, Han Mi-nyeo. She was a loud, crazy bitch until the end, but she covered for me while I snuck around in the vents, and she took out one of the biggest threats.”

She thinks of the woman yelling in the bathroom, trying to call for her without making it too obvious. And then she thinks of pretending to have been helping her with constipation, of all things.

She wrinkles her nose. All things considered, she didn’t exactly love Mi-nyeo, but she didn’t and doesn’t hate her, either.

“There was Oh Il-nam, player 001. I never got to know him too well, but he was this old man with a brain tumour and dementia. God knows how he survived for so long, but he made it to the… the fourth game.” She swallows, stubbornly ignoring the newfound lump in her throat at the memory of that round.

Sae-byeok lowers her head. “I knew two others that died in the fourth round,” she continues, fighting to keep her voice as steady as possible. “Ali Abdul, player 199. He was a sweet man. He deserved to make it to the end, I think.”

She pauses, for so long that it becomes noticeable. She tries to work up the strength to talk about the next one.

Dae-ho reaches out, touching a hand to her shoulder lightly. “The other person?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. Clearly, he can tell that it’s a sensitive topic.

She nods, although what she wants to do is curl up into a ball and sleep until the memories fade. “Player 240. Ji-yeong.”

She feels like there is something weighing on her lungs. Speaking the name of the girl that haunts her dreams almost seems to have put cracks into firm walls that she put into place long ago. Her tongue feels like cotton in her mouth.

“She was…” Sae-byeok trails off, balling up her blanket between her fingers for some semblance of stability. She doesn’t even know where to start. She’s not sure she can do this. “She…”

She inhales sharply and shakes her head. “There was a married couple here, too, but I didn’t speak to them, so I never learned their names. Other than that, the only other people I got to know were Sang-woo and, well, Gi-hun.”

Jung-bae nods. He’s been quiet since the first mention of Gi-hun, but he speaks now. “Can I ask how he died?” It’s a simple question, with a voice so small. He hardly sounds like the grown man that he is.

Sae-byeok almost doesn’t want to tell him. There is a foolish, cowardly part of her that wants to protect him from the information of Seong Gi-hun’s end, as bloody and devastating as it was.

But that would be cruel, wouldn’t it? To break the news to him that his friend is dead, has been dead for three years, and then to avoid the question of how? To leave him wondering hoping for just a hint, a clue, anything that comes close to the truth?

Would she be any better than the man in the black mask that refused to give her the truth of why the games even exist?

“I was hurt,” she starts carefully, before she can second-guess herself. “Sang-woo saw an opportunity to bring himself closer to winning enough money to pay off his debts and more — I wish I could say I blame him, but I don’t.” She swallows and sighs. “Gi-hun, though. He wasn’t ready to let me go, I guess. He tried to fight Sang-woo off, but…”

Sae-byeok doesn’t know what to say. He was killed is obvious, just like he didn’t win. Maybe Sang-woo was stronger than him, but she isn’t even sure if that’s true; the fight was of desperation and blind fury and two strangers who had once been brothers bound by all except for blood, and she didn’t even see all of it. She heard it — it would have been impossible not to hear it, the venomous cursing, the pained grunts, a battle that was over before either of them ever knew that an end could come at all — but she didn’t see it.

(“I know you.”

“I wish I could say the same.”)

“He wasn’t holding his knife,” Sae-byeok finally continues, as simple as it would be if she were just stating the time of day, “Sang-woo was.”

She doesn’t say much else, and neither does Jung-bae. As a result, Dae-ho doesn’t speak, either. They just stand in silence — sit in silence, in Sae-byeok’s case — as they allow her words to settle.

Jung-bae looks lost. After only a few moments of hesitation, Sae-byeok asks, “How close were you and Gi-hun?”

He blinks and looks up, seemingly stunned for a second. And then he shakes his head and gives her a sad smile. “Him and I spent a lot of time together. We… okay, this doesn’t sound great because his debts were kind of why he died, but we used to go bet on the horse races together all the time. And his mom loved me, too; we used to joke that she was secretly plotting to find a way to legally adopt me so that she could say that she was proud of her son.” He pauses with a slight chuckle. “Me and his mom, I mean. Whenever I brought up how much she liked me with him, I would be making fun of him.”

A new voice, low and smooth, joins the conversation. “That sounds like a great friendship.”

Sae-byeok looks up to see 001 standing nearby. On instinct, she scowls at him, a neutral gaze becoming a sharp glare in a matter of moments. She lets out a short, annoyed grumble, looking him up and down with a critical eye. “You,” she greets reluctantly.

“Me,” 001 responds, nodding to her. “I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.”

“I’m surprised you care about introductions,” Sae-byeok hisses, narrowing her eyes. Any trace of a peaceful expression is wiped from her face in a matter of moments. “Y’know, because you voted to stay, fully knowing that any or all of us could die in the next game. Really doesn’t give me the impression that introducing yourself to us would be at the top of your list of priorities.” Beside 001, Dae-ho lets out a short, surprised laugh at the comment. Sae-byeok doesn’t want to be proud of herself for the simple task of making him laugh, but she begrudgingly allows herself to feel it.

Just for a while, she tells herself. Just because his smile reminds her, slightly, of Gi-hun’s.

001 winces, but shrugs. “I need the money.”

“Everyone does, but not everyone’s willing to die for it. But because of you and all the other people who voted to stay, all of us are going to have to.”

He doesn’t respond, at first. Simply blinks at her, as though she’s going to take it back. Stubbornly, she lifts her chin, silently daring him to say something, to argue, to give her another reason to be angry.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he shuffles over and sits down on her bed. Sae-byeok bristles and promptly shifts away from him, but 001 is unfazed as he crosses his legs casually. “So, I wanted to ask about the games,” he starts. “Mostly, which one came next.”

She narrows her eyes. “And you think I’d tell you because…?”

“You warned us before Red Light, Green Light,” 001 reasons. “I also wanted to know you’d be open to… an alliance, of sorts. You tell me — us, actually, because I would be more than happy to include 388 and 390 here — what each game will be, and we all help each other. If it’s anything physical, we’d be pretty much set.”

She flicks her gaze across his relaxed posture. She opens her mouth to speak, to deny him the alliance, but—

“An alliance sounds great!” Dae-ho’s tone is overwhelmingly positive. “And it’ll be good for protection, too; if anyone tries anything with us, we can all protect each other!”

Sae-byeok wants to throttle him. Mostly because he’s infuriatingly right, and she knows it.

Jung-bae agrees with an affirmative hum, the cheerful energy slowly but steadily returning to him. 001 brightens, then turns to her. “And what about you, 067?”

She regards him, eye twitching subtly in annoyance. “Fine,” she mutters, shifting just slightly further away from him. “But I don’t know if the games will stay the same or not, so it might be a waste of time to get into everything right now.”

Jung-bae nods, but Dae-ho looks like a kicked puppy. 001, too, but he’s the one who voted to stay, so.

Sae-byeok sighs. “Look, if we show up to the next game and I recognize the instructions and arena, I’ll tell you what it is and the easiest way through. If not, we’ll stick together and come up with a plan.”

She adds the last part regretfully, a tinge of bitterness in her tone. But, as much as she hates the fact, she should create a team that she can trust. After all, if another lights out turns bloody, she’ll have a better chance of surviving if she sticks with these three.

Fine. She’ll trust others, just once more. Just for now.

…She’s still not happy with 001, though.

-

A man comes to find her in the night.

The man in question isn’t Gi-hun, although she wishes it was. It’s not Dae-ho or Jung-bae.

When she hears a low voice calling to her and looks up from where she’s been staring blankly forward, she’s taken by surprise upon the sight of 001.

“If you aren’t trying to sleep yet… can we talk?”

And so she agrees.

He apologizes for voting to stay. He tells her, quietly, about why he’s in the games. About his sick wife, who is apparently also pregnant, who refuses to get an abortion, even if she may die for it.

“My wife, she’s… well, stubborn is an understatement,” he says through a small, bittersweet smile, so faint that it almost looks like it isn’t even there.

He tells her about how an old client of his tried to help with the payments. He tells her about losing his job when that help seemed more like a bribe.

“Even if that’s blood money,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on the piggybank acting as their nightlight, “I need it. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get it, for my wife and for our child.”

(She looks up at that piggybank, exhaustion dragging at her eyelids. Staring at the money inside, she silently vows to herself that she’s going to get to the end. She’s going to bring home that money.

She’s going to take Cheol under her wing. She’s going to give him the best life that she can. She’s going to find their mother.

She’s going to live, no matter what it takes to get that money.)

Sae-byeok wishes that she didn’t understand why he wants to stay. She wishes she could feel hatred, but all that she can muster up is familiarity.

You’re like me, she wants to say. I see myself in you. I just hope that these games don’t do to you what they did to me.

Perhaps some things are better left unsaid.

-

“Kang Sae-byeok!”

Don’t turn around. Don’t meet her eyes. Don’t look at the gun.

She hears a faint sniffle. “Thank you,” comes the call, a heavy pause following her voice, “for playing with me.”

Sae-byeok does not turn her head — can’t bear to, not even knowing that she will never meet those eyes again — but she hears it when the masked soldier shoots. “Player 240, eliminated.”

Ji-yeong, she wants to scream. Her name was Ji-yeong, not 240. She was human, not just another contestant in your sick competition. Her name was Ji-yeong.

She allows the guard to lead her out. She can’t bring herself to speak.

They bring her back to the players’ sleeping quarters. The room should be filled with the rest of the people who survived the game, she knows, but it is not. Three beds are placed alone, each one having claimed a wall of the room.

Three beds. Three survivors.

Sae-byeok spins and turns, blinding agony bursting from her stomach. She hisses, looking down at and finding the blood of a long-closed wound staining the tight suit around her body.

She looks up in desperation. “Gi-hun,” she rasps, because if she’s back here and if there are three beds then he must still be alive. Because she needs to see him again.

She turns again.

She doesn’t consider that, with the three beds and the three survivors, that also means that Sang-woo is still alive.

He stands rigid in front of her, dressed in the suit given to them — one glance down confirms that Sae-byeok’s outfit matches his — with that knife sticking from the side of his neck. Thick maroon blood trickles down from the point of injury, but it doesn’t seem to affect him at all; he towers over her with a cold, calculated expression, his mouth pressed into a flat line and his hands curled into fists.

He doesn’t try to kill her, this time. And in her distressed, anguished mind, that’s reason enough to trust him temporarily.

“Sang-woo,” she pleads, pressing down on the injury. She groans when it only increases her pain. “Sang-woo, please— please, have you seen Gi-hun? I— I can’t find him, I—”

“Gi-hun is dead,” Sang-woo interrupts.

Silence is all that meets his statement. The chilled wind whistles as it blows past the two, ruffling their sweat-damp hair, rain beginning to patter down around them. When did they return to the final game’s arena?

Her breath comes heavy, shaking, quick and erratic and laboured. Sang-woo doesn’t look down at the injury, doesn’t look at the knife in her hand. He locks eyes with her. She finds that his gaze is dull and clouded, just as it had been on the day that she watched him die.

“He’s dead,” Sang-woo repeats. “They’re all dead.”

Sae-byeok shakes her head, not out of disagreement but out of panic. “No, you’re here, you’re—”

“I killed him.” There’s a familiar tremble in Sang-woo’s voice, the very same one that was there three years ago. “I killed Ali. I killed Gi-hun.” He looks down for just a moment, and then back at her.

“Please,” Sae-byeok whispers. She’s not sure what she’s asking for.

Sang-woo wears the same haunted expression that he did on the day he stabbed himself. “I’m a murderer,” he realizes aloud, an echo of the past. “I fucking killed them. I just— my mom, she’s going to lose everything.” His eyes are wide and horrified. “I couldn’t let them take it all from her, but I…”

He looks down at his own hands, bloodstained and calloused but human nonetheless. His eyes flick across them, visibly exploring every line of his palms, every vein in his wrists, every cut and speck of dirt and splatter of cherry red.

“…What did I do?”

He doesn’t sound like a grown man, nor a killer. He sounds like a young boy, lost, hurt, scared. It makes a part of her  ache, although she tries to push it down.

“Stop.” Sae-byeok reaches for him in a moment of blind sorrow, stumbling towards the man. “Sang-woo, just stop. Just— just come with me.”

Come with her. Where would they go? She doesn’t have anywhere in mind; she only knows one place that she would take someone she loves, and it’s the house that she shares with Cheol.

But, looking at Sang-woo and looking back on what he very nearly did to her, she decides that she should not and would not ever allow him anywhere near Cheol.

But that doesn’t stop her from wishing that he would take her hand.

This is stupid. Sae-byeok doesn’t do this; she doesn’t trust others, doesn’t extend her hand to the man that tried to kill her. But she remembers all of it — she remembers playing Tug-of-War as a team, remembers lights out, remembers those final moments. She remembers stumbling back into their sleeping quarters and hardly paying attention to Sang-woo and Gi-hun arguing, preoccupied with hiding the blood tainting her abdomen.

She remembers ripping the shard of glass from her stomach, stifling her gasps as much as she possibly could. She remembers running through ways to clean the blood from the floor before someone else entered the washroom, and she remembers the moment she realized that nobody else would be doing that. The moment she realized that she was officially the last woman alive.

She remembers… significantly less of the hours that followed, the memories blurred and hazy with pain and confusion. She remembers Gi-hun leaving her bleeding out on her bed to pound at the door and beg for help. She remembers Sang-woo approaching her with his knife, and the terrifying lack of fear that she felt as he did so.

Sae-byeok remembers looking Sang-woo in the eye, unable to even keep pressure on her injury, and whispering a jagged, garbled, “Please.”

What she doesn’t remember is what she was asking him for. What she doesn’t remember is whether she was pleading for life or for death.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, genuine sorrow in his gaze, as he raised the knife. She wishes that she could remember the words that Gi-hun had yelled as he intercepted his former friend, but she can’t.

Tonight, though. Tonight, Sang-woo looks at her, his shoulders sagging in his hopelessness, and refuses to take her hand.

“They’re all dead,” he repeats, looking down at her hand.

When he meets her eyes again, there is a look in them that is eerily similar to the sense of apathy held in Ji-yeong’s on the day that she died. “We’re all dead.”

She is reminded of the blood steadily flowing from the side of his neck. The knife sticking from it is an almost laughable parallel to how he killed Gi-hun.

She reaches for him, but just as her hands move to brush his shoulders, he is gone.

And much like she has felt for most of her life, Sae-byeok is completely, despairingly alone.

-

She awakens to a blurry, rounded face hovering over hers. Before her eyes focus, she registers the girl’s dark, shoulder-length hair, her hazy silhouette painfully familiar.

“…Ji-yeong?” Her voice is a low, gravelly croak, borderline unintelligible.

It’s a blind, foolish hope, she knows. It is fuelled only by the memory of her dream, of the haunting memory of Ji-yeong’s voice, fresh in her mind.

Finally, her eyes manage to focus on the girl above her. It is, obviously, not Ji-yeong. Instead, player 222 stands over her, one hand gently resting against her shoulder.

222 furrows her brows. “Sorry, what?”

Sae-byeok shoots upwards, narrowly avoiding knocking her forehead against player 222’s. The slow music droning on over the speakers is uncomfortably and terrifyingly familiar; even if she hadn’t heard it the day prior, she thinks she would recognize it anywhere.

She winces at the harsh lights, looking around at the crowd of people. And then she finally meets 222’s eyes once more.

Player 222 gives her a hesitant half-smile, although it’s clear that there is no happiness behind her eyes. “The next game is starting soon,” she murmurs, taking a step back and gesturing to the hundreds of players lining up to leave. “I thought I’d wake you so that the guards don’t have to. I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty terrified if I woke up to those guys in my face.”

Sae-byeok nods. “Thanks,” she mutters, sliding off of her bed and searching for the small team she made the night before. She can’t see them.

She thinks of the second game; cutting out her triangle, glancing over at Gi-hun with his umbrella and feeling so sure that he would die.

And then, realizing that she’s going to have to focus, she shakes herself out of those thoughts and heads for the door.

-

When Sae-byeok enters the arena for the next game, she is immediately sure that they’ve changed it.

Someone taps on her shoulder. She spins around to find that it’s Dae-ho. Jung-bae and Young-il stand just behind him, chatting aimlessly, as though they aren’t about to face a possible death for the second time. As though they’re in a situation where hundreds of lives aren’t at stake.

“Hi, Sae-byeok,” Dae-ho chirps, his hand not leaving her shoulder. She shifts slightly to remove it and only feels a little bad when he frowns. “Do you think the game’s gonna be the same as the one you played?”

She looks around once more, eyes landing on two circular tracks in the colours of the rainbow. “No,” she says slowly, shaking her head as she tears her gaze away and turns back to him. “No, this is different. I haven’t been here before.”

“Players, welcome to the second game!” Sae-byeok shudders at the sound of that stupid voice. She wonders what it’s going to take to forget it, now that she’s hearing it all over again. “This game will be played in teams. Within the next ten minutes, we ask that you divide into teams of five players. Let me repeat. This game will be played in teams. Within the next…”

Teams. Teams.

Not Dalgona, then. Sae-byeok curses under her breath.

“If it’s alright with you guys,” 001 starts, stumbling slightly as someone rushes by him and knocks into his shoulder, “I’d like for us all to be teammates. I trust you three.”

“Yeah! I’m not sure what we’re doing, but all of these games are for kids.” Jung-bae says, holding his hands on his hips. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Red Light, Green Light was mostly terrifying because none of us listened when you,” he gestures to Sae-byeok, “told us that we would be killed, so we really didn’t know what was coming.”

Dae-ho nods. “If we all work together, nothing will stand in our way.” He turns to Sae-byeok. “Hey, what was the game when you were here? I’m still curious.”

“Dalgona,” she tells him simply.

Jung-bae laughs, although it sounds more like a scoff. “That would’ve been embarrassing anyway,” he responds, nudging Dae-ho playfully. “Imagine Marines having to play Dalgona.”

“Marines,” Dae-ho echoes.

“If we’re gonna do this, then I want to play a real game, that’s worth the risk,” Jung-bae continues. Sae-byeok tries not to think about the dead man’s blood forming a trail down the slide, a sight that she can never quite rid herself of, even three years later. “Something like… Buck Buck, or… oh, or Squid Game! Don’t you think?”

Sae-byeok looks away at the mention of the final game. She considers saying something — thinks about telling him that Squid Game really is involved, thinks about telling him that playing it was awful — but the memory of Sang-woo, fresh from her dream, is enough to keep her mouth shut.

(She tries to stop the bleeding, oh, she tries. But there isn’t very much that she can do; his wound is surely fatal, as much as she would like to keep him alive.

But does she want to keep him alive, or is she only fooling herself? He shoved that man off of the bridge, he killed Gi-hun, tried to kill her.

She doesn’t know. She keeps trying to stop the steady flow of blood anyway.

Sang-woo doesn’t say much. Eventually, though, he pleads, in a broken, small voice, “My mom. Please, don’t— don’t let them take what she has.”

“Don’t talk,” she hisses, each breath a trembling exhale that she cannot steady.

She can’t promise it. All that she can do is choke on a quiet sob that she fails to stifle and press harder on the injury.)

By the time she shakes herself from the memories once again, Dae-ho is gone. Jung-bae and 001 have returned to chatting, although Sae-byeok can’t quite focus on what they’re saying.

Her breathing is slightly heavier. She holds the fabric of her jacket in a vice grip, brows furrowed and jaw clenched as she tries to regain stability. The two men standing nearby take no notice, invested in their conversation; Sae-byeok catches snippets of it, something about horse racing and betting, but she can’t tear her mind away from her dream.

(Sweat-damp hair sticking to her forehead, bandages shifting against her skin whenever she moves, pain burning and blazing and flaming— Sang-woo’s rounded eyes, humanity overtaking the bloodthirsty instincts that he managed to develop over the course of six days— the blood is already on his hands, it’s too late, he can’t ever go back—

Him raising the knife, Sae-byeok taking a step back, fearing for her life once again— she can’t do anything as he plunges it into the side of his own neck, going out by his own hand in the same way as Gi-hun—

Would she have tried to stop him, if she hadn’t stepped away? Would she have blamed him if he tried to kill her?)

The next thing that draws her out of her whirlwind of memories is Dae-ho returning.

She shakes her head slightly, looking past him at the man he brought with him. Player 096 looks… energetic.

“He says he’ll put his life on the line to help us win,” Dae-ho announces, clasping a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Victory at all costs, sir!” 096 shouts, one hand raised to his forehead in a stiff salute.

Jung-bae beams, his eyes bright as he mimics 096’s salute. “Hey, were you in the Marines?”

Sae-byeok observes the three ex-Marines talking, scanning over the newcomer with a careful eye. He sure looks like he’ll help them out, she supposes.

001 stands at her shoulder. He tilts his head down, eyes on her. “What do you think about him?”

She glances up at him. “He seems strong,” she hums, looking 096 up and down. “We could use some strong people, I guess.”

“With three Marines on our team, this is gonna be easy!” Jung-bae turns to the two of them, that bright smile still on his face. “What do you guys think? I like him.”

Sae-byeok can’t ignore the way his eyes linger on her, nor can she act like Dae-ho isn’t looking at her as if he’s waiting for her approval. She can only pretend that she doesn’t notice the look in all four pairs of eyes that have now turned to her.

She can only pretend that it doesn’t mirror how she remembers everyone turning to Gi-hun for advice.

Just as Sae-byeok is about to respond, a pair of footsteps averts her attention. She glances over, nudging 001 out of the way and coming face to face with the very same girl that she spoke with earlier. 222 looks guarded, but not entirely displeased to be talking to them. “Excuse me?”

The others all turn. 222 meets each of their eyes in turn, seemingly refusing to lower her head. “Do you think I could join you guys?” Her voice is hesitant. Uncertain.

There’s a slight pause before anyone speaks. The crowd moves around them, unfazed by the predicament of the six players standing together.

“I’m sorry,” Jung-bae finally starts, “we got our fifth player a second ago.”

“Please, help me,” 222 pleads, not wasting a second. She doesn’t sound outright scared, exactly, but she clearly isn’t very confident at the moment. She places one hand on her stomach, gaze imploring the five others to accept. “I… I’m pregnant.”

A heavy pause falls over the group. All of their eyes shift down, down, down, each one placing their focus upon her stomach.

“Oh, wow, her belly’s big,” Dae-ho mutters, eyes flicking back up to Jung-bae.

Sae-byeok doesn’t even have to think about it. She strides forward, jabbing one finger into 096’s jacket. “You’re out,” she tells him coldly, nudging him away from Dae-ho. “I’m sure you’ll find someone else.”

He hesitates, staring down at her. She raises one brow, glare piercing, and he nods and scurries off without a word.

“And you,” she turns to 222, “will be perfectly fine with us.”

-

“Players, please make your way to a guard to lock in your teams and receive your number. Team selection will end momentarily.”

As the group travels to the guard nearest to them, Jung-bae taking on the task of pointing out each team member, Sae-byeok stands at the rear, beside 222. She looks around the game’s arena, eyes falling on Hyun-ju and player 095 standing next to each other. She breathes a sigh of relief, hardly audible; although she’s trying to limit the amount of people she grows attached to this time, she can’t help but root for the two of them.

She hears a short, annoyed grunt beside her and glances down to 222. She’s glaring at someone across the room.

Sae-byeok follows her gaze and finds that it has fallen on player 333, Lee Myung-gi. She quickly recognizes him as the man who was so concerned about his cryptocurrency before the first game.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she finds herself asking, “Did he do something to you?”

222 blinks in surprise, but eventually just shrugs. “Yes and no,” she huffs, tearing her eyes away from him. “He hasn’t done anything to me here, and he sure as hell hasn’t physically hurt me or anything. But… he’s the father of my kid.”

Sae-byeok hums in understanding. “Ah. And you two got into a fight here, I’m assuming?” She tilts her head, gaze sharpening as Myung-gi looks back at them.

“Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m mad at him,” 222 grumbles. “He’s… he’s my ex. He got me to invest in that crypto, which put me in debt. Then, once people started getting mad that they lost money, he completely disappeared, which would’ve been understandable if I wasn’t pregnant with his kid. Ghosted me for six months and then showed up here and acted like we could just move on from that.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Jung-bae is… it looks like he’s attempting to make a joke with the guard, who is unresponsive. Sae-byeok looks between 222 and Myung-gi, then grits her teeth. “What an asshole,” she remarks angrily, narrowing her eyes at the man. She wraps one arm around 222’s shoulder without really thinking. “If you want me to keep him away from you, uh…”

She looks down at her, brows furrowed. “What’s your name, again?”

“It’s Jun-hee. Kim Jun-hee,” the other girl replies, thick amusement laced in her tone. “And you are…?”

She hesitates momentarily before she speaks, shoving down memories of her steadfast refusal to give the very same information to Ji-yeong. “Kang Sae-byeok,” she tells her in a low voice.

Jun-hee nods. “Nice to meet you, officially.”

Sae-byeok thinks that she should snap at her. She considers casting a cold glare upon Jun-hee, reinforcing firm walls that she has long since learned that she should never allow to fall. She considers falling back into her old ways, a glacial and emotionless façade that she only dared to drop around her brother.

Instead, she turns her glare to Myung-gi. Instead, she grabs Jun-hee by the hand and pulls her to where the rest of their team is beginning to take their seats.

Instead, Sae-byeok sits down, knees pulled against her chest, and meets Dae-ho’s eyes when he smiles at her.

She doesn’t smile back, no. But she also doesn’t scoff and look away.

Maybe she’s not ready to get close again. But maybe, at least for today, she can try.

Chapter Text

“The team selection period has officially ended. If you have not locked in your teams with the nearest guard, please do so now. If you have not found a team, you will be placed with the closest one to you.”

Sae-byeok, seated at the end of her team, looks to her left. 001 glances back at her, giving her a faint smile. “Hey,” he murmurs, glancing at the other members of their team beside him. “Were there any team games when you were here?”

She flicks her eyes across his relaxed posture. “Tug of War, except that instead of falling onto grass, the losers would fall to their deaths,” Sae-byeok mutters, her words clipped and cold once more. The anxious energy crawling up her chest squeezes her in a vice grip, its sharp tendrils curling around her throat in a cold rush of fear.

She was in an alright mood — well, about as alright as she really can be. But then the gravity of the situation began to hit, and, well.

She’s really starting to wonder how stupid she is, to have come back here after just barely surviving the last time. She could have just stayed home with Cheol, but no. She just had to grieve for a man she only knew for six days, and that grief just had to drive her to search for the Recruiter. Now her life is on the line once again, and she never even considered a more permanent solution for the fact that Cheol is going to be alone if she dies here. She can’t expect Sang-woo’s mother to adopt him if a stressed police officer comes to her shop and tells her that Sae-byeok is dead. Maybe Jun-ho himself would be willing to look after her brother if she doesn’t make it home this time, but, again, she can’t expect that.

She is really, really starting to regret this.

She thinks that most would seek comfort. But Sae-byeok, accustomed to loneliness and terror and whatever the world usually tends to throw at her, simply grits her teeth and meets 001’s eyes with a steady, calculating light behind hers.

“And… were there large teams?” 001 prompts, clearly looking for connection.

Sae-byeok wants to bite, to snap, to lash out. She wants to tell him that they’re all going to die anyway, that he shouldn’t be wasting his time trying to make meaningless friendships that will only result in heartbreak once these six days are up, if the last time is anything to go by. But she thinks about him, and what he said last night, and…

(“My wife, she’s… very sick.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes, paired with a recognizably resolute determination. And that’s when she realizes it; he is just like her.)

And she falters. She thinks of him, and then she thinks of who she was three years ago.

(“Sae-byeok.”

Her eyes snap open.

On instinct, she raises her hand. Fist shaking, breaths trembling, she holds out her knife. A threat, a promise, a deadly plea.

He’s been nothing but kind to her. He’s a sweet man, good at heart although he ended up here.

She holds out her knife anyway. She can’t let her guard down, even for a moment; he is clutching his own knife, after all. She can’t risk it, not now. She has to get back to Cheol.

Cheol. All of this is for Cheol. For her family.)

Involuntarily, she thinks about Gi-hun, a desperate man trying to improve his life. A tired player, trying to be a good father. Desperate, but apparently not desperate enough to make a deal with a dying girl.

(“Ahjussi. I think you and I should make a deal.”

“...What kind of deal?”

She can feel the blood, concealed by her hands and by the blankets. He isn’t looking. She is going to die tonight. “Just in case either of us… can really make it out of this hellhole.” She needs him to agree, can’t let herself go until he agrees. He has to. “We’ll look after each other’s loved ones, okay? Your daughter, my brother – we’ll make sure they’re alright. We'll keep them safe, no matter who it is that leaves.”

“Don’t say that, come on.” His voice is low, rough. Exactly as it has been for the past few hours, days, she’s not sure. But there’s concern beneath it, too; she doesn’t look at him, but she knows he’s watching her. “We’ll fight Sang-woo and win. Then, we’ll get out of here together.”

He’s so sure of himself. She hates it.

Sae-byeok finally turns her head and finally looks at him. Gi-hun is staring straight forward, his gaze locked on the bed at the opposite side of the room. He’s focused, glassy and tear-filled eyes unmoving. “I still want you to swear, though.” She needs Cheol to be okay. She can’t let herself go until she knows he’ll be okay.

Even so, the world seems a little darker. There is a quiet ringing in her ears. She can hear her own heartbeat, her own laboured breathing. She cannot let herself go just yet, but she’s starting to think she may not have a choice.

She sobs quietly. He does not hear. “I need you to swear that you’ll look after him.”

He raises his finger to motion for her to be quiet, his eyes still locked on Sang-woo’s bed, and Sae-byeok becomes certain that she is going to die without knowing that her little brother is safe.)

And then she stops herself from thinking of desperate men, before she gets to Sang-woo. Before she has to confront the conflicting feelings she has towards the man who may or may not have wanted her dead.

“It was played in teams of ten,” she mumbles, turning her eyes away before he can see the thought process behind them.

The voice on the speaker returns. “The game you will be playing is a six-legged pentathlon. Players will begin with their legs tied together, and will each have to participate in one of five games.”

Well. That’s new.

The automated voice begins to explain each game in that cheerfully smooth voice that grates on Sae-byeok’s ears; Ddakji, Biseokchigi, Gong-gi, Paengi Chigi, and Jegi. She looks around at her team, takes in the expressions on their faces, and decides that they’ll probably be fine.

…Hopefully.

“I guess it’s a good thing that we got women, then,” Jung-bae says, leaning forward to smile at Sae-byeok. “You know how to play Gong-gi, right?”

She blinks at him. “No.”

He opens his mouth, and then shuts it again. After a few moments of the two staring at each other, one expression surprised and the other deadpan and serious, he turns to Jun-hee. “You, then. Can you play it?”

Jun-hee shakes her head with a fearful expression, looking very much like a deer caught in headlights.

Silence stretching thin, Jung-bae turns around to look at 001. He looks lost. “I… don’t get it. Do girls not play Gong-gi anymore?”

“No, not even once,” Jun-hee confesses. “I’ve never played.”

“I had other things to worry about,” Sae-byeok chimes in.

Well. They might be fucked.

Dae-ho sighs, rubbing his face. He leans forward, his mouth slightly covered. “Um, I… I can play Gong-gi.”

Okay, they might not be fucked.

001 tilts his head. Jung-bae furrows his brows skeptically, looking the other way to meet Dae-ho’s eyes. “You? An ex-Marine who knows Gong-gi?”

“I grew up with four older sisters,” Dae-ho explains, face flushing with embarrassment. “That, uh… that meant that I would play Gong-gi at home with them from time to time, so I learned how to play.”

Nobody moves, for a moment. And then, Jung-bae claps one hand over Dae-ho’s shoulder, a firm, proud gesture. “Of course.” He squeezes the other man’s shoulder. “There’s nothing a Marine can’t do!”

Sae-byeok nods, nudging — perhaps closer to shoving, really — 001 back to have a clear view of the other three members of her team. “As for everyone else, we all need to pick the game we’re most confident in for the best chance to win,” she says matter-of-factly, sweeping her eyes across the four sitting before her with a cold, commanding gaze. “If we pick a game we haven’t played before, we might as well be signing ourselves up for death voluntarily. So, who’s taking what?”

“Ddakji for me,” Jun-hee quickly replies, the ghost of a smile on her face. “Uh, even against the guy at the subway station, I still won way more than he did.”

“Okay, then.” Jung-bae leans over, nodding. “Ms. 222 can take Ddakji. I’ll take Biseokchigi.” He turns to 001 and Sae-byeok, hope burning in his eyes. “I was a pitcher for my company’s baseball team, so I’m good at throwing things. I think I can get us through that one easily.”

Sae-byeok nods to him. “Right, okay.” She’s… not quite used to talking so much, hasn’t spoken more than a few words to people who aren’t her brother and Jun-ho within the last three years. But all of their lives are at stake, now; she’s going to need quick thinking, and communication. Although she prefers to stick to silence, she can make an exception. “That just leaves Jegi and Paengi Chigi. I didn’t play either much when I was younger, but I’ve… met a couple people who got bored and explained them to me. 001, which one are you better at?”

The lie comes easy. It’s instinct, now, to cover up Cheol’s existence while speaking to people who haven’t met him.

001 looks down, brows furrowed as he chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Well, I’d be okay with whatever you pick for me, Sae-byeok.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but quickly stops.

Sae-byeok.

…She never gave him her name.

A sense of suspicion flares up. Mentally, quietly, she speeds through their interactions thus far; she must be forgetting something, surely. There’s no other logical explanation as to how he already knows her name. She must have told him at some point.

Maybe during their conversation in the night? But no, she remembers it vividly. There was no exchange of names, although he gave her the extent of his backstory.

Perhaps she mentioned it without realizing during her rage-fueled rant while the players were voting. But wouldn’t others be calling her by her name instead of her number, if she had? And wouldn’t Jung-bae and Dae-ho have already known?

“I… don’t remember telling you my name, 001,” Sae-byeok finally responds. “So how did you know it?”

001 hesitates, blinking, visibly caught off guard. “Uh,” he starts, finally motioning vaguely towards a confused-looking Jun-hee. “I overheard you telling it to your friend over here. Thought I’d try using it, maybe for some… team bonding.” He turns his gaze back to her, tilting his head to the side. “Does it bother you?”

She narrows her eyes. She had been so sure that he’d been caught up in conversation with Dae-ho during her and Jun-hee’s discussion…

But she doesn’t have time for that now. She can figure this out when their lives aren’t on the line, for the time being. So she just sighs. “No, it’s fine.”

He smiles. “So, Sae-byeok, which are you good at?”

“I’m… hm,” she hums, thinking through her options carefully.

Finally, she comes to a conclusion. “I’m more confident about Jegi,” she decides haltingly, recalling the various explanations she’s been given of the rules. Cheol is always learning new games at school, and he’s always eager to show her how to play; although he’s thirteen now and growing fast, more focused on things that he deems grown up and cool, she remembers a time when he was eight years old and excitedly chattering on and on about various fun activities. Jegi and Biseokchigi had both been explained to her on the same day; she remembers it vividly, and for her good memory she is immensely grateful.

Not that she’ll be explaining that truthfully to her teammates, however. They don’t need to know she has a brother. Not yet, at least; she can stick with her other explanation for now.

“Hm,” 001 rumbles thoughtfully, certainty growing in his expression as he nods. “Then I’ll do Paengi Chigi. That’s fine with me.”

She nods. “Alright, okay.”

“Bring your hands together, everyone,” Jung-bae instructs, shuffling forward and extending his hand. “All together, now!”

The group shifts. They form somewhat of a semicircle, with Sae-byeok and Jun-hee on opposite ends. All five rest their hands against each other’s, a display of stability as each holds up another.

Jung-bae beams, and then falters slightly before he speaks. “Ah, I only know two of your names.” He nods to 001 and Jun-hee, his smile growing hesitant as he inclines his head questioningly.

Jun-hee gets the hint immediately. “Kim Jun-hee, sir,” she greets politely.

001 doesn’t answer right away, eyes flitting between his teammates as though he’s not sure whether he should trust them just yet – a smart move, really. Eventually, though, he clicks his tongue decisively.

“My name’s Oh Young-il.”

And that’s enough for Jung-bae’s smile to turn bright once more. “Alright! On the count of three, we all shout, ‘victory at all costs!’”

Sae-byeok furrows her brows. “Wait, what’s the point of that?” She regards him carefully, unsure about the loud declaration.

“Team spirit,” he says, unhesitatingly. Then, as she begrudgingly prepares herself for what she seems to have signed up for by teaming up with him, “One, two, three–”

“Victory at all costs!”

-

“Teams one and two, get ready to play.”

Sae-byeok observes them, narrowing her eyes in an effort to focus her vision and see the player numbers. The members of team one are 016, 198, 178, 416, and 189. On the other side of the room, team two consists of players 341, 395, 254, 045, and 286.

“Let’s go!” 198 screams, arms linked and ankles bound to his teammates.

Sae-byeok can see Hyun-ju sitting beside 095, not too far from her, as well as player 044 and that mother-son duo. Right next to her team is that girl who sat near her the night before, 380, and her four teammates.

Her purple-haired maniac teammate – Thanos, Sae-byeok is sure now, seeing as she hasn’t encountered a single person that calls him Su-bong – raises one fist, looking far too excited. “Let’s get it!” There’s still blood on his face, and yet he is eagerly cheering.

“I don’t understand some people,” Sae-byeok mutters under her breath, catching Jun-hee’s attention. When faced with a questioning glance, she points discreetly towards Thanos, who is coincidentally placed right next to her; Jun-hee nods in agreement, wide-eyed, and turns her attention back to the two teams.

The manager standing between the two multicoloured circles raises his hand, gun clutched in a secure grip, finger on the trigger.

There’s a moment of stillness.

He shoots.

And so the games begin.

-

Everything goes right and then fucking wrong.

Both teams make it past Ddakji with little to no struggle. But then the first team messes up on Biseokchigi one too many times, and suddenly four grown men are screaming while one cries and pisses his pants.

As for team two, they make it farther. When the shaking woman on the team messes up on the flip during Gong-gi, Jung-bae kneels down and gently urges Dae-ho to practice while they wait for their turn, which the younger man does diligently.

When the timer runs out, the triangle guards are eager to close in on the terrified players. Team one meets their end at Biseokchigi, while team two looks up to find themselves met with guns on their way to Jegi.

It’s a quick, brutal end for the ten players, and Sae-byeok just wants all of this to be over.

A man sitting inside the other circle stands, shouting that this is the fault of everyone who voted to stay. Sae-byeok shuts her eyes, focusing instead on the hushed argument that she can hear within 380’s team.

“Out of my way, assholes,” 380 hisses, drawing Sae-byeok’s attention to her. She’s pushing past Thanos and his little friend, pulling two men behind her; player 125 and player 256. She all but shoves Thanos out of the way, plopping down next to Sae-byeok with a collected smile. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” Sae-byeok responds, gaze flickering between 380 and her two friends, who have sat down beside her. 256 looks happy next to Thanos, chattering something in what seems like an attempt to get his attention, while 125 shifts uncomfortably as her gaze falls upon him.

380 gestures to herself. “Se-mi,” she greets, brushing dust off of her shoulder. “Min-su,” she points to 125, “and Gyeong-su.” She gently smacks 256’s arm.

Sae-byeok blinks at her. She looks to Young-il beside her and finds him giving the three a confused, somewhat distrusting look.

Gyeong-su finally tears his attention away from Thanos, eyes lighting up as his eyes fall on Sae-byeok. He seems to have only just now recognized her. “Oh, hey! You’re the girl that’s been here before!”

“I am.”

“So you must be ready for this, right?” He tilts his head, shuffling closer. “Is there a strategy for this one? Oh, which game are you playing? It must be the easiest, if you picked it. I’m sure I could argue to do the same.”

Se-mi scoffs. “Dude, I’ve known you for about ten minutes and I know that you’d probably implode if you tried arguing with Thanos.” Her voice is low, teasing.

Gyeong-su laughs guiltily and doesn’t protest. “I mean, he’s the best rapper. Have you heard his music? It’s great!”

“I’ve heard better,” Se-mi hums. She looks up to Sae-byeok, giving her an easy smile. “So, what’s your name?”

She hesitates less, this time, although there’s still a pause before she speaks. “Sae-byeok.”

“Hey, nice.”

“Attention, please,” calls the voice on the speaker system. “The next two teams will play momentarily. Please stand by as our staff cleans the venue.”

Two opposite doors slide open. Forklifts beep, handled by the guards and stacked with coffins. The guards begin to unlatch the cuffs that hold together the dead players’ ankles, freeing them as they lift the bodies to place each one inside a coffin.

Two more gunshots ring out. One of the triangle guards has… shot a dead body, apparently.

The soldier strides away, no hesitation in their steps as they return to their place. Players cower as they pass, but the guard is unfazed.

Sae-byeok narrows her eyes at the guard as they take their place near her team. She tries to make out any discernible features through the countless tiny holes in their mask, but her search comes up fruitless.

Just like another search, she snorts inwardly, a dry attempt at mental humour.

Her momentarily lightened mood is soured, however, as she lingers on the thought. Clearly, without the tracker, Jun-ho is struggling. It’s no surprise, either; if he’s been looking for this island for so long and hasn’t found it, she’s nowhere near shocked that this search will be no different.

He isn’t coming. She knows this. He’s trying, but there’s no way he’ll spontaneously find the island now.

Young-il gives her an inquisitive look. She meets his eyes, considering informing him of the team currently on the hunt for them. It may ease a few of his fears.

But something in her gut tells her to stay quiet, and so she does.

“Team three and team four, please stand and get ready to play.”

Sae-byeok’s heart falls as she sees Hyun-ju stand alongside the rest of her team, easily tying her hair into a ponytail. She’d thought — no, she’d hoped — that she might have more time to decide whether or not to approach her before it was her team’s turn to play, but apparently not.

Hyun-ju turns, eyes finding hers. Sae-byeok, against her better judgement, nods to her.

“Good luck,” she mouths. Hyun-ju gives a tight, anxious smile, and then turns back to her team. Sae-byeok can see her taking 095’s hands in hers, but she’s not sure what the other woman is saying.

The guards shackle the five of them together by the ankles. And with one clear gunshot, they’re off.

-

They do well.

095 struggles on Ddakji, but some lowly murmured advice from Hyun-ju is all that she needs to win, turning to her team with disbelief in her tear-filled eyes just before they continue.

“Oh, I can’t watch,” Jung-bae murmurs, lowering his head. “It’s making me anxious.”

007 is their team’s Biseokchigi player. He misses his throw by just a few inches, causing the five to groan. With shaking legs and Hyun-ju’s guidance, though, they manage to grab the stone and make it back without falling over. His mother says something to him, pointing at the stone with a trembling arm, and then he begins to shout that it… ruined his life, apparently. Really, it’s strange, but he hits the stone on his next throw, so Sae-byeok supposes it worked.

Player 149, the elderly mother of 007, almost looks at ease when she crouches down to play Gong-gi. She fails on the first round, but simply shuts her eyes and takes a breath before she tries again. They have time, after all; due to the quick success of 095 and 007, they aren’t scrambling just yet.

She fails again, this time during the second round. Player 044, the so-called crazy woman who tried to convince Sae-byeok that vengeful souls are surrounding her, grows frustrated. “What are you doing? Hurry up, you old—”

Her shouting is cut off by a muffled yell. Sae-byeok turns her attention to the woman, finding that Hyun-ju has placed one hand on the back of her head and the other firmly over her mouth, glaring and shushing her.

007 says something about bullets, and something seems to click for 149. She looks straight forward, scatters the pieces, and starts again, this time with a focused, practiced ease.

Her son says something to her just before the flip that Dae-ho continues to practice. She calls the pieces a rotten bitch and, miraculously, manages to catch all five of them.

Her team screams. They stand, Hyun-ju’s hand on 044’s back, and carry on.

Paengi Chigi is where it begins to go wrong for them. Maybe it’s the pressure of having four extra lives relying on her movements, or maybe it’s the ever-ticking time limit, or maybe it’s the blood staining the ground; whatever the reason, 044 begins to struggle.

She’s not very good at wrapping the rope, as it turns out. She fails once and snaps at Hyun-ju when she tries to help, then fails again. And again, and again. When 149 tries to offer help, she hisses at Hyun-ju to shut her up, hostility seeping through her venomous words.

She keeps failing. She whispers what sounds like a prayer, in the newfound silence of the room, a tremor spreading from her voice to her hands. She fails, and fails, and fails.

She fails, and then she just stops.

“The gods of heaven and earth have chosen to abandon us,” she announces shakily, looking up with tear-filled eyes.

149 turns to her son, grasping at his arms. “She’s completely out of it!”

Her son looks horrified. “Why’d she have to go crazy on us now?” There’s true terror in his voice as he looks past his mother, gaze pleading. “Come on, snap out of it! Pull yourself together, please! You’ll get us all killed!”

“They’ve abandoned us,” 044 continues, her shoulders trembling. “Am— am I going to die here and now?”

Shit.

“We’re all going to die! We’re—”

There’s a harsh slap, and 044 cuts off with a scream.

Hyun-ju winds up for another hit. Her palm makes contact with the crazy lady’s cheek so harshly that it sends her sideways. The force of it nearly knocks her to the ground; she seems to struggle to stay upright as Hyun-ju leans down to grab the small spinning top from the ground, leftover blood staining her fingertips as they brush against the puddle of it.

She grabs onto the back of 044’s jacket, keeping her firmly in place as she holds the sharp tip of the spinning top above her threateningly. “If you give up now,” she starts, voice icily calm despite the desperate fury beneath her words, “I will kill you before your gods do.”

It isn’t a threat; it’s a promise.

044 nods shakily, wiping the blood trailing from her nostrils. Sae-byeok can’t help but feel impressed. Hyun-ju presses the spinning top into her hand, leaning down and grabbing the rope to hand it to her. “Now do it, and hurry up.”

Thirty-five seconds left.

Under the pressure of Hyun-ju’s furious gaze and the short amount of time remaining, 044 finishes her game quickly. The team doesn’t take very much time to celebrate; there’s a quick moment of connection, and then they link arms and rush off to Jegi.

“You must kick the Jegi five times to pass,” explains the voice over the speakers as they reach the final game.

Hyun-ju turns to her team. “Turn around,” she instructs. “Please.” As they do so, she turns and asks the crowd to do the same, voice strained with barely-concealed panic.

The players watching are eager to do as she says. Sae-byeok glances back once, and then holds her head down. There’s a rustle, and that’s all she needs to know that the final game has begun. She listens for the telltale sound of the kicks.

One.

Time seems to slow.

Two.

How much time do they have left?

Three.

She forgot to check, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know—

Four.

They have to make it. They have to. Sae-byeok doesn’t want to watch them die.

Five.

…She’s done it.

The reality of their success doesn’t seem to hit the crowd for a few moments, until 007 shouts that she did it.

“Pass!”

They’ve got nine seconds left. They cheer quickly and run for the finish line.

Sae-byeok holds her breath, eyes flitting from the desperate team to the clock ticking down, down, and down. She feels Young-il press close to her, and sees Dae-ho pumping his fist in the air out of the corner of her eye. Other players in the crowd shout as they run, encouraging them, cheering them on.

With one second remaining, the group rushes towards the ribbon. It snaps in half as they reach it, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

Sae-byeok can’t help the desperate relief that washes over her as she watches Hyun-ju throw her hands in the air with a triumphant scream. She feels Young-il wrap an arm around her in the heat of the moment and only registers that he, too, is yelling excitedly when her body knocks against his.

She pulls herself free and turns around, allowing herself to be happy for just a few moments. She locks eyes with him, and then with Jung-bae, both of them just as ecstatic as the others. She huffs out a surprised laugh, a rare grin crossing her features as she spins around again.

She feels a pair of muscled arms wrapping around her, and then, with a yelp, she’s being lifted into the air from behind and spun around. She catches a glimpse of Jun-hee jumping, and can see player 095 crying tears of what is hopefully relief in the distance.

“Dae-ho, put me down!” Sae-byeok shouts, but she’s laughing and effortlessly smiling and, for once, she finds that she can feel more than merely her looming death. She feels a crackling inferno of hope set itself ablaze in her heart, warm and unfamiliar.

Hyun-ju turns around again, desperate, disbelieving relief in her eyes, and Sae-byeok starts to think that she might have a chance of survival.

-

If Sae-byeok thought that watching Hyun-ju’s team play was painfully suspenseful, waiting for her own team’s turn is downright agonizing.

Of course, because she has shit luck, her group is playing last. She watches team after team play and fail and scream, and turns her head away every time she sees one of the guards lift their gun. She tries not to notice the way Dae-ho raises his hands to cover his head every time a gun goes off.

Slowly, the room clears out. The day drones on in a horrifying daze of blood splatters and meaningless strategizing, hours passing as they sit there. Se-mi’s team has their turn; she’s on Biseokchigi, while Min-su takes Gong-gi and Gyeong-su handles Ddakji. The final two games are played by those two drug addicts; player 124 plays Paengi Chigi, while Thanos plays Jegi. They do… well, they do fine, she supposes.

She tries not to laugh when Se-mi fully grabs 124’s jacket to furiously swear at him when he messes up, but a quiet huff of a chuckle escapes her. Young-il looks pleased when he hears it.

The game forms bonds between the teams, Sae-byeok notices. Whether any of them have talked before this game or not, each team leaves with their arms around each others’ shoulders, cheering and laughing.

The ones that don’t get to leave, however…

Well, Sae-byeok doesn’t think she’ll ever be desensitized to the sound of gunshots.

When it’s eventually her team’s turn to play, the room has emptied. The only people remaining are her group and one other, alongside the masked manager, the various soldiers that will be supervising, and the masked workers that silently wait at each game’s station.

As Sae-byeok shifts her leg experimentally, feeling her ankle collide gently with Young-il’s, she hears Jung-bae chuckling anxiously. “Huh. It’s… a little sad that we don’t get an audience, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t get a response.

Sae-byeok turns her head just in time to see him nudge Dae-ho, and she doesn’t miss the way the younger man flinches. She also doesn’t miss how he tries to hide it.

Jung-bae isn’t fazed, though. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Hey. You scared?”

Dae-ho hesitates for a moment, then straightens up. “No– no, sir!” He’s shouting once again. He turns to face forward, his head held high. “It’s… it’s actually better with no audience. It’s quiet, so it’s easier to focus without anybody watching us play. Less… pressure.”

Seemingly pleased with his response, Jung-bae smiles. He, too, turns to face forward, although his focus is on the other team. “Hey, guys!” Startled, the five of them turn to look at him. “We’ll see you at the finish line, okay? Victory at all costs!”

One of the men raises a hand, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah! We’ll see each other again!”

“Yes, thank you!”

“We’ll see you later!”

“Good luck!”

Sae-byeok glances over to her team, determination gleaming in her eyes. “Get ready,” she murmurs, linking her arm with Young-il’s.

Each person clings to whoever is next to them, arms linked for stability. Young-il looks at Sae-byeok, then at Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Jun-hee. His expression doesn’t hold even the slightest drop of uncertainty. “I believe in you guys,” he breathes. “We can do this.”

He turns back to Sae-byeok, a hint of a smile on his face. “Besides, we have a previous winner with us.”

The manager raises his gun and shoots, and they shoot into action.

It isn’t as hard as expected, walking as one. Maybe it’s because Sae-byeok is on the end and therefore has one free foot, but even the leg that’s attached to Young-il’s is surprisingly easy to work with. Sure, maybe it feels weird, but she grows used to it fairly quickly.

“We’re here,” Dae-ho gasps as they reach the first station. They all stop, with Jung-bae moving to the side to give Jun-hee space. She leans slightly back as the worker drops the red Ddakji on the ground, a focused intensity in her eyes. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask for more space, doesn’t even look at the worker standing nearby.

Jun-hee lines up her throw, one hand on her knee to brace herself, and flips the Ddakji in one hit.

“Pass!”

Sae-byeok allows herself to grin as Jun-hee laughs breathlessly. The team cheers, a chorus of relieved and impressed shouting as they celebrate briefly. Jung-bae shakes her excitedly for just a moment before he realizes that he should probably be gentle with her, then threads his arm back through hers.

Once she’s sure they’re all prepared, Sae-byeok sets her sights on the distance they have to walk. Glancing once more at her team for confirmation, she nods. “Ready, go!”

They move quickly, each step steadier than the last. Young-il glances down at Sae-byeok as they’re walking, concern clear in his eyes. “You okay?” He sounds out of breath, actually. “I know this is tiring.”

She gives him a deadpan look, completely unaffected by the movement. “I’m fine,” she responds, gritting her teeth when she nearly stumbles. “I’m probably twenty-something years younger than you. It doesn’t affect me as much.”

She also got used to moving quickly while pickpocketing before the games, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay,” he chuckles as they reach the next station.

“Let’s do this!” Dae-ho shouts enthusiastically. Jung-bae takes his stone as the two young adults on both of his sides allow him to free his arms. “Get it in one, sir! I believe in you!"

Jung-bae lowers himself slightly, rolling up his sleeves. “Back when I used to pitch,” he starts, patting at Dae-ho’s leg until it is moved out of his way, “I never threw very fast. But I had flawless ball control; the ball always went where I wanted. I never missed a throw.”

He takes a moment, focused on his target. He winds up slowly, his shoulder tense–

And hits the stone on the first throw.

“Pass!”

“Ready,” Sae-byeok shouts again, making sure all of the others know when to start walking, “go!”

And they’re off once again.

“I knew you could do it,” comes Dae-ho’s excited chirp.

Jung-bae laughs quietly. “Let’s stay calm.”

As they reach the third station, a worker is already waiting with the small table. On top of it are the five pieces for the game, which Dae-ho takes. He holds them in his fist and raises his hand to his face momentarily, and then crouches down to play. The other four follow his lead, all lowering to the ground to watch.

“Dae-ho,” Jung-bae starts, “stay calm. Even if you mess up, we’ll be fine. We still have four minutes to go.”

Dae-ho nods. He twirls his wrist a few times and throws the five pieces down. He inhales deeply, and then begins.

He throws one piece, his hand moving quick as he swipes the other pieces into his hand.

One, two, three, four.

He begins the second round in silence.

Two, four.

And the third.

Three, one.

His hands are a blur of movement as he places down most of the pieces, keeping just one in his hand to throw.

Four.

He tosses the pieces once, twice, not enough that they’ll go flying but enough to get himself used to the feeling of it. And then, with a breath, he throws them up higher and flips his hand.

All five pieces land perfectly against his fingers.

Dae-ho doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t waste even a second. He throws the pieces up once more, hand coming up effortlessly to capture them against his palm.

Five.

Sae-byeok turns her head to look at him in complete shock, unable to process the fact that he actually just did it all in one go. Not a single mistake, nothing. The rest of her team seems to be similarly stunned.

He’s not distracted, however. He looks up to the masked worker standing over him, the smallest of smiles forming on his face as he slowly flips his hand over and unclasps it to reveal the five pieces nestled comfortably in his palm.

The worker brings their hands up in the shape of a circle.

“Pass!”

And Dae-ho screams.

The five of them cheer, utter disbelief clear in all of their faces. Young-il pumps a fist excitedly, and Jun-hee laughs. Jung-bae wraps one arm around him roughly, shaking him just as he did with Jun-hee. “That was insane, holy shit— how— Dae-ho, my boy!” He seems to be struggling to even form a coherent sentence. “You’re amazing, Dae-ho! Insane!”

Sae-byeok links her arm with Young-il’s once again, heart pounding. “Okay, up, let’s go, we have to go!”

“Get up!” Young-il instructs, an impressed grin on his face as he stands, arm-in-arm with Dae-ho. “That was amazing,” he adds.

Dae-ho absolutely glows with the praise. Sae-byeok allows herself to revel in the pride on his face, the cheerful glint in his eyes despite the situation, before she turns her gaze forward and starts to walk once again.

“We’ve got plenty of time, we’re fine! We’re going to be just fine,” Jung-bae states happily. And then he continues, presumably speaking to Jun-hee. “Hey, don’t push yourself too hard. Be gentle with yourself. You okay?”

“I’m alright,” Jun-hee confirms, although she sounds a little breathless. Sae-byeok makes a mental note to check on her later.

Young-il doesn’t waste time as they reach his game, simply taking the spinning top without a word. For a moment, Sae-byeok is slightly worried that this will turn into another player 044 situation, but Young-il looks confident.

Even so, Jung-bae reaches over Dae-ho to put a hand on Young-il’s shoulder. “Take your time,” he reminds him. “No rush, okay? We’ve got time.”

“We might even get through all five games on our first try,” Dae-ho says excitedly.

Finished with wrapping the rope around the spinning top, Young-il pulls his arm back to throw it. Sae-byeok moves out of his way, watching his movements carefully. She gets ready to continue walking as he throws the spinning top.

…And wilts slightly when it lands on its side.

Silence falls over the group, all of them now less confident. “Ah, shit,” Young-il mutters.

The clock is still ticking relentlessly, the sound echoing in the room. Sae-byeok looks up at it as it reaches three minutes. “It’s fine,” she reassures in a low voice. “We still have time, see? Let’s just go pick it up and try again.”

Young-il nods, the rope still clutched in his hand. They set off once more, less enthusiastically this time.

“It’d be boring if we won everything on our first try, anyway. No fun in, uh, passing everything without a hitch, right?” Jung-bae tries, voice hopeful. Clearly, he’s trying to instill a new sense of confidence in them.

Judging by the disappointment on Young-il’s face, however, it isn’t working very well.

Dae-ho, though, seems to be desperate to regain the cheerful attitude they had before. “That’s right, sir!” He turns his head to the side to look at Jung-bae, which means that Sae-byeok can no longer see his face. “No growth without failure. If— if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow!”

They reach the discarded spinning top. Young-il leans down to pick it up, seemingly unaffected by that timer. As he rises once more, Sae-byeok forces her voice to sound steady. “Now we go backwards. Ready?”

With a steady nod from each of her teammates, she begins to lead them back to the line. Much like Hyun-ju’s team, they manage to walk faster backwards, although Sae-byeok can’t ignore the toll all the movement is clearly taking on Jun-hee.

“You’re fine,” Dae-ho encourages, leaning back to give Young-il space to try again. “Relax, okay? You’ve got this.”

Sae-byeok hesitates, but follows his lead. “Stay calm,” she murmurs. “If you freak out, you’ll mess up. Don’t rush yourself.”

He nods, nudging her back as he finishes wrapping the spinning top. “Hold on,” he mutters. She allows him to move her, albeit not without a short grumble. “Give me some space, yeah? Like that.”

She instantly regrets moving when he flings the spinning top backwards. If she had stayed in her spot, he would have simply knocked his arm against her chest, or even her face.

Stunned silence fills the space. And then—

“...Oh, fuck, okay. That’s on me.”

Oh, she’s going to kill him.

No, no, she chastises herself. She’s not being patient, she knows that. They still have time, don’t they? They’ll be fine.

Besides, she won’t be able to kill him if he gets them all killed first.

Stop.

“It’s fine,” she replies through clenched teeth. “We have time. Let’s just go get it, okay? Then we keep trying.”

The five of them resume in their journey backwards. Sae-byeok is trying so hard to be patient with Young-il, but she thinks the stress of the guns in the hands of the soldiers is starting to get to her.

“How did you even manage that?” Jung-bae asks, humour and complaint fighting in his voice. “Are you sure you did this as a kid?”

When he doesn’t get a response, he continues. “Throwing it backwards, now that’s a skill.”

When they do finally reach the spinning top on the ground, Young-il fully bends himself over to grab it. And then, instead of standing back up, he just stands there. Breathing heavily, shoulders tense.

In the end, it’s Jung-bae that, once again, breaks the silence. “What, are you… taking a break down there or something? Get up.”

That does it. Young-il rises back up, already working on wrapping the rope around the spinning top. They start to walk forward, breathlessly keeping up their chants of one, two, one, two, one, two.

Young-il practically throws his arms up, still focused on wrapping the spinning top. He manages to throw Dae-ho off balance with the movement, although Sae-byeok steadies herself before she can even stumble. “Hang on, wait,” he requests. “I need my arms. Let me do this while we walk. It’ll be ready quicker, that way.”

He grows frustrated as he struggles, jaw clenching visibly. “What the hell is my problem today?” It’s clear that the question is rhetorical, asked to nobody but himself.

Still, Sae-byeok can’t help but say something. “Stay calm,” she implores him.

He looks back up at the timer as they reach the line, panic forming in his eyes. “Don’t rush,” Sae-byeok tries, but he doesn’t listen. He throws the spinning top as soon as he finishes wrapping it, taking no time to line up his throw. “No, wait–”

“Fail!”

“We’re going to die,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head.

Dae-ho casts a worried look over to her. “Don’t think like that,” he pleads. “We– we still have time.”

When she finally realizes that Young-il isn’t even moving to pick up the spinning top anymore, Sae-byeok lets out an irritated groan. She swoops down, swiftly grabbing the small item and ignoring the way her fingers brush against the blood just as Hyun-ju’s did. “We can still make it,” she hisses, offering the spinning top to Young-il. “Come on, take it–”

Instead of taking it, Young-il runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, come on, what the hell?” He breaks off into a frustrated shout, and then yells again. Then again as he throws the rope to the ground. Dae-ho flinches with the violently erratic movement, while Sae-byeok shares a stunned look with Jun-hee.

Her attention is immediately drawn back to Young-il when he raises one hand and slaps himself. “You idiot! You’re a fucking idiot!” Each sentence is punctuated by another hit to his own cheek. Dae-ho leans away, grabbing onto Jung-bae’s shoulder for support. Jung-bae himself shifts to cover Jun-hee, watching with wide eyes. “You ruin everything, you piece of shit!”

Deciding that he isn’t going to stop while he’s yelling hysterically, Sae-byeok narrows her eyes. When he raises another hand to slap himself, she shoots out her own hand and firmly catches his by the wrist in the middle of his movement. He finally pauses, breathing heavily, and looks over at her.

Her eyes blaze with passion. She can’t let herself die now, not when she made it through the last games. Not when Cheol is waiting for her at home, under the assumption that his sister will be coming to retrieve him in just a few days. She didn’t leave him last time, and she isn’t going to leave him this time. Not now.

“I’m going to give you a second to compose yourself,” she growls. “Nobody is blaming you, Young-il. People make mistakes. So take a deep breath, stop screaming, and then pick it back up and do it right.”

When he hesitates, she digs her nails into the soft skin of his wrist. She’s not dying here, not today. He winces as one of her sharp nails finds the center of his wrist, right above one of his veins. She applies pressure; not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt. “Calm yourself down. Some of us have people waiting for us, and I am not going to let myself die because you wanted to throw a tantrum and hit yourself until you got whatever message you’re trying to convey through your own thick skull. So, again, take a deep breath, and then take it and try again.”

He just stares at her helplessly. She raises one eyebrow, gaze flicking to the wrist that she still holds in place. After only a moment, he inhales a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.”

She nods and allows his arm to fall to his side. She doesn’t have to say anything; when she offers the spinning top to him again, his hand darts to hers to grab it. Dae-ho hands him the rope that he threw to the ground, which earns him a muttered thanks.

Young-il returns to his task, this time with shaking hands. When Sae-byeok notices his breathing growing shallow once more, she places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it just enough to ground him. “Deep breaths,” she reminds him gruffly. “You’re fine.”

As he finally finishes, he aims for a throw and shuts his eyes tight. Dae-ho moves out of the way quickly, wrapping his arms around Jung-bae once again. Sae-byeok looks over Young-il’s shoulder, patting it gently. “Breathe,” she says again. He does as he’s told, taking in a gasping, shaking breath. “Now throw it. You can do this.”

He nods, eyes still squeezed shut, and throws once more.

Sae-byeok almost doesn’t want to look. But she does, eventually, and she finds that the spinning top is actually spinning.

He did it.

“Pass!”

The group breaks into cheers once again.

The celebration is quick, however; they aren’t done yet. They still have one game to play – Jegi, the one Sae-byeok will be dealing with. They all grab onto each others’ arms, a loud chatter forming as they try to talk over each other. It almost seems instinctual when they all turn to look at Sae-byeok.

She sweeps her gaze across the four of them quickly, prepared to move. She holds the fabric of Young-il’s sleeve in a vice grip, brows furrowed. “Ready, go!”

They have just over twenty seconds left. The walk to the fifth minigame is rushed and shaky and panicked, but they don’t fall over. When they make it, Sae-byeok grabs the jegi with the same speed that she grabbed Young-il’s wrist. The worker attempts to hold a hand in front of her face while the rules are explained to her, but she is having none of it. She shoves their hand away. “Move.”

She takes a breath, allowing her eyes to flick shut for just a moment. She remembers Cheol telling her about this one, and she remembers playing a game or two with him. Back then, it had just been in an attempt to feel anything that wasn’t the all-consuming grief and guilt that had formed in her throat since the first games. Now, however, it’s going to save her life.

She doesn’t allow herself to get lost in the memories of his carefree laughter, although she’d like to. Instead, she opens her eyes again and throws the small item into the air, determined to get her team to the end of this.

It’s all going well. She kicks the jegi once, twice, three times, four times—

It’s all going perfectly, until that small object flies further forward than it was meant to.

Sae-byeok doesn’t panic very often. But in that moment, watching the jegi fall down and down and down, out of her reach, she feels as though she is already dying. She knows what comes next, she knows how this ends; it falls, they run out of time, and that horrifying beep fills the stunned silence of the room. The triangle guards will approach with their guns, no remorse visible in the eyes that she cannot see. They will raise their weapons, deaf to the sound of desperate pleading and shrieking, and will shoot endlessly. Jung-bae and Dae-ho will never go home to the people that are waiting for them. Young-il will never make it back to his wife, Jun-hee will never have her baby, and Sae-byeok will never make it back to Cheol.

She knows how this ends. She knows that it ends in death.

They’re all going to die, and it’s all her fault. It’s all because she kicked the jegi too far, because she messed up. Would it have been different, she wonders, if she had picked Paengi Chigi? Would they have spent less time on the fourth minigame, resulting in them having more time to deal with this one?

Would it have changed anything at all?

While she’s lost in her thoughts, she feels her other foot being dragged forward. Instinctively, she ducks low to the ground, one hand landing against the dust to steady herself, as Young-il flings their legs out.

Miraculously, it works. Just before the jegi hits the ground, Young-il manages to slip their feet right underneath it. Sae-byeok feels a faint tap against her shoe, and then nothing else.

And then–

“Pass!”

He just saved all of their lives.

They don’t waste any time at all. Young-il and Sae-byeok stand, wrapping one arm around each others’ backs, and they launch back into motion.

“Quickly!” Dae-ho shouts. “Go, go, go! We’re almost done!”

Sae-byeok doesn’t know if she has ever run so desperately in her life. The journey to the finish line is accompanied by the anxiety-inducing timer in the background and the shouts of one, two, one, two, one, two.

They have to make it. She’ll be damned if she makes it through all of that just to die on her way to the finish line. There’s no way in hell that she’ll let that happen.

One, two, one, two, one, two, one–

The finish line tears in half as they throw themselves at it, and then it’s over.

“We did it!” Young-il cries out. “We did it! We’re done!” There’s a certain type of desperate relief in his voice, one that only comes from surviving a near-death experience. One that Sae-byeok has heard far too much today.

They form a circle on instinct, all five of them checking on each other. Sae-byeok lets herself get swept up in the moment, blindly reaching for Jun-hee to make sure she’s okay. Young-il’s arm is still warm around her shoulder, and Dae-ho is laughing disbelievingly, and– and is Jung-bae crying?

As the final beep rings out, signalling to the guards that the game has ended, Sae-byeok feels the energy leave her body. It’s over, it’s done, she’s done. She made it. She can rest.

The sound of rapid gunfire, however, sends her right back into fight or flight mode.

They’ve won, but the other team lays dead on the floor. So much for seeing them on the other side.

The team holds each other, none of them speaking but all of them conveying one message; we’re here, we made it, it’s over. Sae-byeok turns her head away, inspecting the other four carefully in an attempt to distract herself from the five dead bodies of hopeful people on the other side of the room.

It’s no use, however. The situation is far too tragic to pull her attention away from it.

“The following players have been eliminated,” the automated voice from the speaker system begins. “Player 135, player 239, player 263, player 415, and player 453.”

Five innocent players, dead. Five families, now permanently missing one member. Five nameless corpses, marked only by a quantitative measure made to keep track of who remains and who does not. Five mothers’ sons and daughter, five fathers’ pride and joy, all dead and gone and not even buried.

Five more people dead.

How many more will go before this can all end?

-

When Sae-byeok’s group finally makes it back to the players’ sleeping quarters, her gaze immediately finds Hyun-ju and 095. Mumbling some kind of excuse to her teammates, she instinctively takes Jun-hee’s hand and walks over to them. Dae-ho trails after them quickly.

They seem to be having a discussion, but the four of them look over to Sae-byeok, Jun-hee, and Dae-ho as they arrive. Player 044 is missing, although if they kicked her off of their team, Sae-byeok doesn’t blame them. She wouldn’t want to be around the woman, either.

“You made it,” Hyun-ju breathes.

Sae-byeok nods. “Yeah, barely,” she mutters. “Young-il and I both nearly got us all killed, but he and I helped each other.”

“We still made it,” Jun-hee reminds her. “We’re still here.”

She nods, eyes softening as she looks from Jun-hee to player 095. Haltingly, she murmurs, “I’m… glad you four made it.”

The elderly woman, player 149, beams. “Oh, I’m glad you three made it! I would have felt awful if you didn’t make it, 067, after you saved us during the first game.”

Jun-hee smiles softly. Dae-ho, on the other hand, grins widely. “You four should’ve seen how Sae-byeok got Young-il to calm down so that he could focus on his game! He was screaming and slapping himself, and she grabbed his wrist like it was nothing!” Sae-byeok turns her head away as six pairs of eyes turn to her, but she doesn’t stop him. He can tell them, she doesn’t care. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone look so intimidating. I was scared, and I had already finished my game!”

“Your name is Sae-byeok?” 095 interrupts, looking at her with rounded eyes. She gives a small smile as Sae-byeok nods. “It’s pretty.”

She looks away again, for once not thinking of the two other people who called her name pretty in the past. But she quickly notices that she managed to not think of them, to her frustration, and now she really is thinking of those two people.

Well. Technically, it’s three, but…

(“Player 067,” hums an unfamiliar, artificially low voice. “Kang Sae-byeok.”

She can’t see the source of the voice, but a snarl claws its way up her throat. She knows, she just knows. This is one of the motherfuckers who supervise the games, who do nothing but stand by and watch as hundreds of people die, who point guns at them in order to instill fear and force submission from the players. One of the wolves, the predators, hunting down innocent prey animals and killing them mercilessly for the simple crime of losing at a deadly child’s game.

She just knows, because it has to be. Nobody else in this damned place has a voice changer quite like theirs.

“Who are you?” Sae-byeok asks desperately, trying not to let her fury seep through her cold demeanor.

Her captor, however, ignores the question. “Sae-byeok,” he repeats, as though she hasn’t spoken at all. “A pretty name, really.”

Her breath comes in heavy gasps. She wants to reach up and tear the blindfold from her face, but her wrists are bound behind her back. She doesn’t even know where she is; a car is her best guess, going by the fact that it seems to be moving. “Who are you?” Her voice is much more desperate, this time.

“Sae-byeok, meaning dawn.” Her setting shudders to a stop for a few moments, confirming her assumption. She’s in a car, or a van, or whatever they use to transport the players. “Poetic, don’t you think? You’ve been crowned the winner of this year’s games, which will mean a new dawn in your life. You’ve got money, now; enough to get your brother, and perhaps to find your mother."

“Don’t you fucking talk about them,” she snaps. “Who are you?”

“Now, I’m sure someone as smart as you must know that I can’t tell you that,” he rumbles.

“Are you one of those guards that killed the other players?”

“No.” He pauses, and then clicks his tongue. “Hm. I’ll make you a deal, Sae-byeok. I will answer one question of yours truthfully, but only if you answer one of mine. How does that sound?”

She doesn’t answer, at first. She thinks over what that might mean. The logical part of her brain tells her that accepting his offer would be downright stupid, but, at the same time, what else does she have to lose?

He hums, after a while. “I should have you know that I already have far more information on you than any of your fellow players did. After all, I’ve got it all on file. My question will have nothing to do with your life outside the games. And, in return, you’ll gain one piece of information.”

“...You’ll tell me anything?”

“Any piece you’d like,” he agrees. “Ask away, but choose carefully. I’ll only answer one.”

She thinks that she could ask a million different things, but she already knows what it’s going to be. “Okay. Who are you?”

There’s a moment of silence. The vehicle jerks, as though it’s driving over a bump, and then they’re back to their smooth journey. “The Frontman,” he finally answers.

She shuts her eyes, although it’s no different to the darkness caused by the blindfold over her eyes. “Why did you tell your guards to heal my injuries? Why didn’t you just let Sang-woo claim the win last night, instead of dragging this out?” Sae-byeok asks, before she can stop herself.

The Frontman hums once more. “I’m afraid you’ve already asked your question,” he chides. “My turn, hm? Let’s see… oh! If you could have chosen one player to win in your place, who would it have been?”

She doesn’t even have to think about that one. “Seong Gi-hun. Player 456.”

She hears a low, distorted chuckle. “You’ve thought that one through already, I see.” His voice almost sounds teasing. It’s strange, but she’s not exactly shocked that he would tease her now, if he’s the Frontman. If he’s been simply watching the things she has undergone over the past six days. “What made you choose him?”

Because he had a daughter. Because he had a sick mother. Because he was a good man. Because he saved her.

Because he was somebody’s father.

Because he was somebody’s baby.

She says none of that. Instead, she replies with a cold echo of his own words; “I’m afraid you’ve already asked your question.”

The Frontman laughs again. “Smart girl.”)

She blinks, focusing on player 095. “And, uh… your name is…?”

Ah, that sounds familiar. But she won’t get lost in another memory, not so soon. Especially not when the memories of Ji-yeong tend to break her.

“Kim Young-mi,” the other girl replies.

“I’m Jang Geum-ja,” the elderly woman adds. “And this is my son, Park Yong-sik.”

Sae-byeok nods. “Good to know.” Her gaze travels to the large doors as they open once more. Instantly, she knows what is to come; the results of the second game, and then the voting. After that, they will eat.

She sighs, nudging Jun-hee and Dae-ho. “We should get back to our team before the voting starts,” she urges them.

Dae-ho nods. “Good idea.”

Sae-byeok looks up to the board with the number of players remaining, which has yet to be updated, and she finds herself quietly praying that this will be the last vote she and her team have to partake in.

But she thinks she knows, deep down, that those are foolish thoughts to have.

-

Of course, the vote doesn’t go how she wanted it to. They are staying, once again.

Her team sits quietly in a cluster – well, three out of five members of her team sit quietly together. Jung-bae sits apart from them, eating alone, separated by the blue patch on his chest. The rest of them exchange low murmurs every now and then, making sure all of them are doing alright.

Sae-byeok, however, has also shifted away from them. She sits alone, distress beating just as heavily as her heart within her chest. They’re staying. They aren’t leaving.

Cheol is still out there. Her brother. She’s still here, while he’s still out in the world. She doesn’t even know if Jun-ho has fulfilled his promise of bringing him to Sang-woo’s mother, has no way of confirming that fact. He could be all alone, for all she knows, walking himself to and from school, cooking his own meals, wondering where his older sister is. Wondering, once again, if she has abandoned him. If she’s coming home.

Just the thought is enough to have her grip tightening around her bread. She feels the familiar sting and burn of the unshed tears behind her eyes, breath shallow, a weight on her chest—

She doesn’t even notice Dae-ho approaching until he’s right in front of her. He doesn’t say much – he just looks down at her, a sad look in his eyes, and then offers her a hand. When she just stares blankly at it, mind racing, he sighs and crouches down to sit at her level.

“Sae-byeok,” he tries. She blinks at him, and shakes her head.

She doesn’t want to get close again. She can’t get close again. Not after Ji-yeong. Not after Gi-hun.

If she gets close, she’ll make promises she can’t keep. She’s done it before; although Gi-hun never asked her directly to help his mother, she remembers swearing to herself that she would do it anyway. But, by the time she had returned from the games, his mother’s body had already been cold.

She can’t do it again.

Unfortunately for her, she may have made friends with one of the most persistent men in this place. Dae-ho nudges her, and, when that doesn’t work, he slips one arm under her own – ignoring the way she jolts under the unexpected contact – and lifts her tentatively.

For once, Sae-byeok doesn’t fight. She allows herself to be led back to the group. Dae-ho sits her down next to Jun-hee, squeezing her shoulder once, and then plops down on the other side of her.

Jun-hee seems to get the message. She scoots over, sitting closer to Sae-byeok, and tries to offer up her bread. Sae-byeok, however, shakes her head and presses the food back into the other girl’s hands gently. “No, eat,” she murmurs, her voice sounding almost distant to herself. “You need the strength.”

Young-il nods beside her. “Jun-hee,” he calls, getting her attention. “Once we make it out of here, you should go straight to a doctor. You’ve been under a lot of stress these past few days. It can’t be good for your health.”

Jun-hee smiles. “Thank you for the concern, sir. I’ll make sure to do that.”

Dae-ho looks up from his food, sighing while he’s chewing. His eyes are fixed on where Jung-bae sits alone. He looks to Sae-byeok, and she shudders when she recognizes the look in his eyes; he’s asking for permission.

Somehow, against her will, she has become somewhat of a leader. She’s… not sure how to feel about that, but she gives him a nod nonetheless.

Returning the gesture, he looks back to Jung-bae and swallows his food. “Hyung,” he calls. Jung-bae stiffens, weakly stifling a cough, but doesn’t look back. Unfortunately for him, that only spurs Dae-ho on. “Jung-bae!”

When he doesn’t get a response for the second time, Dae-ho sighs and places down his food. “Oh, give me a break,” he mutters, standing and striding over to Jung-bae without hesitation. “Come on. Just come sit with us.”

“No, y’know, I think I’m good here,” Jung-bae tries, still refusing to turn and look at the rest of the group behind him.

Dae-ho rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on,” he huffs, grabbing onto Jung-bae’s jacket and pulling him to his feet. He ignores Jung-bae’s protests, tugging him along as he returns back to the group. “Should’ve sat further away, if you wanted us to leave you alone. Come on. It bugs me, seeing you eating all alone and sad.”

As they reach the group, Jung-bae clears his throat awkwardly. Sae-byeok doesn’t look up from her food to him, and neither does Young-il. She sees Jun-hee looking at him from the corner of her eye, though.

“I’m… sorry,” Jung-bae says. “Jun-hee, Young-il, Sae-byeok, I’m sorry. Look, I’m in here because I borrowed some… emergency cash, and now the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and my kid, of all people. If I could just win one last game, I think I’d have enough to get them off my back. That’s why I voted to continue this time.”

“Jung-bae,” Young-il finally says. “Of all people, you shouldn’t have been the one to vote to stay. Your name means twice as righteous, doesn’t it?” Jung-bae nods slowly during a pause between words. “This doesn’t seem very twice as righteous of you.” He sighs, shaking his head. “But… if you look at the results, you voting to leave wouldn’t have made a difference at all. We were going to stay regardless.”

“See? Thank you, Young-il!” He turns to Sae-byeok, eyes wide. “It isn’t entirely my fault. I just… contributed. Not very much, mind you.”

“Jung-bae,” Dae-ho interrupts, patting his shoulder. “I can understand why you did it. I get it. That money wouldn’t have been enough for me, either. I did think about playing one more, when it was my turn to vote."

Jung-bae turns around and wraps him in a hug. “You did?”

Dae-ho winces, trying to push him off. “Yeah, yeah, okay– okay,” he puffs out, nudging at Jung-bae’s arms. “Now sit back down and eat.”

They quietly discuss what they’re meant to do, as Jung-bae finally reclaims his spot in the group. Dae-ho sits back down beside Sae-byeok, while Young-il shifts closer so that they can keep their conversation quiet. He ends up giving his milk to Jun-hee, claiming that he doesn’t drink plain milk. That leads to Jung-bae offering up his bread with a sunny smile despite the fact that he says he doesn’t deserve to eat. Sae-byeok thinks he’s joking.

…She hopes he’s joking.

“I think having a team like this is great,” Dae-ho eventually chirps. “Especially now, since we know that team games are an option.”

“We should come up with a plan, in case we need extra people,” Young-il hums.

Dae-ho nods at him. “Maybe we should find someone else, just in case. We’re an odd number; if it’s teams of two, one of us would have to split off and find someone else.”

That draws Sae-byeok’s attention. She looks at Dae-ho, heart already beginning to pound at the mere mention of duos in this game. She knows, she knows, she remembers how it ended.

She knows they’ll do it again.

She can’t let it happen again.

Herself and Ji-yeong. Sang-woo and Ali. Gi-hun and Il-nam.

(“I’ll make sure that you win.”

“What will you do?”

“Whatever it takes.”

There’s no hesitation in her voice.)

“Maybe we should—”

“No,” Sae-byeok snaps. “If it’s teams of two, and they don’t outright tell us that we’ll be winning with our partners, you find someone you don’t care about that you think you could win against.” She looks at Dae-ho and Jung-bae, although she feels like she’s looking right through them. “We don’t pick each other. I don’t care what you think the outcome will be; don’t do it.”

“…What?” Dae-ho’s eyes move across her, a bewildered expression crossing his face. Clearly, her outburst has startled him.

You don’t know, she wants to scream. You don’t know what happened, you’ll never understand what they did to us—

You weren’t here when they split us all in half, you didn’t see that man and his wife against each other— you didn’t see her smile when she gave her life for me—

She grits her teeth and tries to pretend she’s not trembling. “Just don’t. It didn’t end well last time, and it won’t end well this time.”

Oh, but it eats at her, the fact that she’s still here. The fact that they will understand what these games did to her, in a matter of a few days. The fact that they might not even make it through the next few days at all.

She just takes another bitter bite of her bread and keeps her gaze low.

Nobody speaks for a long while. Until, eventually, another low conversation starts up. Sae-byeok isn’t paying attention, really; not until Dae-ho nudges her, including her effortlessly with a reassuring nod.

“You both look like you could use a bubble bath and some homemade soup,” Dae-ho decides, smiling at Sae-byeok and Jun-hee. “Once we’re all out of here, I’ll organize a self-care day— no, don’t argue, I had four older sisters, I saw so many self-care days!”

Sae-byeok narrows her eyes at him, searching for the faintest trace of deceit, but all that she finds is a genuine kind of warmth in his eyes.

Slowly, she nods. “That… sounds nice.”

And, truly, it does.

So, for the time being, she lets herself think about it. She allows herself to consider a reality where she makes it out with this group – alongside Hyun-ju, Young-mi, Geum-ja, and Yong-sik, of course. And, surprisingly, she finds that Se-mi, Min-su, and Gyeong-su are part of the people that she would like to leave with, too; they were all nice enough, she supposes, so it’s understandable.

She gives herself the grace of imagining a life built with these people. She imagines Dae-ho and Geum-ja bonding with Cheol, and Jung-bae showing him the best ways to play Biseokchigi. She imagines Jun-hee, Se-mi, Hyun-ju, and Young-mi coming over for girls’ nights – their idea, of course. She imagines inviting Min-su, Gyeong-su, and Yong-sik over for dinner, showing them her favourite recipes and enjoying a quiet night in.

She imagines, for a moment, surviving with these people. And, for just a while, Sae-byeok feels the suffocating press of her fears pull away.

Chapter Text

The darkness of night is cold, suffocating, and so, so lonely.

Sae-byeok finds herself alone tonight, seated in solitude at the edge of her group’s base. While it would have been wiser for them to keep watch in pairs, it simply wasn’t feasible the way it was the first time; their group is of five, not ten.

And the difference, this time, is that they trust each other.

Well, maybe. Sae-byeok trusts them more than she’s trusted anyone who isn’t her brother, and maybe Jun-ho, in a long, long time. It’s a start, she supposes.

They trust her enough to let her take the first shift alone, so she can at least try to return the favour. When Young-il wakes to take her place, she will allow herself to slip into the relaxation of sleep, should it call to her.

But for now, she is awake. For now, she is alone.

She doesn’t feel alone, for the first time in a long time, and she can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. She feels like Gi-hun is still at her shoulder, a murmured conversation filling the space between them, a feverish old man sleeping behind them.

But he isn’t. She doesn’t need to look to her side to know that.

She still feels the urge to talk to him. After all, she may never get the chance; who knows if she’ll survive the next game?

There’s no guarantee. She doesn’t even know what it is; if the creators haven’t kept the second game the same, she can’t imagine that the third will still be Tug-of-War.

And, really, she hopes that it won’t be. She doesn’t know if that will hurt Jun-hee. If it’ll cause any complications. Her mind races with possible solutions, any feasible ways to make Jun-hee an exception, if the game really does stay the same.

…Oh.

Shit.

She’s already forgotten that she wasn’t meant to get attached.

“Oh,” she breathes, unable to find any other words for the moment.

She turns around, eyes falling on where she can see Jun-hee and Dae-ho, both fast asleep. She reflects on her interactions with both, and she finds, to her horror, a sickeningly sweet fondness building up.

She tears her eyes away, looking to Jung-bae. With a muttered curse, she feels the same about him.

One glance at Young-il, one quick thought to their short bond, is all it takes for her to know that she fucked up.

She knows, now, why this night feels so nostalgic. She’s let these four people creep into a small, specific space in her heart, one carved intricately for the people she’s met in this game, one that has been empty for so very long. One that has been abandoned ever since she watched Gi-hun and Sang-woo fight to the death, ever since she hissed through a guard tending to her wounds, ever since she saw the flash of an knife into flesh. Ever since Sang-woo looked her in the eyes, his neck bloodied, and asked that she find his mother.

She gave them a place in a heart so cold, and she didn’t even notice. And now, it’s too late; she already feels warmer.

It scares her. She knows from experience that the warmth, however nice it feels, will only make things worse. She knows that the chill is so much worse in the aftermath of finding comfort.

This isn’t a common occurrence; it’s only happened once in the past. There are only a few select people that she can remember having softened for.

“Gi-hun,” Sae-byeok whispers, as though he’s really there. As though he can save her from what she knows is to come. “Gi-hun, please, help me.”

She’s met with silence.

Kang Sae-byeok is a woman of little words, and yet tonight, she finds them flowing easily. “I found your daughter, and I found Sang-woo’s mother, and I found Ali’s family. I have found all that I was asked to find and more. Please, this once, just help me. Either grant them protection, or let me move on easily.”

She feels a chill. She’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. “I’ve never been one to believe in an afterlife, but if I must put faith in ghosts being real, I will.” She shuts her eyes, lowering her head for a few heartbeats. “Don’t let the next game take them from me. Not now.”

She turns around once more, her eyes falling on Jun-hee. She feels her tense posture soften just slightly.

(Her eyes catch on the sleeping form of player 240, eyes alight with interest. That girl is strange, but, somehow, she’s caught Sae-byeok’s attention.

She rips her gaze away when she feels a twinge of something unfamiliar. She keeps her eyes firmly on the ground, stubbornly ignoring the urge to sit by the girl, the creeping urge to protect her.

She can’t get attached. She can’t let that happen.)

It’s too late.

She turns around once more, chest tightening as her eyes seem to linger involuntarily on the softly breathing Jun-hee. Jun-hee, who she’s known for not even two days. Jun-hee, who already stirs odd feelings from within her, feelings so strange and yet so familiar that it terrifies her. She can’t put a finger on where she recognizes them from, but she recognizes them nonetheless.

…Fuck.

Sae-byeok whirls around again, trying to keep her breathing steady. Trying to pull away from her crushing, suffocating fear of connection, her fear of her own emotions. Her fear of herself.

“Ji-yeong,” she pleads quietly, trying desperately not to wake the others. “Ji-yeong, if you’re there, please. Please, don’t let these games take Jun-hee like they took you. I can’t lose another.”

Of course, no response follows her words. She doesn’t think she was expecting one, anyway; even if ghosts are real, there’s no way to hear one if they talk to you. If there was a way, she would have heard her father by now. If there was a way, Gi-hun or Ji-yeong would have found it.

So she just sighs, lowering her head and running a hand through her short hair. All she can do is hope. All she can do is try her best to keep them all safe on her own. Maybe that’s impossible, but she at least has to try.

“…Sae-byeok.”

She turns her head. Her eyes fall upon Young-il, having rolled out from under the bed he was sleeping beneath. He blinks at her blearily, as though he’s only just waking up.

She feels an embarrassed flush creep up her neck, but he doesn’t do anything that hints at him hearing what she was saying to people that aren’t even here. He just stares at her, quiet, before he eventually shifts upward and walks over to plop down next to her, sitting at her right.

“What’s going on?” Sae-byeok asks, her voice low and gravelly. “It’s not your shift yet. I’m still pretty far from sleep.”

Young-il shrugs. “I’m not very tired, either. I thought I should at least keep you company, if I can’t fall asleep.”

She pauses, searching his eyes. He looks so genuine, tilting his head to the side, blinking at her with dark brown eyes.

So she just sighs and nods. “Alright, sure,” she mumbles, shifting just slightly away from him. He frowns, but refrains from commenting on the action.

A bed creaks. Somewhere, a player mumbles unintelligibly in their sleep. The window at the door to the men’s washroom is momentarily uncovered, a triangle guard’s mask visible for just a few seconds before the cover flicks shut over it once more. Only a fraction of a second later, the window of the door leading to the women’s washroom does the same.

“Do you think…” Young-il trails off, pulling his knees to his chest. “Do you think the next game will be easy?”

She turns her head, glancing at him through the corner of her eye. “Any of the games can be considered easy, depending on what you’re good at,” she hums decisively. Her eyes flick between Young-il and the large area, the stacks of beds, the blurry shapes of the people sleeping beneath their blankets.

Young-il follows her gaze. He then looks over at her, taking in her guarded expression with a critical eye. “So, what brought you to the games? The first ones, I mean.”

She turns her head, finally looking directly at him. She regards him with a sharp gaze. “Why?” The word comes out slow, although only half-suspicious. “Are you going to find a way to use it against me?”

Laughing quietly, Young-il shakes his head. “No, no. Just curious. I mean, I told you why I’m here. I thought I might as well see if I could get you to open up, too.”

She narrows her eyes, looking him up and down. Trying to read his body language, trying to find any ulterior motives. In the end, though, she finds nothing.

He’s… being genuine. She thinks so, anyway.

So she looks away again, biting the inside of her cheek. “I needed money. My brother was in an orphanage. My mother’s stuck in the north. I needed enough to take care of him, and to get my mother. Obviously, that kind of money wasn’t going to come from anywhere else.” She sighs, shaking her head. “It wasn’t ideal, but I got the money I needed, so…”

Young-il nods. “That’s understandable. I guess we’re alike, in that way; we both came so that we could get enough money for our families.”

Instead of a verbal response, Sae-byeok hums affirmatively.

Taking her silence as an invitation to continue, Young-il points at the piggy bank glowing above them. “That money in there? That’s enough for me, even if we all have to split it.” When she turns to look at him, surprise etched into her features, he cracks a smile. “That’s enough. I can leave after the next game, and I would have enough to cover my wife’s treatments.”

“And after that?”

“After that, I have a job waiting for me.”

Sae-byeok widens her eyes. Young-il grins, an excited sparkle in his dark gaze. “I had a job interview not too many days before I played Ddakji with that recruiter. Between playing with him and coming here, the company called me back. Told me I was a perfect fit.” There’s a pause between words as he looks back up at the piggy bank. “I should be starting in a week or so.”

“That’s if you make it past the next game, mister you idiot, you’re a fucking idiot, you ruin everything, you piece of shit.” Her face is a deadpan mask of coldness, her tone just as flat as it always is. She still attempts to tease him, however, allowing him a chance to connect with her.

If he decides to take it, that is.

Surprisingly, he isn’t deterred. “I was frustrated with myself,” he says sheepishly. Then, he smiles once more. “I’ll make it,” he declares, as though there’s any guarantee of survival here. As if it’s possible. As if it’s smart to be making such confident statements. “All of us will. You, me, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho. We’ll all make it through the next game together, and then we’ll go home. I’ll bring my wife to meet you; I’m sure she’d love you.” His eyes flash with something certain. Something warm. “Just don’t lose hope, yeah? You’ll be just fine. We’ll be just fine.”

Sae-byeok huffs out a chuckle, a rare sound from her. She tilts her head back, dark eyes glimmering with a genuine amusement that she hasn’t let herself feel in a long time.

Tonight, though. Tonight, she pries herself from the grasp of her usual hopelessness, the thick, dusky grief that has kept her awake in the night and suffocated her in the day. Tonight, she lets herself feel warm again, even if it’s only for a while.

“You’re so optimistic,” she teases gently, the smallest traces of a smile on her face. “Too trusting, I think. Good thing you’ve got me to keep you in check.”

She isn’t thinking. She’s finally laughing again, although in the worst situation possible, and Young-il’s presence beside her calms the raging storm that brews in her gut. The room is gently illuminated by the warm, sun-like glow of the piggy bank, the very same one that Sae-byeok remembers seeing alight beyond her eyelids as they fluttered shut, as she faded into what she believed would be her death. It is dark, pleasantly so, and the tense set of her shoulders has finally relaxed in a way that it very rarely does.

The point is, she isn’t thinking. She isn’t thinking, and he reminds her of another man, similar in age and in actions. Perhaps that is why, caught up in the moment, she looks over to him and continues her statement with a murmured, instinctive, “Right, Gi-hun?”

And just like that, her mood falls.

She snaps her mouth shut, looking to her other side immediately. It’s instinct, the way her shoulders tense up, how she inhales sharply and grits her teeth. How she puts her walls back up so easily.

Young-il is silent for a slow, harrowing moment. And when he finally speaks, all he says is a low, surprisingly soft, “That’s someone else’s name.”

“I know,” Sae-byeok mutters, ducking her head in her shame. “ It just… slipped out, I guess.”

He doesn’t speak, not at first. When she risks a glance up at him, eyes frustratingly damp, she finds that he is staring forward quietly. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowed, as though deep in thought. He looks back up to the piggy bank, and then around at the room. And then, finally, he looks back to her.

“Was he…” Young-il trails off, lifting one hand to scratch absentmindedly at his collarbone. He seems like he’s considering his words, carefully flitting through questions, working to find a way to approach his curiosities as gently as possible. “Was Gi-hun a friend of yours?”

Sae-byeok hesitates before she answers. And then, haltingly, she says, “You could say that, yes. He saved my life. I think I owe all of my winnings to him, not that I could ever tell him that.”

(“Are you one of my dad’s friends?”

“...Yes.”

The little girl — Seong Ga-yeong, apparently — stares at her with round eyes. She reminds her of Cheol. “Are you one of his gambling buddies?”

“No,” she mumbles, grip tightening on the duffle bag in her hand.

“...Are you one of the people who he owes money to?” Huh. Sae-byeok didn’t think it would be possible for a child so young to sound so resigned, but she is quickly being proven wrong. “Mom says you guys aren’t his friends.”

Her throat dries. Ga-yeong looks at the duffle bag once, and then meets her eyes again. She looks so, so sad. When she isn’t given a response, the girl speaks again. “Dad doesn’t live with us anymore, so I can’t ask him for your money. Can you tell the scary man that pounded on our door and yelled at my step-dad that we can’t help him?”

Her heart breaks at the implication, at the prospect of ruthless loan sharks chasing after a young girl for the money that her father owes to them. “Your father doesn’t owe me money,” she mutters. “If anything, I owe my money to him.”

“...Oh.”

“Here.” She nudges the duffle bag, stuffed full with money, towards Ga-yeong, offering it for her to take. “From your father.”

As soon as the girl takes the bag, her eyes wide and curious and confused, Sae-byeok stuffs her hands into the pockets of her sweater and speeds off. She hears the girl calling for her, but she has another place to be; somewhere, Cho Sang-woo’s mother is waiting for him to come home. He won’t be doing so, but she’ll be receiving a visit anyway.)

“Ah.” There’s a type of resignation in Young-il’s voice. “Another player from your games, I assume?”

“...Yes.”

“Were you close?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Were you close with any of the others?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell me about them?”

“That depends on what you want to know.”

“Hm,” Young-il hums. He takes a moment to consider his answer, and then he asks, “Do their families know what happened to them?”

“No.”

“Did you find any of their families?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

Sae-byeok stops, looking up and thinking about it. Gi-hun’s daughter and ex-wife were the first, and then Sang-woo’s mother. After them, she focused on finding Ali’s family; it’d been hard to track down his wife and infant son, but she had managed. She quickly found Mi-nyeo’s family — her baby, a little girl, nameless. Left with an aunt. She’d given the adult woman money, and then left without a word. She knows where Deok-su’s father is, but she remembers that the man was an asshole. She had deemed him undeserving of the money that his son died for and worked on staying as far away from his old gang as possible. Other than the five of them, there were twenty-two or so other families that she had managed to identify, but she didn’t go to see them personally. With any luck, they’ll never know where the money came from.

“Twenty-seven. I found twenty-seven families,” she finally responds. The number feels tiny, tragically low compared to the amount of players, but it’s still a work in progress.

“Were there any people you were close with whose families you couldn’t find?”

“...Yes. Player 240. Ji-yeong.” Why is she telling him this? Why can’t she shut her mouth? Why can’t she stop?

“Did she ever mention her family?”

“Yes, once.”

“Are they just… difficult to track down? On the run?”

(“First body I saw? My mother’s.” She exhales, only somewhat shakily, and then continues. “One day, I came home from school, and my mom was just lying there. Dead, on the floor. And next to her… next to her was my so-called dad with a knife.”

Briefly, Sae-byeok considers apologizing. But she is not 240’s father, and she did not kill 240’s mother. And, besides, she’s not done talking.

“The next body that I saw… that was my dad’s. And the person standing there, holding the knife?” She pauses once more. There is a pair arguing near them. “...That was me.”)

“...I’d like to stop answering questions now.”

“Okay.”

They both fall silent. Sae-byeok looks back up. The piggy bank stares down at her, cruel and twisted, money stained with lives lost in these sick games filling its insides in place of guts and blood and organs. She feels that age-old grief flow back up, lapping at the back of her throat like bile, suffocating her, drowning her. She watches that glowing source of death, and she welcomes the feeling of guilt. Her eyes, swirling pools of sorrow, are unmoving.

She sits there silently, and she does not fight against the emotions swirling within her. She watches as unscalable walls of regret and blame are built around her, each brick and stone simply a moment that she wishes she can take back.

“I wish I could forget them,” she finally mumbles, looking down at her hands. Her eyes blur momentarily, and in the darkness, her fingers appear bloodstained. “I wish I didn’t remember their faces. Maybe then I wouldn’t keep reliving their deaths.”

She wishes, so desperately, that she could free herself from the memories. She wishes that their faces were at least blurred in her mind’s view, distorted and warped and nothing like them at all. But she remembers all of them so vividly, so painfully clearly, down to the last details in their eyes.

It’s torture. She still remembers their voices, still remembers hearing them calling for their partners during the fourth game or screaming in their final moments during the fifth. She still remembers the way Ali went quiet, so far from her, just before the gunshot rang out. She still remembers the shake in Ji-yeong’s voice when she called for her just before the gun went off. She still remembers how Gi-hun’s hands, rough and warm, patted at her face, horror vivid in his features as he begged her to stay awake, as he pleaded with her to hold onto her quickly slipping life. She still remembers the terror in Sang-woo’s eyes when he realized what these games had turned him into. She still remembers the feeling of his blood slipping through her fingers, a losing game, a rigged match, a loss taking root within her victory.

There is a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t look up. “If you forgot who they were, you would forget them entirely. You would forget everything they may have taught you. Is that something you’re willing to lose?”

She sighs, lowering her head. He sounds so much like the dead man haunting her.

And then she turns to him, eyes glassy and burning with unshed tears, and finally meets his eyes. The blurry image of Seong Gi-hun melts away into Oh Young-il, his gaze soft and his frown gentle. She scoffs shakily. “See, this— this is why I called you his name,” Sae-byeok says. “You act just like him. I could imagine him saying the exact thing to me.”

Young-il blinks, and then gives her a sad smile. “Do I really, or is that just the grief talking?”

“You do,” she says immediately. “Even when you started screaming about Paengi Chigi. I could see him messing up like that — of course, he would have come up with some stupidly crazy idea that would end up working flawlessly.” She laughs softly to herself, although the sound comes out dry and flat. “I still can’t forget when he came back from Dalgona with a stained tongue and told Sang-woo so proudly that his winning method had been licking the shape out.”

There’s a pause. When she looks over, Young-il is looking at her curiously. “Sang-woo? Who’s that?”

…Ah. Right. She hasn’t brought him up around Young-il yet.

She doesn’t even have to think about it, although the events make her heart heavy to talk about. “Oh, the guy that almost killed me and then killed himself instead after Gi-hun stopped him.”

“…Oh.” He doesn’t even sound surprised. Why doesn’t he sound surprised? What, is that just a common occurrence in his life? “So I’m assuming we don’t like him?”

That one does take her a moment. She thinks, and she thinks, and then she thinks some more. And then she looks down at her hands, and then back up. “I… don’t know. He was a good man before the games, I think. From how often Gi-hun bragged about him going to SNU, how often he called him the pride of Ssangmun-dong, I can only assume that he was.” She looks back over at the piggy bank, thinking about that final game once again. Thinking about his final moments, as she so often does. “He was desperate. He had a mother back home, a mother who was at risk of losing everything because of his debts. I can understand why he wanted to win so badly.”

“Oh,” Young-il says again. And then, without even a beat of tense silence, he asks, “Do you think he should have won, then?”

She whips her head around to look at him, caught off guard by the abrupt question. And then she really thinks about it, and her posture relaxes once more. There’s still a burning sensation behind her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe. He had his mother, but I had my brother. I went to help his mother after I won, but… I’m not sure that he would have done the same for my brother.” She waits a beat, before continuing. “You know, his mom still thinks he’s on a business trip. I… don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s not coming home.”

Her voice breaks over the last word, just slightly. She winces nonetheless.

Young-il gives her a moment, allowing the silence to settle over them. It does nothing to aid the conflict within her, a battle that didn’t even conclude when she won the games three years ago. All she can think of now is Gi-hun, Sang-woo, Gi-hun, Sang-woo, two names that echo and overlap, two ghosts of men who should not have died, two spirits who coexist in her mind because they cannot and will not ever exist anywhere else anymore. More often than not, they are joined by a third; the chant becomes Ji-yeong, Gi-hun, Sang-woo, Ji-yeong, Gi-hun, Sang-woo, usually without her even noticing.

Three ghosts, their names repeating and echoing in the order of their deaths.

“I don’t get it,” Sae-byeok finally mumbles bitterly, breathily, narrowing her eyes. “It’s been three years, I mean— I hardly even knew them.”

“Grief’s a funny thing,” Young-il tells her. “It’s hard to pinpoint why and how it hits. Maybe you’ll never be able to.” He tilts his head back, his eyes on that money above them, a gleam in his gaze. “And it doesn’t go away, either; not fully, at least. Especially paired with what you went through with them. I think that’s going to stick with you for a long, long time.”

He pauses slightly, exhaling through his nose for a long few seconds. “Besides, you didn’t have to really know them. You could know a person for your entire life and not give a shit what happens to them. Or,” he continues, voice rising slightly, “you could meet a stranger, and suddenly they’re your ride-or-die. You don’t have to know someone inside and out for you to care what happens to them. Grieving for a stranger can be the easiest thing.”

Sae-byeok sighs. “It feels like all I do these days is grieve for strangers,” she mutters frustratedly. “Ji-yeong, Ali, Sang-woo— Gi-hun, too, really. You know how I first met him?”

“How?”

“I pickpocketed him while he was running from loan sharks,” she says. “I didn’t feel bad, either, even when I saw his beat-up face from far away as I was leaving. I needed the money. It’s not that it didn’t occur to me that he needed it, too; I knew. It didn’t matter to me. Not really. Not when my brother kept asking about our mother. It didn’t matter to me until it was too late, and he was already dead on the floor.”

Young-il reaches over, resting one hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She tenses up, unnerved by the contact, but quickly relaxes into the touch. Her eyes are mere dark slits, as though keeping them narrowed that can block out the tears that she can still feel scorching behind them. “What happened to him was not your fault,” Young-il promises. Is she really that easy to read?

“No, it is,” Sae-byeok spits out. She knows that it’s true. “What if I hadn’t stolen from him that day? Four and a half million won — I needed it, sure, but what if I had just stolen from someone else? What if I had just let him be?” She shuts her eyes for just a moment, but flicks them open before it has gone on for too long. “Maybe his debts still wouldn’t have been fully paid off; I don’t know how much he owed. But maybe that recruiter wouldn’t have approached him that day. Maybe he could have gone home in a good mood. Maybe he could have been there for his mother before she passed; maybe she wouldn’t have been alone at the end. Maybe he would have lived.”

“Sae-byeok,” Young-il tries, worry evident in his rumbling voice.

But she’s not done. She hasn’t spoken about this, not once in the three years she’s been home from the games. Now that she’s started, she finds herself unable to stop. “He shouldn’t have been here at all. He didn’t fit in here. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t cruel like the other players.”

“…And you did fit in?”

“Absolutely.” There is no hesitation in her voice, only a stone-cold certainty. “I fit right in with all the liars, the thieves, the criminals. I literally pickpocketed people on the streets to make a living.” It’s a truth she’s long since acknowledged; people like Seong Gi-hun and Ali Abdul didn’t fit in with the other players. People like Kang Sae-byeok and Cho Sang-woo, well, they did. She does.

She sighs, shaking her head. “He… he was a good person at heart, and I told him as much. I was not, and to this day I’m not.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“I am.”

Young-il doesn’t seem to have a response to that. With that, they fall back into a lapse of stillness, the moment soundless and tense, keeping watch together in the chilled room.

And then, finally, when the thought has lingered for far too long at the front of her mind, when the words have all but clawed their way out of her throat;

“…You look a lot like Sang-woo, you know.”

Young-il blinks, looking back over at her. “I do?”

“You do,” she hums affirmatively, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. “You have a similar haircut. Similar face shapes, too, if I’m honest. You’re just missing the glasses.”

He stares at her for a few heartbeats, and then he chuckles. “Well, for what it’s worth, Sae-byeok, I won’t try to kill you.”

“That’s what you think,” she shoots back, although the teasing tone of her voice gives away that she is, for once, joking.

Young-il laughs again, a careless smile on his face. Eventually, it breaks past her defences — Sae-byeok isn’t sure why or how it happens, but suddenly she’s laughing with him.

And it’s not loud. It’s not a massive declaration of trust, of trying. It’s not Gi-hun holding her by the arm and using his own body as a barrier between herself and Deok-su. It’s not Jung-bae telling them to put their hands together and shout for victory as team spirit.

But it’s something. It’s a quiet moment of connection, a tiny light in their bleak situation, a flickering flame that chases away a little bit of the darkness of her misery. It’s a hesitant, tentative, halting attempt at friendship. It’s his hand, extended to her, an offer. It’s a question; it’s will you trust me?

It’s her taking his hand, slowly. It’s an answer; it’s I can try.

-

“You said Gi-hun was a good person.”

“I did. He was.”

“Well, there you go. That’s it.”

“…What?”

“That’s the difference between him and I.”

A soundless moment follows his words. And then—

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

“…I guess that’s the similarity between you and I, then.”

“Well, no. I’d say you’re a good person, Sae-byeok.”

“And I’d say you’re a good person, Young-il.”

“This is going nowhere. Agree to disagree?”

“…Sure.”

-

(Gi-hun’s blood is slipping through her fingers.

He chokes on it. She kneels next to him, weakly holding the injury. He looks up at her, and he smiles. He smiles despite the knife in his neck. He smiles despite the guards holding Sang-woo down behind them, despite the single guard lingering, hesitating, beside Sae-byeok.

When it becomes clear that she will not stop the bleeding, she reaches with shaking hands and pulls him into her lap. Her vision swims, darkening and then becoming harshly lit. She is sure that they are both going to die.

He reaches up. He cups one hand over her cheek, holds her face with such tenderness that she feels her breath stolen from her body. He’s speaking, trying to say something as a tear slips from her eyes, but she can’t make it out.

“Ahjussi,” she manages to croak out. His eyes light up, but his breath slows nonetheless. “Don’t go.” And then, although much more difficult to force out, she adds, “Please, stay.”

He responds, blood escaping his mouth in a thin trail that runs down the side of his face, but her ears are ringing too loudly for her to make it out.

It’s in that moment that she prays, so desperately, that she does not have to see him die. She wishes that she will go before him, that her world will go dark before she has to watch life leave his eyes.

But alas, life can be cruel. Her vision stays, and she cannot pull her eyes from him as he smiles, as the light behind his eyes begins to fade.

Her mind is hazy, pain clouding her thoughts, but in that moment, she can think one thing clearly;

Seong Gi-hun is dead.)

-

They’re sitting in silence a little while later when they hear a rustle behind them.

Both turn, complete opposites. Young-il is relaxed, smooth, and confident. Sae-byeok is tense, wary, and already thinking of a million ways to get rid of a threat, if there is one.

Of course, it’s not a threat; it’s Jun-hee, sitting up slowly behind them.

“I have to go to the washroom,” she whispers, carefully removing herself from the mattress, clearly trying not to wake Dae-ho.

Young-il nods, but then hesitates. “Not alone,” he mutters, casting a glance over his shoulder at the door to the washroom. “I don’t trust those guards, not for a moment; it’s the middle of the night, and there’s no way they aren’t dangerous assholes, if they have a job like this. I’d rather if someone went with you.”

“I’ll go,” Sae-byeok offers. “It’s meant to be your shift now, anyway.”

He nods once again, this time in agreement, and gives her shoulder one last comforting squeeze. “Alright. Be safe.” He glares once more over his shoulder as the window on one of the doors flicks open. “If any of those guards try anything, come right back here. I don’t care if they have guns, I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“So enthusiastic about it,” she teases, although her voice stays flat.

Young-il rolls his eyes. “Go. Who knows how long it’ll take them to open the door for you two?”

As it turns out, not very long. Before Sae-byeok knows it, she’s walking to the washroom behind Jun-hee. Behind her is Hyun-ju, and behind her is a trembling Young-mi.

The washroom door is just as heavy as she remembers.

Jun-hee walks into a stall without a word. Confused, Sae-byeok stares at the door, but the thin door shuts before she can say anything. She shares a bewildered glance with Hyun-ju.

She doesn’t have to use the washroom, so she leans against the wall next to Jun-hee’s stall and tilts her head back. She counts the tiles on the ceiling absentmindedly, her gaze lingering for just a moment on the vent that she remembers unscrewing. She gives a wry smile as she remembers the feeling of stepping on Mi-nyeo’s shoulder to get in; maybe she could have found another way in, but sue her, she’d been annoyed with the older woman.

Her eyes shift over, slowly. Hyun-ju is currently looking in the mirror, adjusting her bangs. There is a quiet discomfort in her eyes, alongside another emotion that Sae-byeok can’t quite name. She’s about to ask if she’s alright when she sees another movement from the corner of her eye; it’s Young-mi, pressed into the wall. She’s found a small corner between one of the stalls and the wall at the end of the room. She stares down at her shaking hands and doesn’t say a word to the other women in the washroom.

All of them stand there in silence. Blood stains all of their jackets. All three are shaken up by the past two bloodbaths, and all three share the knowledge that a third is coming up soon. Far sooner than they would like.

None of them speak, but they all know. They all get it. And that’s comforting, in a sick sort of way.

The silence is eventually broken, of course. It isn’t due to the stall door opening, or someone else entering the washroom. It isn’t broken by one of them speaking.

Instead, the noise that breaks the lapse of peaceful soundlessness in the room is a quiet sniffle from Jun-hee’s stall.

Sae-byeok picks up on it instantly. Her gaze sharpens as she looks to the door beside her, straining to listen for any other sounds, and—

There. Shaky breathing, paired with the occasional mostly-concealed sob.

After only a few moments spent debating whether or not to meddle, Sae-byeok sighs and taps on the stall door with her knuckle. “Jun-hee,” she murmurs, “are you alright in there?”

She doesn’t get a response.

So she knocks again. “Jun-hee.”

Still, nothing. Although, this time, she hears the lock click undone.

She takes that as permission to enter and nudges the door open. Jun-hee sits on the toilet, fully clothed. Her face is scrunched up, nose and cheeks tinted red. Tears roll down her cheeks as she turns her head away, adamantly refusing to meet Sae-byeok’s eyes.

She’s moving before she even realizes it. She crouches down in front of the toilet, two hands coming to rest firmly on Jun-hee’s shoulders. “Hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” There’s more concern in her voice than she would like.

Jun-hee shakes her head. Frustrated, Sae-byeok clicks her tongue and squeezes her shoulders. “If something’s wrong, I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on.”

There’s another moment of silence. Sae-byeok is painfully aware of Hyun-ju and Young-mi watching the two with concern.

“…I’m scared,” Jun-hee finally confesses, her voice nothing more than a small, broken whisper.

Sae-byeok feels her breath catch in her throat. She freezes up, for a moment, caught up in conflicting emotions, caught up in trying to decide what to do, how to help—

And then her body seems to move on its own. She stands quickly, tugging Jun-hee up along with her, and pulls her into a soft, protective embrace.

Jun-hee’s breath hitches. And then, choking on a sob, she melts into the contact, burying her face in Sae-byeok’s shoulder. The small space is filled with sniffles and cries and soothing whispers as they stand in the stall, the door wide open behind them. Sae-byeok gently cards a hand through Jun-hee’s hair, murmuring quietly comforting words in an attempt to soothe her. She’s not very good at this, nor does she think she ever will be, but it seems to be working.

“I’ll make sure you get out,” she promises despite herself, her voice low and much more certain than she truly feels. “You and your baby, okay? You’ll be alright.”

Jun-hee doesn’t respond. She presses her face into the fabric of the jacket, fingers digging into the space between Sae-byeok’s shoulders, her tears most definitely staining the dark teal. Sae-byeok finds that she doesn’t care, although she still lifts one hand to hold Jun-hee’s cheek and tilt her head up.

“Look at me when I promise you this,” she instructs, a quietly determined blaze in her eyes. Jun-hee reluctantly meets her gaze, vulnerability clear as the sun within hers. “I swear to you, Jun-hee, you are going to be just fine. As long as I’m here, as long as I’m alive, I will make sure that you’re okay.”

Is it wise to be promising things like that? No, absolutely not. In fact, it reminds her of Gi-hun’s naive hope just to say so.

But she can’t help it, really. The words spill out on their own, released from her mouth about as easily as water slips through her fingers, about as easily as her own blood slipped through her fingers. She can’t stop herself, can’t pause to think about how rare the possibility of both of them surviving is. She can’t. She won’t.

She swears it to herself as much as she swears it to the girl held in her arms tonight; even if it is the last thing that she does, Sae-byeok will ensure that Jun-hee is safe for as long as she lives.

-

By the time they return to the players’ sleeping quarters, Jun-hee seems tired from her breakdown. She keeps her head low the whole walk back, her body lingering near Sae-byeok as though she’s relying on her for directions. They quietly say goodnight to Hyun-ju and Young-mi, and then head back to their base.

If Young-il notices any signs that Jun-hee has been crying, he doesn't verbally acknowledge it. He gives them a nod, eyes resting on Sae-byeok for only a few extra moments as she walks past, and then returns to keeping watch.

Exhaling heavily, Sae-byeok sits down on the mattress next to Jung-bae. Unfortunately, she is quickly learning that he snores.

“Sae-byeok,” Jun-hee breathes. When she turns, Sae-byeok finds the other girl watching her, bright-eyed, her gaze worried and maybe a little hopeful. “There aren’t any blankets on that bed; you all kept giving them to me, remember?”

“I know,” Sae-byeok whispers back. “It’s okay, I don’t need one. I can sleep without one.”

Jun-hee, however, simply shakes her head. “No, come on. You’ll probably… sleep better if you’re warm, and we all need to be as rested as possible before the game tomorrow. Just come share a mattress with Dae-ho and I.”

Sae-byeok hesitates, but then Jung-bae snores loudly next to her. She winces, turning to look at him for just a moment. When she glances back, Jun-hee is giving her a look that says, see? “Do you really want to sleep next to that?”

It takes a few more moments of contemplation, but eventually, Sae-byeok sighs in resignation and shuffles over. Dae-ho lifts his head blearily, mumbling something in a tone heavy and slurred with sleep, but Jun-hee shushes him and pats him on the shoulder. She moves over, allowing Sae-byeok to shift between the two of them, and then huddles close.

When Sae-byeok blinks, surprised by the contact, Jun-hee nudges her to lie down. “It’s cold,” she mutters, shuffling closer. With a hesitant, only slightly stiff nod, Sae-byeok shifts into a position that Jun-hee can curl into, if she’d like.

And she does so. Despite her reluctance to take up space on this mattress, Sae-byeok finds herself reaching over to adjust the blankets so that they cover all three of them completely. And, slowly, tentatively, she wraps one arm around Jun-hee’s shoulder, the pads of her fingers pressing gently into the concealed skin. With the weight of the shorter woman next to her, the warmth of her touch, and the… well, the intimacy of her chest rising and falling, a steadily soft rhythm against her side, Sae-byeok finds the permanently rapid pace of her heart finally beginning to slow.

As though on instinct, Jun-hee reaches over and rests her hand against Sae-byeok’s other side. It occurs to her, in a thought distant in the presence of their closeness, that this could be considered cuddling.

She doesn’t have the time to be afraid of why she doesn’t hate the idea, however, because Jun-hee’s fingertips gently brush against the point on her abdomen where, beneath her shirt and jacket, she is aware that she still has a scar from the shard of glass that nearly caused her to bleed out.

The touch is accidental, unaware. Jun-hee, of course, does not know about the former injury, nor does she know the significance of where her hand has now come to rest. Still, Sae-byeok finds herself stiffening under the weight, or lack thereof, against a spot that she still deems so sensitive, so vulnerable. The memories feel hazy and dreamlike, but they sharpen into the tips of daggers as that gentle hand splays over the scar, knives that prick into her neck like the one that Sang-woo would have used to kill her. Three years since she ripped glass from that exact spot, and she can never shake the fear of another person’s touch coming anywhere near it.

Her newly tense form does not go unnoticed. Quickly, Jun-hee retracts her hand, twisting to look up at her. Her eyes glitter with concern. “Sorry. Was that too much?”

Sae-byeok hesitates, but then she shakes her head. “No, you’re fine,” she whispers, careful not to wake Dae-ho as he shifts beside her, unconsciously shifting closer. “Just… bad memories.”

“…Will you tell me about them?”

She considers that. And, after a second, Sae-byeok nods hesitantly. “Sure. But not tonight. Get some sleep, yeah? You should be well rested for the game tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Jun-hee reclaims her previous position. She’s slightly more hesitant when she drapes her arm over Sae-byeok’s abdomen, this time, but she does it nonetheless.

Sae-byeok is prepared for the contact, this time, but she still tenses up on instinct. After a few moments of adjusting to the feeling, she finally feels her body relax once more. It feels reluctant, almost, as if her body is clinging to the feeling of uncertainty and fear, but it happens.

Silence envelopes the five of them — well. Silence envelopes them, minus the sound of Jung-bae snoring. It’s fairly peaceful, fairly reminiscent of another set of nights.

Sae-byeok shifts slightly, finding Jun-hee blinking up at her as she moves, and presses down on her shoulder comfortingly once more. Jun-hee hums contentedly, her face finding the crook of Sae-byeok’s neck.

It feels unexpectedly intimate. It feels like the two of them are in a place that is not here, in a time that is less dire. It feels familiar, the way that Jun-hee’s breath puffs warmly against her skin, the way that she instinctively holds her close. It feels like she could casually lean down and press a tender kiss against the top of Jun-hee’s head, and neither of them would bat an eye.

It feels like…

…Oh.

Oh, shit.

It feels like how she felt with Ji-yeong.

Despite the realization, she can’t even bring herself to be afraid.

This is… weird. She hasn’t even known this girl for two full days, and yet this feels so right. Pulling her close in the darkness, allowing her hand to rest against a place so vulnerable. It feels like the life she should have had with the girl who died for her, and it feels like the life she could have with the girl who lays next to her tonight.

Maybe in another universe, she could have saved Ji-yeong. In a parallel world, where she was not who she was at the time, maybe she could have saved Gi-hun, or even Sang-woo.

It didn’t work out, of course. But, as she feels the hazy pull of sleep dragging at her limbs, she looks around at her team. She watches them for a moment, her eyes flicking between the sleeping forms of Jun-hee, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho, looking back to Young-il keeping watch. She allows her eyes to close slowly, and she thinks, Maybe.

Maybe in this one, I can make up for it.

Chapter Text

When Sae-byeok drifts into wakefulness to the sound of not birds but the chattering of the other players, the first thing she notices is that she is so very warm.

The second thing she notices is that she has changed positions in her sleep, and is now curled around Jun-hee as though protecting her even in unconsciousness. Her arm rests over Jun-hee’s, both of their hands laid gently over her stomach.

Over… over the baby. Where the baby is.

It’s all incredibly… something. It’s terrifying, is what it is.

It’s terrifying, and yet the combination of warmth — both inside and out — and the soft sound of Jun-hee’s breathing makes it hard to truly care.

The peaceful moment is interrupted when she feels something on her shoulder. Sae-byeok notices, merely a few moments too late, a warmth against her left side that wasn’t there when she fell asleep. Instinctively, her arm tightens around Jun-hee, ready to cover her like a protective shell if they’re in any kind of danger.

Dae-ho groans sleepily against her shoulder, and the part of her mind that was screaming about a threat just moments ago quiets. She discovers that all three of them must have slept close, curled up into a pile of warmth and soft snores. It must have been fairly recent, too; out of the few times that Sae-byeok remembers waking up in the night, she does not remember Dae-ho ever having been so close to her and Jun-hee. She decides that he must have laid down closer than necessary after his night watch shift.

“Morning,” he yawns, sitting up slowly. He looks forlornly down at the mattress, like he’s regretting leaving it, but sighs and shifts to stand. “How’d you two sleep?”

“I slept well,” Jun-hee murmurs, sitting up when Sae-byeok does. She lingers next to her, their shoulders pressed together, and doesn’t even look over to the point of contact. “Sae-byeok is surprisingly warm.”

Dae-ho nods vigorously. “Oh, I know.” He grins at the girl in question, nudging her teasingly. “And you?”

Sae-byeok shrugs. “I slept okay, except for the fact that you apparently kept trying to fling yourself off of the mattress. Kicked me seven times at least.”

“You could’ve just shared the mattress with me like you planned to,” Jung-bae chimes in, his tone heavy with amusement and the lingering drowsiness that comes with being woken from sleep.

Sae-byeok turns her head to look at him. “You snore,” she tells him bluntly.

He blinks, and then breaks off into a fit of surprised laughter. “Oh. Yeah, my kid used to make jokes about that, too.”

Dae-ho stretches, yawning again. He ends up with one arm slung around Sae-byeok’s shoulder, somehow, which causes her to look up at him with a raised brow. “What do you guys think today’s game is gonna be?”

“There’s really no way of knowing, Dae-ho,” Young-il sighs, stretching in a way that looks practiced. Like he does it in a specific way every day. “It’s not like any of us are in on the planning or anything. We’re all clueless here.”

Sae-byeok opens her mouth to agree, but something catches her eye. One of the murals on the walls, just beside the one that clearly depicts Red Light, Green Light. She hasn’t really been paying attention to them, not now and not last time, but once she takes notice of the second one, she realizes that it looks different.

If her memories are correct — and she knows that they are, because all the nightmares can’t have been for nothing — then the art beside Red Light, Green Light should be four humanoid figures. Each should be hanging onto a shape; the triangle, the star, the umbrella, and the circle.

If her memories are correct, then the art should be depicting Dalgona.

But it’s not. Instead of what she knows was in that place three years ago, there’s a new piece of art. And maybe she’s going insane, but it almost looks like the game it’s showcasing is the six-legged pentathlon. It looks like it’s the one they just played.

The more she looks, the more she realizes that the room is much, much different this time. The only art that remained the same is the first one; the rest are all different. They’re things she’s never seen before.

But when she thinks back to it, the art on the walls the first time she was here was always telling them exactly what the games were. She remembers them all vividly, thanks to how often she has relived the events. Tug of War was predicted by the drawing of two groups on opposite platforms, all connected to a line. Marbles was shown by the art of three people, a triangle and small dots between them. Glass Bridge was the one with four people, each on smaller platforms, one jumping to a cracked one. And the final game’s hint was pretty self-explanatory; the shape drawn in the sand for Squid Game, with two people inside of it.

These ones, though. She can’t exactly see all of them clearly, thanks to the beds blocking them, but the one beside the pentathlon is slightly visible. She squints, trying to decipher the lines that she can see, brows furrowed—

And her focus is quickly drawn away as Young-il’s hand lands gently against her shoulder. “Sae-byeok,” he says. “Come on. They’re giving us food before the game.”

“The drawings on the wall,” she says, ignoring the fact that the statement makes no sense whatsoever without context. “They correspond with the games. If we just—”

“We can figure it out later,” Young-il reassures. “The art will still be there when we get back. Right now, we need to get some food in our systems and focus on surviving the next game.”

“We’re going in blind,” she tries to say.

Young-il shakes his head. “That’s fine,” he tells her. “As long as we stick together, we’ll be okay. Then, when we get back, we can work as a team to figure out what the art on the walls could mean. Okay?”

Sae-byeok opens her mouth to argue again, but she can see Hyun-ju and her team waiting outside their makeshift base. She glances once more at the mostly-concealed wall art, and then sighs. “Fine.”

“Good.” Young-il smiles, patting her shoulder and pulling her towards the others. “Come on. Let’s go eat something.”

-

Her group merges with Hyun-ju’s temporarily, sitting together while they eat. Sae-byeok ends up sitting between Young-mi and Yong-sik, chewing thoughtfully on her food as her gaze travels across the room.

Maybe she could try to get behind some of the beds for a clearer view of the art on the wall? Would she even have time to do that? Not to mention the players around that area…

Her focus is drawn away, after a few moments. She glances to the side, swallowing, her eyes falling on Young-mi. Looking back once to check on Jun-hee quickly, she shifts. She doesn’t have very much of an appetite, not now.

She takes her food into the hand closest to Young-mi, wordlessly offering it to her.

Young-mi doesn’t notice for a few seconds, focused on eating her own food. Eventually, though, her gaze drifts down, landing on the extra food being offered to her. She looks back up to Sae-byeok, who has now looked away, narrowing her eyes at the wall once more.

“Are you sure?” Young-mi asks quietly.

Sae-byeok looks back at her and nods. “I’m not very hungry,” she murmurs. “I figured it should get eaten, and I’m not going to be the one that does it. I hope you don’t mind the few bites I’ve taken.”

Although there are a few beats of hesitation, Young-mi ultimately decides to take the food. She sets it down on her lap, looking up to Sae-byeok with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispers, taking another bite of her food.

But Sae-byeok just shakes her head. “Don’t thank me. Just eat. Get your strength up before the next game.”

And then, hands in her lap, Sae-byeok turns to quietly talk to Yong-sik like nothing ever happened.

-

Yong-sik is like her, she learns.

He cares a lot about his family. Hell, he’s been trying to keep his mother safe since the moment they arrived here — of course, Geum-ja has been returning the favour, but still.

When she looks at them interacting, she can’t help but think of Sang-woo and Gi-hun. She wonders if their mothers used to chastise them about their debts like Geum-ja does with Yong-sik, but, then again, Sang-woo’s mother never even knew.

She watches the two interact, and she thinks of two sons torn from their mothers in these brutal death games. She thinks of slipping into Gi-hun’s home through the window when his mother didn’t answer the door, her intentions only to give the woman enough to pay off her son’s debt and buy a shop like he wanted to do for her, and perhaps to inform her of his death, and finding her on the floor, cold and limp and lifeless. She thinks of arriving at the small shop owned by Sang-woo’s mother, Cheol walking quietly behind her, and leaving a large sum of money there on her way out.

She wasn’t able to reunite either of them with their mothers. She couldn’t do it last time. But as she looks at Yong-sik, she feels a glimmer of hope.

This time, she’ll do it. She’ll do whatever she can to keep them together. She’ll do everything in her power to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.

-

The guards lead them all into a large, dome-like room. Multicoloured doors are lined up against the wall, and in the middle of the room is a raised carouselle.

“I don’t like this,” Sae-byeok mumbles.

“Welcome to the third game. The game you will be playing today is Mingle.”

Thanos walks ahead of his group, eyes shining. “Hey, we’ll be mingling together!” His friend, 124, laughs, bouncing on his feet beside him. There is no way they’re serious. “Doesn’t that sound super fun?”

“May all players please step onto the center platform?” That energetic voice is still going, as if they aren’t all already on their way to the platform. “I will now explain the rules of the game. When the game begins, the platform will start to spin. Once it stops, a number will be called out. You must form groups of that size — no more, no less — and find an available room within thirty seconds. If you enter a room with the correct amount of people, you will pass that round and go on to the next. If you cannot find a room or enter a room with an incorrect number of players, you will be eliminated.”

“Oh, I know this game!” Jung-bae exclaims, recognition alight in his eyes. “We used to play something like this on school trips. The teachers would call out a number, and we’d all form groups by hugging.”

Dae-ho nods, his steps slowing. “Yeah, just like that. Except, instead of hugging, we go into one of those rooms.” He looks to Young-il and Sae-byeok, although he’s already right next to her. “What’s the plan?”

“If the number is bigger than five, we grab anyone that doesn’t have a group,” Sae-byeok decides immediately. “If we can’t find enough, we look for groups that still need a small number of people and split off into smaller groups.”

Dae-ho puts an arm around Jung-bae, shuffling closer to form somewhat of a circle. On the other end of the group, Jun-hee does the same. “But… what if it’s less than five? Like, maybe they’ll call three, or even four. What do we do then?”

“No matter what happens, don’t panic,” Young-il pipes in. “We have to stay calm. Stay close together, and think quickly. I’m sure that there will be other groups in need of extra players, or even a person on their own that two of us can grab if they call for three. We’ll all make it out together.” He’s confident. There’s nothing but stone-cold certainty in his eyes as he reaches out one hand, palm facing the floor. “Here.”

Sae-byeok waits just a moment, and then places her hand atop his. Jun-hee follows, and Dae-ho and Jung-bae aren’t far behind. Each has a firm grip on the hand below theirs.

Young-il smiles. “Ready? One, two, three—”

“Victory.”

-

Standing on the platform, surrounded by the other players pressing in close, Sae-byeok fumbles blindly and grabs onto Jun-hee’s hand. She shuffles just slightly closer, glancing down at her. “Stay close to me,” she murmurs.

Jun-hee nods. Sae-byeok looks back up, firmly holding onto her hand. She made a promise, after all; and she’s not one to break promises, not if she can help it.

She’s going to get Jun-hee out of here, just like she said she would. She has to.

“With that,” the automated voice on the speakers calls out, “let the game begin.”

Music begins to blare from speakers all around, cheerful as always. The players gasp, murmuring amongst themselves, as the platform starts to rotate in a slow circle.

Sae-byeok hangs onto Jun-hee, jaw clamped shut. Behind them, Dae-ho moves slightly forward, taking his place at Sae-byeok’s side. He presses against her, wary eyes on the other players around them, and loops his arm through hers like they all did in the prior game. Hyun-ju is on his other side, her arm around Young-mi’s shoulder.

The platform stops abruptly, causing all of them to stumble. Sae-byeok’s eyes snap to the nearby doors, then to her team.

And then—

“Ten!”

The lights begin to flicker and flash in bright colours, and the panic sets in.

Sae-byeok keeps her hold on Jun-hee, pushing past Dae-ho to grab Hyun-ju’s shoulder. “How many are with you?” And she already knows the size of their team, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. Maybe they found an extra stray player; she has no idea.

“Four,” Hyun-ju replies.

“That makes us nine,” Jung-bae says. “We need—”

Another man grabs onto his shoulder, eyes wild with desperation. “You’re a group of five? So are we.” He nods to his group. “That makes ten. Come with us!”

Just before any of them can say anything, a third man lunges. “Hey, wait! Hold on! We have five, too! Come— come with us!”

Sae-byeok watches them go, mind racing as she scans the crowd for any solo players. There has to be one, there has to be.

“We’re running out of time,” Young-il shouts, voice straining as he struggles to make himself heard above the clamour. “We need to go, Sae-byeok!”

“One more! We need one person!” Hyun-ju shouts. Her eyes light up, though, and she races off to a section that’s mostly cleared out. She grabs onto the arm of a stunned 044. “Ten! She makes us ten!”

“Room 44, the light green one!” Sae-byeok barks out, pulling Jun-hee and Dae-ho towards the door she’s looking at. “Go! Green door! Go!”

She yanks the door open, shoving Jun-hee and Dae-ho inside before her. Instead of running in, however, she waits at the door, holding it open as the rest of the group floods inside. Hyun-ju and 044 are the first to get in, followed by Jung-bae, and then Yong-sik and Young-mi, the two clinging to each other desperately. Just behind them, Young-il runs in, carrying Geum-ja as though she weighs nothing at all.

She shuts the door and locks it, breathing out a sigh of relief. She glances out through the hole once as the timer beeps and comes to an end, but winces and looks away as the guards lift their guns.

“All of you owe me your lives!” 044 shouts. Sae-byeok spins around to face her, unconsciously pressed against the door. She moves slowly around the tiny room, her eyes falling on each player in turn. She stops at the end, drifting closer to Jun-hee as she glances down to her stomach, a smile growing on her face.

Then, finally, she looks towards the door again, Except that her eyes aren’t on the door; no, instead, she’s looking right at Sae-byeok. “You’ve lived longer than you were ever destined to, 067,” she croons, moving towards her. “Now I know why.”

Sae-byeok thinks about bleeding out on her bed, unable to do anything to watch as Sang-woo drew closer to her, and she finds that she agrees.

“You’re here for a reason,” she murmurs, glancing back towards Jun-hee. Sae-byeok’s eyes flit between the two of them, and she grits her teeth. But before she can say anything, 044 turns again, this time looking towards where Young-mi and Yong-sik are still hanging onto each other, next to Geum-ja. She looks them up and down, humming decisively, recognition alight behind her eyes.

Her gaze pauses on Yong-sik. Sae-byeok counts the seconds that she stares at him, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow. One, two, three—

And then she’s turning to Young-mi, looking at her for longer. One, two, three, four, five, six—

Hyun-ju sighs, breaking the awkward silence that has formed. “We should all stick together,” she suggests. “If we have a bigger group, it’ll probably be easier to split off into whatever number they call. And if it’s five, we can just split the group in half.”

Sae-byeok nods in agreement, nudging past 044 to step away from the door. “Everyone find a partner and keep a hand on them at all times. If someone falls over, or doesn’t make it to the room in time, or starts running to the wrong room, we could all die. If we’re all in pairs, though, it’ll be easier to keep everyone together. If we get stuck in a crowd, we’ll all have someone to hang onto so that we can get out together. Got it?”

Everyone nods. Without even thinking of pairing up with anyone else, Sae-byeok slips to Jun-hee’s side, offering her a hand. Jun-hee takes it with a smile.

“The following players have been eliminated; 013, 043, 049, 054, 060…”

She needs to focus; the next round is starting soon, after all.

-

As it turns out, everyone find a partner and keep a hand on them at all times turns into Sae-byeok and Jun-hee holding hands, Dae-ho and Jung-bae clinging to each other, Hyun-ju holding onto Young-mi, Yong-sik and Geum-ja linking arms, and Young-il and 044 standing away from each other. When Sae-byeok tries to gesture for him to stick with her, he shakes his head subtly.

“She freaks me out,” he mutters under his breath. “Worst case scenario, they call two and I grab whichever stranger is closest to me. I’d prefer to stick by you guys.”

Sae-byeok sighs, but just nods and follows Jun-hee back to the platform. The group huddles up, watching their surroundings warily, as it starts to spin again.

The blood splatters on the floor are… unsettling, to say the least. Especially with the bright, merry music playing over the speakers. But that’s how these games have always been; unsettling. A giant playground with blood-soaked structures and a wide-eyed corpse at the end of the slide, the scenery of a small town surrounding them as each contestant is forced to play and fight and win against their closest ally.

Unsettling.

“Four!”

Immediately, Sae-byeok pulls her arm from Jun-hee’s and tries to push her gently towards Young-il. She can see a group of three nearby; if she can just move quick enough, she can get to them. She can join their group and ensure her survival as well as her team’s. “You four, go!”

Young-il, however, just raises his hand. “No, you go with them.” He gestures to the four of them, nodding with a kind of certainty that only he really has. “Go ahead, guys.”

And then he’s turning around and disappearing into the crowd, only his voice a sign that he’s still nearby. “Three people! Please, I need three people!”

Sae-byeok reaches for him, regret and fear tearing at her throat. If he dies here, if he doesn’t make it home— his wife, he has an unborn child—

She already failed to save a desperate father three years ago, she can’t do it again— she won’t do it again—

“We have no choice,” Jung-bae shouts, distress clear in his voice. Sae-byeok doesn’t look at him, but she feels a hand grasping at her shoulder, pulling her. “Let’s go, we have to go!” There’s an arm around her shoulder, and then they’re running.

Dae-ho leads them towards a purple door, pulling Jun-hee inside quickly. Sae-byeok allows Jung-bae to guide her into the room hurriedly, although she stops once he’s fully inside and turns, one hand on the door. She scans the crowd, eyes flickering from person to person, trying to catch even one glimpse of Young-il—

And then Dae-ho is right beside her, herding her into the room. “Come on, come on,” he murmurs, shutting the door. “I’m sure he’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Everyone okay?” Jung-bae asks, casting her a worried look from where he’s checking on Jun-hee.

Sae-byeok nods, glancing over her shoulder at Dae-ho as he looks out to the players being shot at through the small hole in the door. She shivers as she hears a gunshot far too close to their room. “I’m fine,” she mutters, averting her eyes.

He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t believe her. She knows it; she can tell by the way his gaze lingers on her, by the concern etched into his expression. But she doesn’t say anything, and neither does he.

“...I don’t see Young-il out there,” Dae-ho tries to reassure. “I’m sure he’s alright. He’s smart, and he’s friendly. I don’t see why someone wouldn’t want to take him with them.”

“I do,” Sae-byeok mutters. “I’d leave even the friendliest person behind if I had too many people on my team.”

“Sae-byeok,” Dae-ho sighs.

She shakes her head. “No, come on. Don’t tell me you would leave one of us behind, or, worse, take too many people into one room, all because somebody was friendly. It’s just the reality of this game.”

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She turns her head to find Jun-hee looking at her, eyes round with something like sadness.

The doors unlock, and they’re all free to leave.

As much as Sae-byeok would like to rush out of the room to search for the one person she’s worrying about — no, the… five people she’s worrying about? When did that happen? — and reunite her team, she can’t. She slips to the rear of the group, beside Jun-hee and behind Jung-bae, and sticks with them. Her eyes flick across the room as she tries to block out the sound of Dae-ho and Jung-bae calling for Young-il, tries not to think about why she’s not seeing him, tries not to—

“Sae-byeok!”

She turns, eyes softening. Dae-ho is clutching his chest in relief, gasping for air as though he was holding his breath. “Young-il.”

Jung-bae rushes forward and envelopes him in a hug, drawing a grunt of surprise. “I knew you were going to be okay,” he breathes, leaning back and shaking him as Young-il pats at his side. “We told Sae-byeok you’d be fine!”

Young-il looks at her, a warm smile on his face. Sae-byeok doesn’t grin, exactly, but she feels the corners of her lips twitch upwards just the slightest bit. “You scared me,” she mutters, averting her eyes. “Glad you made it.”

“I’d say I’m a pretty likeable guy,” he says, shrugging. “These types of games aren’t too bad for me.” He glances to the side, eyes falling on Jun-hee. He puts a hand on her shoulder, smiling down at her. “Ah, Jun-hee. Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” she responds, tone warm. “All of us are happy you’re back.”

He nods, then glances back over at Sae-byeok. Then back down to Jun-hee, the ghost of an amused smile curling across his face. “You know, I just realized… if the next number they call is six, we won’t need to find anybody else.”

Silence follows, the other four members of the team confused. They share glances with each other, searching for some kind of understanding, some explanation. Young-il is looking around, stifling laughter, pressing his lips together to smother a smile before it can lead to a chuckle.

In the end, Jung-bae is the one to break the silence, realization dawning on his face. “Oh, the baby!”

Young-il hums affirmatively with a nod, but that’s about all he can do before he starts laughing. The reaction is infectious; Dae-ho is the first to follow, but with his loud laughter, it doesn’t take long before Sae-byeok is doing the same.

Jun-hee is laughing, too. Sae-byeok thinks, before she can stop herself, that the amused twinkle in her eye is beautiful.

The thought scares her, a little. But she doesn’t have time to linger on it, not now. Not in the middle of a game. Not when her life is on the line.

Right now, what she needs is to put her undivided attention into surviving this game. Right now, what she needs is to get Jun-hee out of here, alive and safe.

-

The prelude to the next round, spinning, waiting, is slow, agonizingly so. Sae-byeok stands with her team, eyes occasionally flicking up to the player count. Jung-bae and Dae-ho stand next to each other, just behind Jun-hee. Beside Sae-byeok, although there’s enough room between them that Jun-hee could step forward if she wanted to, stands a tense Young-il.

“Three!”

And just like that, all five of them fly into action.

Sae-byeok and Young-il reach for each other. Young-il nods to Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. “You three, go! Sae-byeok and I will find someone else!”

They run off in the direction of a nearby room. Moving quickly, Sae-byeok links her arm firmly with Young-il’s, raising her other hand with one finger up. “One person! We just need one person over here!” Her voice cracks, the screaming drowning it out.

With a nod to Young-il, she pulls the two of them into the crowd, searching frantically for a solo player.

She can’t find one.

Her eyes flit between the teams she can see, eyes catching on a few familiar faces. Min-su is running with Thanos and Nam-gyu — where are Gyeong-su and Se-mi? She can’t see either of them anywhere.

Hyun-ju and Young-mi are running around, their hands tightly clasped together. Sae-byeok keeps an eye on them, but continues to search the crowd. If she can just find Geum-ja and Yong-sik, maybe she can send Young-il off with them and catch up to Hyun-ju.

But she can’t find them. The crowd and the flashing lights make it hard to distinguish allies from strangers. She looks for people around the same height as them, eyes scanning above the crowd for a head of curly hair at roughly Yong-sik’s height, but no luck.

And then, somehow, her luck changes.

There, standing off to the side on her own, is Geum-ja.

Relief floods her chest. She yells out something that she doesn't even register, pulling Young-il towards the elderly woman as quickly as she can. The crowd is thinning, groups running for the doors, and they’ll all die if she doesn’t act fast.

They’re right there, she’s so close, they can nearly reach out and grab her—

And then two unfamiliar players run in front of them, screaming, and pull Geum-ja towards a room.

Sae-byeok stops. “Shit,” she breathes. Her chest heaves. She looks for someone, anyone, just one solo player. But her eyes don’t catch on anybody on their own, and she can see an empty room but nobody to take with them. Would Young-il be able to track down her brother, if she sends him off with a duo that she can see nearby?

And then—

“Sae-byeok!”

Someone is rushing forward, grasping frantically at her jacket. She yelps, a rare sound to hear from her, as she and Young-il are pulled along by a stranger that she can’t make out in the flashes of colourful lighting.

Young-il recovers from his shock quicker than she does. As they reach a blue room, he rushes to shut the door and lock it, doing so just as the timer runs out. The three people in the room breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Sae-byeok turns, eyes finally falling on their mystery saviour, who is looking at the ground. She inhales sharply. “Se-mi?”

Sure enough, Se-mi looks up, giving a tight, fake smile. “Hey, Sae-byeok, 001.”

“It’s Young-il, actually,” Young-il corrects, although not unkindly.

Se-mi nods. “Good to meet you, Young-il.”

“The following players have been eliminated; player 007, player 034, player 109, player 172, player 220, player 291, player 335, player 345, player 347…”

Sae-byeok grits her teeth, not really focusing on the player numbers being called out. Out of the few that she actually registered, none of them were players that she recognized. She turns her head, eyes dull and exhausted as she leans against the wall. “So,” she starts, looking at Se-mi, “what happened to you? Where’s your team?”

Se-mi sighs, shaking her head. “Gyeong-su... died. Thanos kicked him out last round, and he didn't find a room. I thought I'd stick with Min-su, but then he left me for those assholes,” she mutters, arms crossed over her chest as she, too, leans all of her weight on the wall behind her.

“Ah.” Biting the inside of her cheek, Sae-byeok nods contemplatively. Disappointment surges in her chest as she processes the news of Gyeong-su’s death; there goes one of the people she imagined leaving with. She looks to Young-il, but not for long. Her eyes flick back to Se-mi. “I imagine you’re not going back to them, then?”

“Probably not,” Se-mi puffs, tilting her head back until it knocks gently against the wall with a soft thud. “They’ll hate me by the end of the night, anyway. I’m voting to leave.”

“Stick with us, then,” Sae-byeok offers. She exhales, her breathing much steadier now.

A flicker of surprise crosses Se-mi’s face, but she quickly masks it. She looks up at Sae-byeok, and then slowly nods. “I might just take you up on that offer.” The smallest of smiles flickers across her face.

A moment of quiet passes, the two standing there, eyes locked onto each other. And then, eventually, Young-il clears his throat. “If you two are done flirting, I think they’re going to let us out soon,” he teases.

Her gaze snapping to him, Sae-byeok gently hits his shoulder. “We aren’t flirting.”

“Right,” Young-il hums. She would be satisfied, but the amused glint in his eye says that he isn’t quite done talking. “Of course. You wouldn’t be flirting with anyone here, because you’re in love with Jun-hee.”

The statement, so blunt, catches her off guard. She blinks, opening and closing her mouth slightly as she tries to find something to say. After a few moments, she simply shoves at him. “I am not in love with Jun-hee!” Sae-byeok hisses, mortified. “I just met her!”

“Ah, love at first sight,” Young-il sighs, mock-wistfulness in his eyes. “You know, when I first met my wife, I denied it, too.”

Sae-byeok groans, kicking at his ankle. He snickers, a shit-eating grin on his face, and turns to Se-mi. “Have you seen the way they look at each other? I swear, once they make eye contact, it’s like the rest of us don’t even exist.”

The lock holding the door shut clicks open. Sae-byeok glances between the two other players, and then groans again. “He’s exaggerating,” she tells Se-mi, swinging the door open and stepping out of the room.

The first person she sees is Geum-ja. She breathes out a sigh of relief, walking over to stand by her while she watches for the others. Young-il and Se-mi follow, idly chatting in a low murmur.

Before long, she hears a shout. She turns, her worry decreasing slightly as her eyes fall on Young-mi, Hyun-ju, and an unfamiliar man, all rushing over. Geum-ja pulls Young-mi and Hyun-ju into a tight embrace, relief written all over her face.

“You two aren’t hurt, are you?” Geum-ja asks, frantically patting at their arms, as though to check for injuries.

Hyun-ju shakes her head. She points to the newcomer — now that he’s closer to them, Sae-byeok can see that his patch reads 246 — with a smile. “He saved our lives,” she assures.

“He showed up just as we thought we were going to run out of time,” Young-mi exclaims, a wide smile on her face. “He pulled us right into a room without any effort, just like Prince Charming!”

Geum-ja smiles, moving forward to take 246’s hands in hers. “Oh, and you look like a prince,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No, don’t thank me,” 246 says, shaking his head. “These two saved my life, really.” He pauses, shaking his head. “Park Gyeong-seok, miss.”

Hyun-ju looks around, eyes hopeful. A flicker of confusion crosses her face, however, as she scans the other players nearby. Her brows furrow slightly, and she looks back down to Geum-ja. “Where’s Yong-sik?”

Sae-byeok blinks. Yong-sik is with them, isn’t he? He was looking for another player with his mother during the round, she remembers. Is he not standing with them?

Sure enough, she looks around and finds that Yong-sik is, in fact, missing.

…Where did he go?

“Mama.”

Ah. There he is.

Sae-byeok turns to look at him, just as Geum-ja nudges past Hyun-ju and shakily makes her way over to him. He’s only standing a few steps away. He’s stiff, though, his expression pained.

Geum-ja pulls him into a hug. “It’s alright,” she murmurs, patting his back. “I’m alright. I made it.”

He says nothing. He looks agonized and relieved at the same time.

“It’s okay.” She pulls back, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Yong-sik doesn’t respond.

Geum-ja frowns. “Yong-sik?”

Yong-sik sobs faintly once, and then his knees buckle, and suddenly he’s falling to the ground. Sae-byeok inhales sharply, widened eyes watching as Geum-ja kneels next to him, panicked shouts erupting from the rest of the group as they rush forward.

Yong-sik groans in pain, his breath coming quick and heavy. “I’m— I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

Geum-ja shakes her head. “Yong-sik, what— are you hurt? What’s going on?” She sounds incredibly distressed — rightfully so, considering the fact that her son just collapsed.

Sae-byeok searches him quickly, standing a little further away than everyone else, panic rising up. She looks from his face to his chest, uninjured, and then down to his abdomen, and then—

Oh.

His left knee. Blood leaks from it, staining the fabric of his pants. Did he get shot?

Her mind races. He can’t have been shot, right? Why would they shoot him? He wasn’t eliminated — there’s no way that he was. He’s right in front of them, alive, although bleeding. But he wasn’t eliminated. He wasn’t, he can’t have been, he wasn’t—

(“The following players have been eliminated; player 007…”)

Her blood runs cold.

He was eliminated. But… how? Why?

“I tried to find you, mom,” Yong-sik sobs, leaning into Geum-ja’s embrace. “I wanted to stay with you, I swear. I left those men to find you, I didn’t want to— fuck, it hurts, I—”

His words are cut off by a gunshot.

He falls silent and still, blood already seeping from the newfound wound. A shot to the head. An instant end to his life.

Geum-ja stiffens, looking down at his body, her breathing ragged and uneven.

And then she screams. A primal sound, a raw, ugly shriek of agony and loss.

She sobs, her arms finding their way underneath him to lift him into her arms. “My boy,” she cries out, burying her face in his hair for a moment. “Yong-sik…”

She looks up, then, focusing on the masked soldier that stands over her. There’s a furious shake in her voice when she speaks, grief and rage becoming one. “My baby, you killed my baby boy—”

“Players, please make your way back to the middle of the room. The next round will begin shortly.”

“Yong-sik— my baby, my… my baby,” Geum-ja repeats, trembling as she cradles his body. “Not him, not him—”

Five guards approach. Two hold a coffin between them, lowering it to the ground as they reach the two. One walks behind Geum-ja, easily pulling her to her feet. She spits and swears and hits, but gains no response. No matter what she says, the remaining two workers have a job to do; they silently lift Yong-sik’s lifeless body, one supporting his head and the other holding him by the ankles, and place him in the coffin.

The whole time, Geum-ja cries. Once the worker releases her, she crumples to the ground next to the coffin. One of her hands reaches inside, cupping his cheek. “Yong-sik.” She looks up at the two workers. “Please— please save him, please— don’t take him—”

Despite her desperate pleas, they don’t listen. Her hands are wrenched away from him, even as she cries out. The guards place the lid on the coffin, deaf to her raw sobbing, and take him away.

Sae-byeok can do nothing but watch. Dae-ho is at her side, standing stiffly. When she looks up at him, she finds that his eyes are full of raw fear.

Yong-sik is dead.

He’s dead. He’ll never get to come home.

He’s dead, and all they can do is get back on that carouselle and go on with the game.

-

Standing in the crowd, waiting for the next round to start, Sae-byeok feels dread build in her stomach.

Geum-ja had to be pulled into the middle of the room. Now, she stands beside Jung-bae, sobbing, clinging to Hyun-ju and Young-mi as though both of them will disappear as soon as she lets go.

Sae-byeok presses close to Jun-hee, breath quivering as it exits her body. She feels nauseous, and the spinning of the carouselle really isn’t helping.

She doesn't know what to do. Yong-sik is dead. Another player added to the list of people she couldn’t save, to the list of reasons to grieve. She needs to be strong, needs to keep going, needs to keep her team safe, but she feels like she’s suffocating. There's a weight on her chest, and she can hardly even breathe. She waits for the feeling to pass, but it never does.

The crowd presses in around her. The music playing is far too happy, and the volume is hurting her ears. The lights are shifting, changing in tune with the song, and it does nothing to help her. The carouselle is still spinning endlessly, different coloured doors rushing past her eyes, the movement blurring the details on the walls—

“Six!”

Sae-byeok’s head snaps to the people in her group. She counts them in a fraction of a second. Ten people; six women, including herself, and four men. It would make the most sense for her, Jun-hee, and Se-mi to stick together, since they’re all right next to each other. They could easily split down the middle and each find one more person, but they only have thirty seconds. There’s no guarantee that both groups would find someone.

Her eyes flick to Jun-hee. She needs a guarantee, but she doesn’t need it to include her.

“Four women, two men,” she decides, nodding to everyone. Se-mi seems to understand and grabs onto her. “Whoever doesn’t go comes with me.”

Jung-bae looks around. “Wait, which two?” His voice rises with his panic, eyes flicking around at the people in their tight circle.

“Gyeong-seok, come with us,” Hyun-ju pleads, grabbing onto his arm. “I don’t want you to die, too.”

Dae-ho steps up. “I can go,” he offers, eyes flickering from person to person.

Sae-byeok nods, nudging Jun-hee towards Dae-ho. She turns to the rest of the group — Jung-bae, Young-il, and Se-mi — and links her arm with Jung-bae’s. She’s about to pull him into the crowd to find two more people and pray that the others follow when someone else tugs on her jacket.

“Five women!” Jun-hee argues, swiftly pulling her away from Jung-bae with a force that Sae-byeok wasn’t aware that she had. Dae-ho holds onto her shoulder, nodding along as she speaks but glancing anxiously towards where the rest of the team is already running for a door. “Gyeong-seok, you stick with the rest of the group. I’m not leaving Sae-byeok behind.”

“Jun-hee,” Sae-byeok tries, eyes sharp with panic.

But the other girl just silences her with a glare. “Let’s go. We don’t have time for this!”

She hesitates just slightly. Dae-ho lets out a frustrated, terrified noise from the back of his throat, patting Gyeong-seok once on the back, and then turns and rushes toward the rest of the group, shoving Jun-hee and Sae-byeok into action as he pulls them alongside him. Hyun-ju has found them a room, thankfully, and they’re off.

Sae-byeok hears a familiar shout behind her. She wants to turn, but she doesn’t have time. She tightens her grip on Jun-hee and pulls her into the room.

Her chest heaves. Sae-byeok, Jun-hee, and Dae-ho crash against a wall in the room. She feels Dae-ho’s arms around herself and Jun-hee, and she can feel that he’s shaking. She’s not sure who fell, not until Hyun-ju seems to panic. “Young-mi!”

She snaps her head up, heart already pounding. Hyun-ju tries to run out of the room with three seconds left, but someone knocks her back inside. She stumbles backwards, Sae-byeok and Dae-ho rushing to steady her before she falls.

The door shuts and locks just as the newcomer looks up at them, and—

Myung-gi.

Sae-byeok feels Jun-hee tense up beside her and slings an arm around her shoulder, simply settling with glaring at him. She narrows her eyes, but her focus is pulled away in only a few moments.

Young-mi’s eyes are visible through the gap in the door. “Unnie.”

Sae-byeok’s heart drops.

“Young-mi!” Hyun-ju races to the door, pounding on it as though she can open it via brute force. Gunshots begin to sound, a panicked energy thrumming through the room.

All of them fall silent, shock keeping their mouths shut. The only sound is heavy breathing and Hyun-ju’s desperate shouting. “Young-mi,” she calls again, her voice rough and trembling.

Sae-byeok takes a hesitant step towards the door, her breathing jagged and uneven. She shivers, hand grasping for Jun-hee’s as she stares at the door. “Young-mi,” she whispers, the name shaky upon her lips.

Hyun-ju hits the door violently, the fingers of her other hand finding the gap and gripping it tightly. “Young-mi!” she shouts, voice commanding as though she can will Young-mi to pass through the door.

Young-mi shuts her eyes tightly. A tear rolls down her cheek just as she opens them again, and a terrified noise comes from the back of her throat. She seems to choke on a sob, pressed against the door like she can force herself through it if she just tries hard enough.

A gunshot rings out, clear and horrifyingly close.

Young-mi’s eyes grow dull. In just a few agonizing moments, she slumps downward, and her face disappears from sight.

And the room falls silent.

“Young-mi,” Hyun-ju calls, horror and disbelief creeping steadily into her tone. Her fingers slide into the hole in the door, pulling at it once, then twice. She goes quiet for a few moments, but eventually, as all things must, the tension in her snaps. “Young-mi! No!”

“Young-mi,” Geum-ja sobs, attempting to grasp at a son who isn’t there. “Oh, not Young-mi, not her, too…”

“Fuck,” Sae-byeok hisses, blinking away the burning sensation behind her eyes. Dae-ho lowers his head to rest it against her shoulder, and she can feel his tears staining her jacket just as Jun-hee’s did last night. “Fuck. Young-mi.”

She’s dead. She’s gone, too.

“You!” Hyun-ju lunges at Myung-gi, gripping onto the collar of his jacket. She pins him to the wall, regret and grief and absolute fury in her eyes. “This is your fault! I could’ve saved her!”

“Are you kidding me?” Myung-gi asks slowly, his chest heaving as he stares up at Hyun-ju. “I just saved your lives,” he spits out, eyes narrowed. His voice is dangerously calm.

“I still had time, I could have gone out to get her!” Hyun-ju shouts, shaking him. He winces as his head hits the wall roughly, but stands his ground. “There was time! She could have been saved!”

Finally, Myung-gi snaps. He shoves her hands off of him, pushing her backwards angrily. “No, that’s not true, the door was about to lock!”

Jun-hee moves away from him, averting her eyes. Sae-byeok watches the two argue, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see Dae-ho moving to stand protectively at Jun-hee’s other side.

Myung-gi and Hyun-ju are glaring at each other, both stiff as they stand at opposite ends of the room. The tension feels like a rope about to break, just barely held together by a single string, groaning with the pressure.

Hyun-ju rushes forward, and the rope snaps as her hand flies out to strike Myung-gi across the cheek.

Myung-gi shouts, cheek blooming red from the impact. He holds one hand against the point of injury, breathing heavily, and looks up at Hyun-ju. “As soon as you stepped out there to save her,” he starts quietly, voice furious but rough from screaming, even as it quickly gains volume, “they would have shot you, exactly like they shot her. Then you would’ve been down one, and your entire team would have died, too!”

He pushes her away once again, head snapping to the rest of the group. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges, gaze lingering on Jun-hee momentarily before it moves on. “Go on, say it. Tell me you would have survived if she left.”

And then, when nobody responds, “Say something!”

The four of them are silent — Jun-hee shakes her head, Dae-ho looks away, Geum-ja presses herself into the corner as she sobs, and Sae-byeok simply watches, struggling to catch her breath.

In the end, though, it’s Jun-hee that speaks first.

“He… he isn’t wrong,” Jun-hee admits in a breath.

“We only had three seconds,” Dae-ho finally adds. His voice is quiet, solemn. “There wouldn’t have been enough time.”

Hyun-ju leans against the wall, choking on a sob. She wipes at her face furiously, but it simply isn’t enough; her tears come fast, rolling down her cheeks before she can even try to stop them.

The door unlocks. Sae-byeok links arms with Jun-hee and Dae-ho, pulling them out of the room. And when she realizes that Hyun-ju hasn’t followed Myung-gi and Geum-ja out, she looks back inside.

She pulls herself from Jun-hee and Dae-ho, walking back to the room. She pauses in the doorway, her head tilting to the side.

Hyun-ju buries her face in her hands, a raw sob tearing from her throat. Sighing, Sae-byeok moves closer and pats at her arm. “We have to go,” she murmurs. “The next round is starting.”

“She’s dead,” Hyun-ju breathes out. She lifts her head, meeting Sae-byeok’s eyes with a haunted, sorrowful gaze. “She’s— she’s dead.”

“I know,” Sae-byeok says, gritting her teeth to stop herself from breaking down then and there. She has to keep going, she has to, she has to—

She can’t stop. She can’t let herself break.

She needs to keep going. That’s all she can do, now.

-

“Players, the final round is about to begin.”

Sae-byeok stands with her group. Dae-ho is on one side of her, and Jung-bae is on the other. Young-il is beside him. Behind them are Jun-hee and Se-mi. Nearby, Hyun-ju clings to Geum-ja and Gyeong-seok.

Jung-bae turns his head, looking at Sae-byeok. “What number do you think they’re going to call?” She meets his eyes, opening her mouth to respond. But before she can say anything, Young-il pipes up.

“Two,” he states. He sounds so sure of himself, as though he just knows.

Jung-bae’s eyes flick to him, his mouth parted. “Why?”

Young-il looks at the board that contains the remaining number of players. He stares at it for a beat, then looks back to the two of them. “There are still one hundred and twenty-six people,” he explains. “Only fifty rooms. Even if everyone finds a partner, there will still only be enough rooms for one hundred of us to survive this round.”

He pauses, looking around, his expression grim. “If you don’t find a room fast enough… you’re dead.”

Sae-byeok studies his face, fear rising in her chest. She gets ready to run, muscles tensed, as Jung-bae shifts closer to Young-il in preparation.

“Two!”

So he was right, then.

Sae-byeok stiffens for just a moment. She’s right next to Dae-ho; logically, she should go with him. She should grab his hand and drag him to one of the open doors within sight.

She should stick with the man closest to her side. It’s the most reasonable decision.

But, at the same time—

“Jun-hee!” She charges over, intercepting Myung-gi and pulling the girl towards a cluster of opened doors. “Come on!”

There’s an advantage, with her protective nature and quick thinking. While she and Jun-hee are already running off, around half of the other players are trying to make panicked decisions on who should stick with who.

It’s chaos. People are running, shoving, grabbing at other players. The room is loud with screams and fear. A few players are on the ground, some have been pushed away and hit the wall, while some…

Some other players move quickly, silently, ruthlessly doing whatever they have to in order to survive.

The two of them slip into a light blue door, shutting the door behind them. Sae-byeok leans against the wall, chest heaving. She tries to meet Jun-hee’s eyes, but the other girl is already pressed up against the door, looking through the hole.

“Dae-ho’s got Myung-gi,” Jun-hee reports, relief evident in her voice. “I can see Young-il and Jung-bae. They’re almost at a door; I think they’ll be alright.”

Sae-byeok nods, letting out a tense sigh. “Okay. Can you see anyone else we know?”

Jun-hee narrows her eyes. “Se-mi just made it,” she eventually says. A small smile graces her lips. “And I think I just saw Hyun-ju get through a door. I can’t see Geum-ja or Gyeong-seok, though.”

“They’re strong,” Sae-byeok hums. “I’m sure they’re already safe.”

The timer runs out with a long beep. The door locks.

“Game over.”

Jun-hee turns. She meets Sae-byeok’s eyes, blinking, and then moves to lean against the wall next to her. She presses her shoulder against the other girl’s, staring at the opposite wall.

Sae-byeok reaches for her hand, shoulders sagging in relief when it slips into hers. “I’m glad I grabbed you,” she whispers, wincing as she hears the gunshots begin to sound outside. “Sorry if I was rough. I was just focused on getting you to safety.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Jun-hee sighs and rests her head on Sae-byeok’s shoulder. “I’m just happy you’re safe.” Her voice is soft, warm. “This game was stressful. Seeing what happened to Young-mi, and— and Hyun-ju’s reaction… I just realized that I don’t know if I’d be able to live with myself, if you didn’t make it out of this one. Especially after… after last night.”

Sae-byeok runs her thumb gently over Jun-hee’s hand, more gentle than she ever is with anyone who isn’t her brother. “I know for a fact that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you didn’t make it,” she agrees, finally looking over at the other girl. “But we did. We did. Let’s focus on that, yeah?”

Jun-hee pushes off of the wall, taking Sae-byeok’s other hand in hers. “What you tried to do, when they called for six… don’t do that again.” Her eyes flash with something protective. “I know you want to keep me safe, but I want to keep you safe, too. No more of that, okay? We’re going to get out of here together. We’re a team; it isn’t one or the other.”

“...Okay,” Sae-byeok agrees, resignation evident in her voice as she sighs.

And then… nothing.

Well, no, not nothing. There’s silence, yes, but there isn’t nothing. The air is charged with something, although they don’t speak.

Something thick. Something heavy. Something entirely unfamiliar.

Sae-byeok’s heart is pounding in her chest. Warmth rushes to her face as her head tilts down, lips slightly parted.

Was Jun-hee standing so close before, or did she move?

They stay like that for a while, even as the clamour outside the room begins to quiet. Sae-byeok squeezes Jun-hee’s hands, breath stuttering in her chest, feeling more vulnerable than she has in a long, long time.

The air between them is thick, inexplicably so. Their faces are close, closer than they’ve ever been, little puffs of warm breath mingling—

The door unlocks with a loud click, and they jolt apart.

The game is over; they’ve won. They’re able to leave. They should leave.

They don’t.

Sae-byeok stands there, staring at Jun-hee.

Jun-hee, unmoving, stares right back.

Their hands are still interlocked, still held together. Neither of them speak, but shock is clear in both of their expressions.

They were so close.

…Did they really almost—

“Sae-byeok, Jun-hee!”

Ah. Dae-ho is calling for them.

Sae-byeok shakes herself out of her stunned stillness, blinking hard. Jun-hee glances away, her face flushed. Slowly, both of them let go of each other — but not fully. They each free one of their hands, but the other continues to hold on.

“We should probably go,” Sae-byeok murmurs.

Jun-hee nods. “Probably,” she responds, sounding a little breathless.

The door is open. They walk out, cautiously, only to find that the rest of their group is already standing together, looking at them.

Sae-byeok sighs, squeezing Jun-hee’s hand and then reluctantly letting go while they reunite with their team. Dae-ho looks like he could cry from the relief. Jung-bae seems happy to see them, but he eyes Young-il warily. Young-il himself greets them warmly, patting Sae-byeok’s shoulder.

The guards are beginning to lead everybody out. So, with a heavy sigh, Sae-byeok begins to follow her entire team out of the room.

She pauses at the door, glancing back into the large room one final time. There are countless splatters of blood staining the floor and the walls, and even a few of the doors. No bodies or neat coffins remain on the ground, of course, but Sae-byeok knows exactly where Yong-sik and Young-mi died.

Her heart falls at the reminder, but she shakes herself out of it. She can’t fall apart now, not when they’re halfway through this year’s games. She has to stay focused.

Time seems to stop as she scans the room, now completely empty. But she knows that she can’t stay here any longer; beyond this room, the other players are on their way back to the dormitory.

So, with a heavy sigh, Sae-byeok shakes her head, turns, and follows the final guard out of the room.

Chapter Text

When she finally reaches the dormitory once more, Sae-byeok finds that her group has huddled up with Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Se-mi, and Gyeong-seok.

With the addition of Se-mi and Gyeong-seok, the team doesn’t seem to have changed too much. Put together, Sae-byeok’s team and Hyun-ju’s were nine players in total, and eight people are standing in a group now.

But it’s not the same. Hyun-ju and Geum-ja are both slightly further from the person next to them — Gyeong-seok for Hyun-ju and Se-mi for Geum-ja — than the others are, as though leaving space for players that won’t be returning. Sae-byeok’s chest aches.

She thinks of the fallen players. Gyeong-su, enthusiastic, praising Thanos endlessly. Yong-sik, so focused on saving his mother that he died trying to find her. Young-mi, desperate to go home.

All of them, dead. Dead.

Each one of the survivors holds a solemn look in their eyes. Geum-ja is still wiping tears from her face every few moments, and Hyun-ju looks about three seconds away from bursting into tears. Se-mi looks thoughtful and somber, absentmindedly playing with her lip piercing. Jun-hee and Dae-ho linger close to each other, exchanging concerned glances every few moments.

Sae-byeok should go to them. She should slip into the open spot on Jun-hee’s other side, or stand by Hyun-ju. She should walk over to where Young-il watches her, an unreadable expression on his face.

She… can’t bring herself to.

She’s just tired. She wants to cry. She wants to sleep. She wants to be surrounded by her teammates and she wants to be alone. She wants out, but she’s not quite sure if she wants to get out of the game or if it's something else.

If she walks over there and doesn’t say a word, Dae-ho will sling an arm over her shoulder and check if she’s okay. Young-il will stand near her, close enough that she’ll feel his presence but not too close. She thinks that Jung-bae will try to make a joke, although she’s a little less sure about that, with his shaken expression.

She should. She really, really should.

Young-il gives her an understanding nod, and Sae-byeok walks in the direction of her bed.

-

It’s a few minutes later that Young-il comes to see her.

She’s sitting on her bed, staring hopelessly at the piggy bank above, trying not to think about the loss. He’s quiet as he approaches, flashing a gentle smile.

He sits down next to her. Close enough that she could shift closer if she wants to, but leaving enough space between them to keep her comfortable. Something in her twinges at being known well enough for that. She wonders how he learned so quickly. “How are you feeling?”

“…Fine,” she lies.

Young-il gives her a look, gentle and stern and scolding. “I know that’s not true,” he replies, tilting his head. “You don’t have to pretend. Not now. Not with me.”

“I’m just stressed,” Sae-byeok mumbles, turning her head away. He doesn’t need to see the exhausted dullness in her eyes. He doesn’t need to see any of it.

“Right,” Young-il says, drawing the word out. “So you needing some alone time has nothing to do with the fact that we just watched two of our allies die. Even though that would be a perfectly normal reason to need some solitude.”

Our allies. He says it so naturally, like in his mind, they’re a united force. Like they’re doing this together. Like they’re going to finish this together. Sae-byeok and Young-il, a team until the end. A team until they either die or make it out alive.

…But, then again, maybe they could be. Maybe they could stay a team. After all, the only real reason she thinks her team broke apart last time was because there would only be one winner. Because if they left, none of them would get the money.

This time, that’s not the case.

But she shakes her head and gives a quiet hum instead of an answer.

Young-il stares at her for a moment. Then, with a quiet sigh of resignation, he shifts closer. “You’re really frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Sae-byeok mutters. “I’ve been told that before.”

He pauses again. She can feel his eyes on her. And then, after a few moments of contemplation…

“…I’ll look out for you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she says.

It’s a lost cause, she doesn’t say. There’s no reason to, she doesn’t say. I can look after myself, she doesn’t say.

I should’ve died, she doesn’t say. Not them. Not Ji-yeong. Not Gi-hun. Me.

…There’s no reason to say that. No reason other than her suffocating, lingering guilt and grief.

Young-il finally looks away. “I’m going to do it anyway,” he decides.

“I know,” she says.

I don’t understand why you care about me, she doesn’t say.

-

Sae-byeok is tired. So, so tired.

She stares down at her hands, trembling just slightly. If she lets her eyes blur, she can still see the red stains, the blood, the final traces of her and Sang-woo ever knowing each other. She sighs and grits her teeth until her jaw starts to ache.

She wonders whether she should have just forgotten about the games. She can’t seem to decide.

She’s jolted out of her thoughts as somebody lands next to her. She glances to the side to see Jun-hee, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense, already leaning into her.

One glance in the direction that Jun-hee came from is enough explanation for Sae-byeok; Myung-gi stands alone, defeated, staring longingly after his former lover. His eyes flick to the side, meeting Sae-byeok’s, and a scowl from her is enough for him to avert his eyes and turn away.

She looks back to Jun-hee, already resting an arm over her shoulders. “Myung-gi?”

“It’s like he doesn’t think,” Jun-hee huffs, leaning into the contact. “He tried to apologize, you know. And it would have been nice, except that he somehow managed to turn it into telling me that he wanted to put our money together, pay off our debts, and then find a new way to invest the rest of it. As if his investments didn’t crash and burn the last time he tried. As if he didn’t put me in debt the last time I trusted him. What a dumbass, right?”

“Such a dumbass,” Sae-byeok agrees, nodding solemnly.

Jun-hee settles against her with an irritated groan, burying her face in her hands. “He just can’t take a hint,” she grumbles. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he can win me over again, like this is some dramatic movie. He’s pretty much refusing to acknowledge that I just… don’t want him back.”

Sae-byeok hums understandingly, flicking her finger gently back and forth over Jun-hee’s shoulder. Quietly, she wonders how she’s managed to warm up to physical touch so much in the span of a few days.

They fall into a lapse of silence, then.

…Sae-byeok wants to talk about it. About their moment in the room during the last game. About the lack of distance between their faces, about the tension crackling between them, about the warmth in Jun-hee’s eyes.

About… everything.

She tilts her head back, biting her lip thoughtfully. How is she meant to bring this up, exactly?

Hey, remember how we almost kissed out of nowhere during the last game? What’s up with that? Why did that happen? Why didn’t I pull away?

…Yeah, no. She’ll have to find another way.

She takes a breath. “Jun-hee—”

“Jun-hee. Let’s talk.”

Both of them whip their heads around, finding Myung-gi standing right behind them. Sae-byeok wants to scream, and not because she’s scared.

“We already talked,” Jun-hee snaps, tense all over again.

Myung-gi shakes his head. “No,” he starts slowly, “I tried to talk to you, and you walked away.”

Silence falls over the three once more; tense, thick, stiff.

Then, finally, Jun-hee shifts just a little closer to Sae-byeok. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s talk.” Something in her voice sounds like she doesn’t really want to.

“Thank you,” Myung-gi sighs. Then, furrowing his brows, he looks to Sae-byeok. “Does she have to be here? This feels like a private thing.”

“Uh,” Sae-byeok says slowly, caught off guard by the sudden attention. “I can…”

“No,” Jun-hee groans. “No, Sae-byeok, do not move.” She jabs Sae-byeok’s stomach with her elbow, giving her a piercing glare, and then turns back to Myung-gi. “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say to her.”

“Okay,” Myung-gi concedes. “Okay, sure, fine. But let’s talk.”

“Sure.” Jun-hee smiles stiffly. “We’re not combining our money when we get out of here, not if you’re just going to put it all back into the stock market. We’re not getting back together.” She tilts her head. “Now we’ve talked. Happy?”

Myung-gi opens his mouth, and then closes it. Then repeats the movement.

“I— no,” he says, looking between the two of them in what must be something like shock. Sae-byeok tries not to feel so annoyed, but her exhaustion is causing irritation to bubble up rapidly. “Come on, you’re not even listening to me! I’ve thought this out, I promise—”

“Shut up,” Sae-byeok finally snaps, glaring daggers at him. “Just leave. She’s already said what she wanted to, and clearly, so have you.”

“No, I actually haven’t—”

“Leave.” Sae-byeok glares up at him, eyes narrowed in frustration.

Myung-gi blinks at her. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

He looks to her side, his expression slightly resigned. “Jun-hee?”

Jun-hee, leaning against Sae-byeok, nods. “You heard her,” she confirms. “Go.”

For a moment, Myung-gi looks stunned, like he didn’t expect her to agree. And then, his eyes flicking quickly between them, he stops. Stares. His mouth forms a small ‘O’ as some kind of realization dawns on him.

…Sae-byeok is half-tempted to ask what he’s realizing, but she holds her tongue. Whatever it is, she decides that it’s probably something stupid, or something obvious. Like the fact that Jun-hee has moved on from their relationship, or the fact that what he’s been proposing is… well, stupid.

Like the fact that he’s stupid.

…Huh. She’s starting to sound like those teenagers who take every opportunity to insult their friend’s ex-boyfriend.

Whatever. He’s walking away, so it seems like she and Jun-hee got the point across.

Her moment of triumph is soured, however, when she’s suddenly overcome by the fear that she may have overstepped. She looks down, eyes meeting Jun-hee’s.

“Sorry, was that—”

“Thank you,” Jun-hee interrupts, smiling up at her. “He wasn’t listening to me.”

Sae-byeok blinks. “Oh.” She furrows her brow in confusion, thoughts racing wildly through her head as she tries to understand. “That… wasn’t too much? I didn’t overstep?”

Jun-hee, too, furrows her brow. Stops for a second, as if she didn’t even think of that. “No.” She draws out the word, voice soft and bemused. “No, that was fine. Perfect, even.”

She smiles.

Sae-byeok feels a warmth flood her chest, and she is so, so fucked.

-

“You look more upset than usual,” Jun-hee hums after a long stretch of silence. “Do you ever stop thinking?”

The answer, simply, honestly, is a flat no, and she tells Jun-hee as much.

But something in her, something quiet, something hesitant, something undeniably soft, whispers a hopeful, for you, I could.

She doesn’t say that. She also doesn’t say how much it terrifies her, how easily the thought came.

“Hm,” Jun-hee says. “Maybe, once we’re out of here, we should do something about that.”

Sae-byeok doesn’t ask what she means.

-

Voting is stressful, as usual. There are less players now. Less yelling. Less chaos.

It doesn’t alleviate the fear, nor the tension. But it’s quieter, and that’s got to count for something.

Sae-byeok stands between Young-il and Dae-ho, shifting uncomfortably. She wants to leave. Needs to leave. Now. She needs to get back to Cheol. She needs to update Jun-ho. She needs to get home, needs to get Jun-hee out, needs to save Dae-ho and Hyun-ju and Young-il and Geum-ja and—

Some of her desperation must show on her face as another player votes to stay, because Young-il wraps an arm around her shoulders. Slowly, gently, but not tentatively. Not haltingly. He moves with purpose, the motion steady, sure. Determined. Strong. Unhesitating.

“You have a brother, don’t you?” Young-il asks in a murmur, voice low enough that Dae-ho is the only other person that should be able to hear him.

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at him, but she nods once. She keeps her gaze forward, watching, waiting. Dae-ho will be called to vote soon. It’ll be Jung-bae first, and then…

Huh. She’s not sure if there is a player 389 anymore. That’s… a little concerning.

“Player 390.”

Jung-bae inhales, deep, shaky, and begins the torturously tense walk to the two buttons.

…It’s less concerning that one player may have died. It’s more concerning that she doesn’t know.

“Think about your brother,” Young-il advises quietly. His tone is filled with something odd. Something like regret. “What would you do for him?”

Everything, she thinks immediately.

Jung-bae votes to leave. He turns and walks to the corresponding section of the room.

“Player 388.”

Dae-ho pats Sae-byeok’s shoulder once, the touch firm, grounding, and then sets off to vote.

“I’d play these games a third time if it meant that he didn’t have to play them once,” Sae-byeok finally murmurs. “I’d do anything to make sure he doesn’t go through what I went through, even if they find a new recruiter. Even if these games have to continue.”

Dae-ho votes to leave.

“Player 380.”

That’s too large of a jump. Sae-byeok feels a weight settle on her chest at the thought of how many people have died.

Behind her, Se-mi slips by, meeting her eyes with an unreadable gaze before walking past the growing crowds.

“Think about him,” Young-il urges. “Keep going for him. Let him be your inspiration.”

Se-mi votes to leave. Sae-byeok breathes a sigh of relief.

She doesn’t linger on the trace of remorse in Young-il’s words. Not when she’s so focused on getting out alive.

Besides, he’s been good to her. And if Gi-hun taught her anything, it’s that the slightest bit of trust won’t kill her, right?

-

After the vote — which, unfortunately, ends up being a tie — Sae-byeok finds Hyun-ju alone, curled up quietly in a corner of the room.

While she thinks she should just walk away, something in her screams to stop. To linger next to her, to wait, to stay.

So, despite her instincts… she walks up and plops down next to her.

She doesn’t lean into her. She doesn’t wrap an arm around Hyun-ju like she would Jun-hee. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t offer comfort or sweet nothings or reassurances that hold no value in the face of their reality.

No, instead, Sae-byeok sits, and she lingers, she waits. And she stays.

It’s Hyun-ju that speaks first. A quiet, tentative question, her voice smaller than it has been since they all arrived. “How… did you do it?”

Sae-byeok blinks, and then turns to look at her. “Do what?”

“Move on,” Hyun-ju spits out, eyes narrowed.

The words should feel angry, sharp. Sae-byeok should rush to defend herself. It should sound like an accusation.

It doesn’t.

Something in her just knows. She knows that Hyun-ju doesn’t mean it like that. She knows that, if she’s frustrated, it’s at herself.

“Do you want me to be honest?” Sae-byeok asks, her voice sounding oddly flat, even for her.

Hyun-ju doesn’t respond, not verbally. She just nods.

And so Sae-byeok nods, too. She puffs out a heavy sigh. “I… didn’t.”

Hyun-ju sighs. She lowers her head into her hands, and Sae-byeok can see the tension in her shoulders. “I don’t think I’m going to move on from this,” she confesses, her voice starting to tremble.

“I know,” Sae-byeok says, because she does.

Because Ji-yeong’s voice, Ji-yeong’s eyes, Ji-yeong’s smile— they still haunt her in her sleep.

“We were supposed to go to dinner together,” Hyun-ju chokes out, shaking her head. “All four of us. We were supposed to get dinner, and— and dessert, and… and she was supposed to live.”

We were supposed to go to Jeju together, Sae-byeok thinks, a dull ache in her chest.

She doesn’t voice that, not yet. But when Hyun-ju’s tears begin to leak from her eyes, even as she turns away to hide the evidence, Sae-byeok puffs out a small sigh and shifts closer.

She presses her knee against Hyun-ju’s, and she stays. Because she knows, and she gets it, and she understands.

Because Hyun-ju and Young-mi were simply this year’s Sae-byeok and Ji-yeong.

Because, as she’s starting to learn, these games might be about to ruin Hyun-ju like they’ve ruined her.

…For all she knows, the games might have already ruined Hyun-ju.

She tries not to feel ashamed at the possibility, but something in her shifts nonetheless.

-

The washroom is cold, silent, and pristine. Pristine, except for where Sae-byeok can still see a mark on the bottom of one of the stall doors. That was her, she thinks; she remembers getting frustrated and kicking it three years ago.

It’s mostly empty. Empty, except for Sae-byeok and, inside a stall, Jun-hee.

…It’s familiar. Too familiar. Scarily, chillingly, frustratingly familiar.

It causes a bone-deep fear to rear its head within her chest, roaring and snarling and snapping and stabbing—

(Blood drips down, down, down, staining the shiningly clean sink, splattering against the floor, ruining the almost-peaceful atmosphere of the once-safe washroom.

It’s safe, still, actually. Nobody will be coming in here, not unless the guards allow the two men outside to enter.

Huh. That’s… less satisfying than she thought it would be. She’s the only woman left in these games, the final survivor.

It’s almost terrifying.

No, it is terrifying. It’s terrifying because she can still hear them, can still hear Mi-nyeo screaming about her lack of a partner, can still hear the woman from the first game, can still hear that poor woman who made the wrong choice for the man in front of her in the most recent game.

It’s terrifying because she can still hear Ji-yeong.

It’s terrifying because, despite the voices ringing in her ears, she is still alone.

Alone. Always alone.)

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. She needs to stop. She needs to stop. She can’t keep doing this.

She can’t keep remembering it, can’t keep remembering them—

(“If you forgot who they were, you would forget them entirely. You would forget everything they may have taught you.”)

No, fuck, it’s only a weakness, she doesn’t need to keep reliving it—

(“Is that something you’re willing to lose?”)

…No. God, no. That is absolutely not something that she would ever be willing to lose.

Not after Ji-yeong. Not after Gi-hun.

As much as she hates to admit it, Young-il was right. She can’t let them go. She’s noticing, recently, that their memories have lingered in her head because she has held onto them. Because she wrapped her hands around the fleeing wisps of their spirits, because she dug her nails in and refused to let them go.

Because she can’t let them go. She couldn’t after she won the money, and she couldn’t for the following three years, and she can’t now. She can’t.

Because if she lets their memories slip through the cracks, if she allows herself to leave them behind, to live unapologetically and let go of the hundreds of spirits…

Well. If she doesn’t hold onto them, who will?

It’s exhausting. Not just because the trauma will never leave her, but because nobody knows. Because she is the sole person who remembers these people at their final moments. Because nobody else knows that Ali Abdul was betrayed at the end, and nobody else saw the trembling, tearful smile on Ji-yeong’s face in her final moments, and nobody else heard the way Seong Gi-hun screamed, raw and agonized, as he ripped Cho Sang-woo away from her to save her life.

Because nobody else felt Sang-woo’s blood slipping between their fingers. Nobody else was there, not like Sae-byeok was. Nobody else knows what it was like to try, to feel so desperate for understanding, for connection, for something in the aftermath of the bloodshed, even if that meant saving the man who wanted her dead mere hours before. Nobody else experienced the desperation, the loneliness and fear of a single, pained young woman, already knowing before it was even over that she was going to be the only survivor, the only one to hold the memory.

Because nobody else experienced the crushing loss, lying alone in the rain, tied up and blindfolded, a card between her teeth and tiny pieces of glass probably still in her abdomen, blood coating not only her shaking hands but the newfound imprints on her mind, her very being. Nobody else experienced the rush of emotions she felt as she stared, unblinking, at the cruel numbers of the money she won after all of that, pain and relief and this is what it was all for?

Nobody knows, and nobody ever will. There is one person with the memories of how even a handful of these people died, and that person is Kang Sae-byeok.

And if she forgets their deaths, their final moments, them, then their ghosts will be lost to the unforgiving time that has passed.

She can’t let that happen. She won’t.

A stall door opens behind her, and Jun-hee walks out silently. Sae-byeok looks up at the mirror, flicks her eyes to the other girl in the reflection, but looks away quickly.

She’s… almost afraid of the way she instinctively thinks to reach out for Jun-hee. She forces her hands to stay still, holding onto the cold sink in an iron grip, and forces her eyes to stay away from Jun-hee’s face in the mirror.

Sae-byeok stares at her reflection, face and jacket tainted by the blood of others for the second time in her lifetime. She meets her own eyes and wonders when she began to look like a stranger.

“Sae-byeok,” Jun-hee calls softly. She flinches and turns, meeting the other girl’s kind eyes. “Are you alright? I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, trying not to turn around again. She doesn’t want to look at her reflection anymore; she thinks she might be afraid of what she’ll see.

Jun-hee advances, brushing one hand tentatively against her arm and then pulling back. “It’s fine,” she reassures. “What are you thinking about?”

That has Sae-byeok pausing. She searches Jun-hee’s eyes, finding nothing but warm curiosity, and sighs. She shouldn’t do this, but she keeps feeling a strange lack of fear, when Jun-hee is involved. “Do you ever look at your reflection and just… not recognize her anymore?”

A heavy silence follows her words. Jun-hee opens her mouth once, twice, three times, before she finally manages to respond. “No,” she eventually murmurs, concern etched into her features. “Do you?”

Sae-byeok hesitates again, feeling like she’s made a mistake. But she swallows and nods slowly, risking one glance back to the mirror. She winces, tearing her eyes away instantly.

Jun-hee is closer than she remembers. She swallows past the newfound lump in her throat, and then there’s suddenly a hand on her arm, gentle and warm and tentative.

“It’s okay,” Jun-hee reassures, her voice low and soothing. “Can you explain? What are you thinking?”

Sae-byeok basks in the warmth of her touch, brows furrowing as she keeps her gaze forward. “I… wasn’t always like this,” she tries. “These games ruined me. And now I can’t remember when I became so… so desensitized to all the blood and death.”

Jun-hee doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. She stands there, chewing on her lip thoughtfully, looking between Sae-byeok and her reflection.

And then, slowly, she reaches up. Sae-byeok shrinks back, just slightly, but forces herself to still as Jun-hee’s hand finds the collar of her tracksuit.

Slowly, carefully, gently, Jun-hee takes the fabric in her hand. She examines it for a moment — maybe wondering whose blood is on it, which is something that Sae-byeok doesn’t even know — and then folds it downwards, smoothing it over neatly.

Sae-byeok is so preoccupied with watching her that she nearly doesn’t hear what Jun-hee says.

“…I don’t think these games ruined you.”

And the words are so soft, so quiet, so genuine that Sae-byeok can’t help but believe them, for just a moment.

Just a moment. And then she sighs, shaking her head. “You haven’t seen what they turned me into.”

“Well, what did they turn you into?” Jun-hee challenges, but there’s nothing even remotely harsh about her tone.

Still, though, Sae-byeok winces. “A killer,” she confesses. “I know I didn’t… directly kill anyone. I was never holding the gun. But some of them, they were— they died for me. Ji-yeong, and— and Gi-hun, and…”

Sang-woo, she can’t bring herself to say.

She almost laughs. So many deaths, and yet Sang-woo’s is the one that she’s struggling to talk about. Maybe it’s the fact that he killed himself, or maybe it’s the painful helplessness that rang through her skull as she tried to save his life, or maybe it’s the fact that she spent the final few hours of his life, minus the moments just before his heart stopped beating, hating him.

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t think she ever will.

“The games killed them,” Jun-hee tells her calmly. A sentence like that shouldn’t be a reassurance, but it sure feels like one.

Sae-byeok shakes her head. “I played Russian Roulette with that recruiter,” she argues, eyes narrowed.

“Did you suggest the game?” Jun-hee asks.

“No,” Sae-byeok admits.

“Were you the one to shoot him?”

“…No.”

“Then you didn’t kill him,” Jun-hee decides.

A groan forces itself out of Sae-byeok’s throat, but it’s soft. “You’re so frustrating.”

Jun-hee smiles, then. Fond, amused. “I’m right,” she says, squeezed Sae-byeok’s shoulder. She doesn’t move back. “You’re not a killer, Sae-byeok.”

She wants to argue again. But, instead, she just shakes her head once more with a sigh. “I feel like one,” she mutters bitterly.

She expects Jun-hee to say something. To agree, maybe, or to shoot back a firm disagreement.

She doesn’t.

Instead, Jun-hee just sighs. She reaches out, takes Sae-byeok’s hand in hers. And then, studying the chipped nail polish that she attempted to use last week, Jun-hee merely asks, in a sort of sad, soft tone, “Why won’t you let me support you, when you’ve been supporting me since we got here?”

And Sae-byeok… isn’t sure how to respond.

For someone so haunted, so burdened with the heavy weight of her guilt, Sae-byeok has never known how to express her emotions. It wasn’t so bad in the past; she was able to throw herself into pickpocketing, into doing anything she could to make enough money to get Cheol and to find her mother.

But now she has that money, and a whole lot of trauma to go with it. And, knowing that nobody will ever believe her about the games, she has no way to talk about it without sounding insane.

Even if she did know how to put her emotions into words, which she hardly ever does, she… can’t.

And so, keeping her voice low, Sae-byeok says, “You don’t have to.”

But Jun-hee doesn't wait, doesn’t halt, doesn’t hesitate. “I want to,” she says, and the sincerity of her tone makes it impossible for Sae-byeok to believe that she’s being anything but completely truthful and honest.

“I want to help you,” Jun-hee murmurs. There’s a note of frustration in her voice. “I want to be there to support you when you need it. I want to get out of these games with you, and work through everything together. I want to be there, but you won’t let me.”

“I don’t know how,” Sae-byeok tells her honestly.

“Then let me teach you,” Jun-hee pleads. “Let me show you how to let people in. Let me help. Just tell me what to do. Tell me what you need.”

“I don’t know,” Sae-byeok sighs, weary and resigned by now. She’s tired. “I don’t know. What I need is to get you out of here. You, and Dae-ho, and Jung-bae, and Hyun-ju, and Young-il, and— and everyone. What I need is to make up for the people I couldn’t save.”

Jun-hee just stares at her for a moment. She blinks slowly. And then, her voice firmer than before, she speaks again.

“Do you ever think of yourself?”

Sae-byeok pauses. She opens her mouth, breath catching in her throat, and then closes it again. Because… does she?

As selfish as she thinks she is, sometimes, she’s honestly not sure. She used to, she thinks — stealing from others, swiping their wallets from their pockets, watching with a sharp eye for their passwords, slinking back into the shadows before they ever knew that anything was missing. She used to think of herself first.

That’s a good answer, isn’t it?

“I used to,” she says, slowly. “Back before I knew about the games at all. When I was trying to get my brother, and to find my mother. I stole from anyone and everyone without even a shred of care for what they were going through. I stole from Gi-hun right before the first games. I probably would’ve stolen from you, if we crossed paths.”

Jun-hee makes a small, frustrated noise. “That doesn’t count,” she points out. “You literally just said that you were trying to find your mom and take your brother in. That wasn’t for you. That was for them, wasn’t it?”

Sae-byeok pauses, thinking over her words. Because she isn’t wrong. Technically, all that stealing was for Cheol and her mother. She shuts her eyes for just a moment, and then she grunts under her breath and flicks them open again. “I guess.”

“You can’t live like that,” Jun-hee scolds, flicking her lightly. Sae-byeok opens her mouth to make a comment, something that would be, to her horror, indignant, but Jun-hee just talks right over her. “You can’t just… not think of yourself. It’s not healthy.”

“Neither is being stabbed in the abdomen and not going to a doctor afterwards, but I did that, too,” Sae-byeok mutters, looking away.

When Jun-hee just silences her with a stern, warning glare, Sae-byeok sighs and nods. “Sorry. But I don’t know how to do anything else. I don’t know how to let someone take care of me.”

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jun-hee tells her.

Sae-byeok finally meets her eyes again. Jun-hee’s hands are on her shoulders, the touch so warm it feels like it sears through her jacket, and yet she can’t bring herself to pull away.

Instead of saying something about her failed attempts at learning how to be weak, at learning how to let someone see her like that, Sae-byeok simply asks, “Why do you care so much?”

Jun-hee doesn’t respond right away. She hesitates, stops, pauses. She lets the silence linger, lets it fall over them like rainfall in a storm, lets the unsaid words bind them together. There’s something in her eyes — something like hope, something like fondness.

Something like… something that Sae-byeok is very, very afraid of.

And then, finally, she gets a response. Jun-hee looks away, as though she can’t bear to make eye contact, and finally, finally says, “Because you matter to me.”

Coming from anyone else, the words would have done nothing.

But coming from Kim Jun-hee, the words seem to halt the endless uproar of thoughts inside of Sae-byeok’s head. The look in her eyes hollows out her brain, scoops every thought from the shadowy crevices of her mind, washes them away like a flood of nothingness.

And all that is left is a single, quiet thought.

Oh.

Oh.

And she just knows.

Jun-hee doesn’t have to say more. A million words lie beneath that one reason, endless unsaid meanings and confessions. It’s all there, in her words and in her eyes, and Sae-byeok can feel herself unravelling as her eyes flick down to Jun-hee’s lips for just a moment.

She doesn’t have to say anything, either.

Jun-hee squeezes her shoulders, finally making eye contact with her. Sae-byeok thinks this is where they should be giving profound love confessions, marriage-worthy vows. She thinks this is the part where she promises that they’ll make it out, that they’ll have quiet mornings in bed that play out to the soft, patient melody of rain pattering gently against their windows. She thinks this is where they ramble, where it all spills out in one stream of breathless words and floods of affection.

Sae-byeok thinks this is where they exchange the statements of I love you.

Instead, Jun-hee just smiles, warm and fond and sweet. “You’re very pretty, Sae-byeok.”

The words are not just enough; they’re everything. Everything that Sae-byeok has never known how to say, everything that she has never deciphered in her mind, everything. They are everything, and they are so, so much more.

For just a moment, she thinks of Ji-yeong. She wonders, quietly, if they would have had a moment like this, had Ji-yeong made it out with her.

But then the thought is drowned out, and all that is left is Jun-hee, Jun-hee, Jun-hee.

Sae-byeok stares, caught in the moment, eyes flicking frantically from Jun-hee’s eyes to her lips. Her heart stutters in her chest, her hands gripping onto her own jacket tightly. The tension in the air is thick, so thick, and she feels stuck. “Jun-hee—”

And then, eyes locked onto hers, Jun-hee is moving. She grabs onto the collar of Sae-byeok’s jacket. The motion is slow, almost hesitant.

For a moment, they linger there, just staring at each other. For a moment, they aren’t in the bathroom of the dormitory, angry players waiting outside; they aren’t here. For a moment, none of it matters.

Then, with a surge of confidence, Jun-hee pulls her in, their lips meeting.

Sae-byeok doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t pull back. She melts into the contact, kissing back without hesitation. Their chests heave against each other as they pull apart to gasp for air, eyes wide, and then she’s reaching, pulling, blazing with all that she feels.

They crash into each other, the kiss frenzied, frantic, desperate. And for a few glowing, glorious moments, that’s all that matters.

…The washroom door opens.

Sae-byeok pulls back, turning, lips parted as she sucks in air. Standing in the doorway is a stunned Se-mi, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Uh,” Se-mi says eloquently, gripping the doorframe.

Sae-byeok blinks at her, breathing hard. And then she ducks her head, avoiding eye contact, cheeks burning with the embarrassment of being caught. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out.

Se-mi coughs awkwardly, giving the two a nod. She gestures to the door behind her. “I’ll just…”

“Yeah, that’d be a good idea,” Jun-hee responds quickly.

Se-mi nods rapidly, turning to leave. But just as she takes a step out of the bathroom, she pokes her head back in. “Happy for you two,” she says. “Have fun.”

And then she’s gone, and… and Sae-byeok doesn’t know what else to do.

Reality crashes down on her; she just kissed Jun-hee. Or— or, no, Jun-hee just kissed her.

Jun-hee just kissed her.

Jun-hee just kissed her.

None of it makes sense. Jun-hee kissed her. Jun-hee kissed Sae-byeok. Sae-byeok, pessimistic and rough around the edges and cold. Sae-byeok, quiet and angry and afraid to let anybody in. Sae-byeok, loving in the silence and distant, uncaring in the daylight.

Jun-hee kissed Sae-byeok. Sae-byeok kissed her back.

She should ask, shouldn’t she? Maybe this is all a misunderstanding, just a last-minute attempt at a new love in the face of death and blood and fear. Maybe this is Jun-hee realizing that she might never make it out of here, that she might never kiss anyone again, might never love anyone again. Maybe… maybe…

…She should ask.

“Do you…” Sae-byeok trails off, unable to form the right sequence of words. She’s never done this before; how is she meant to put these feelings into something coherent? “Do you… want this?”

“Yes, Sae-byeok, that’s why I kissed you,” Jun-hee deadpans.

She sighs. “No, that’s not… I didn’t mean to say it like that.” She sucks in a breath, feeling the air catch in her throat. “Okay. Do you want… me?”

The corner of Jun-hee’s mouth twitches up into a soft smile. She seems to have recovered quickly; quicker than Sae-byeok, that is. “Obviously,” she snickers, squeezing Sae-byeok’s shoulder gently. “Sae-byeok, I’ve wanted you since the first game. I’ve been trying to flirt with you for a while, but you are very oblivious.”

“…Why?” Sae-byeok asks, voice breathy and genuinely puzzled. “Why have you been flirting with me? Why did… why did you kiss me?”

“Well, why’d you kiss back?” Jun-hee asks, her lips curling into a teasing smile.

“Because I wanted to,” Sae-byeok answers easily, unwilling to move away unless Jun-hee moves first. “Because it… it felt nice. It felt right.”

Jun-hee hums, and then laughs softly. “Then there’s your answer.”

“Oh.” Sae-byeok blinks. She doesn’t lift her head. She breathes out measured puffs of air, lips slightly parted, eyes flicking across Jun-hee’s face as she takes in every feature, every soft imperfection.

And then she shakes her head, blinking hard to shake herself out of the momentary trance. She meets Jun-hee’s eyes again, and she finally gains the courage to ask, in a voice that seems too small for her, “Can I… do it again?”

Jun-hee pauses for just a moment. And then a smile spreads across her face, bright and warm. “Obviously,” she says, without even a flicker of doubt laced beneath her tone.

Sae-byeok usually likes to take the lead in things, likes to keep the upper hand, and likes to stay on top. But this is entirely new to her, something she has absolutely no experience in. It’s new, it’s terrifying, and it’s wonderful.

So, this time, she follows Jun-hee’s lead. She leans in when Jun-hee does, lingers just a few inches apart and allows their short breaths to mingle in the air for a few seconds, marvelling in the beauty of Kim Jun-hee up close, and then—

And then Jun-hee moves to close the distance between them, and Sae-byeok goes willingly.

The kiss is slow, soft. Tides crashing against each other and smoothing over, the weight of their situation and setting momentarily lost, fading as they melt into each other. Sae-byeok’s hand ghosts across Jun-hee’s cheek, a fleeting, fluttering touch. A question. A request.

Jun-hee doesn’t pull away to answer; her reply comes in the form of one hand gently finding its way to the back of Sae-byeok’s neck, pulling her closer, so tenderly.

Jun-hee reaches up and runs a hand gently through her hair, careful of the little knots in the short cut, and Sae-byeok melts. Her breath catches in her throat, just a little, when they pull back to breathe for a moment.

Jun-hee’s eyes are shining. Sae-byeok leans in, this time, and she never wants to pull away.

And when it’s over, when they finally lean back again, when they begin to catch their breath, not very much distance is put between them. They stay close, Sae-byeok’s hand seemingly moving of its own accord and finding its way to Jun-hee’s cheek.

They hold each other so delicately, their foreheads resting against each other. Sae-byeok finds her eyes fluttering shut as she basks in the warmth of the moment.

They don’t speak, no. There’s nothing to be said; no love confession could come close to this moment, to the feeling of Jun-hee’s arms wrapping around her in a type of embrace that Sae-byeok was sure she would never feel, to the moment that they start to sway softly together, even though it isn’t even clear who started it.

No words could describe the sparks that swell in Sae-byeok’s chest. No words could express the intimacy of the moment, the two holding each other, breathing deeply in the silence.

And when Sae-byeok opens her eyes and finally pulls her head back, she finds Jun-hee already looking at her. Her eyes are warm and yearning, and her smile is gentle and devoted.

And Sae-byeok just knows that she would do anything, anything, to keep what they have now.

-

When they leave the washroom together, hair tousled, arms interlocked, Sae-byeok and Jun-hee stay side by side.

Sae-byeok wants to pull her over to the rest of their team and sit together quietly, engaging in strategic discussions as they linger near each other, talking to the others all while they process the new developments in their bond.

Instead, her attention is pulled to the men’s washroom as the door slams open. Nam-gyu rushes out, blood-coated and frantic-looking.

“Team O!” Nam-gyu shouts, his voice shaking minutely. “We— we were all in the bathroom, and— and suddenly, these fucking X bastards started attacking us! They tried to kill us, I swear, and they even got a few! My— my friend— it all came out of nowhere, we were innocent, and now— now—”

“Oh, bullshit!” Player 047 responds sharply. “You started all of it!” He turns to the side of the room littered with red patches, much calmer than Nam-gyu. “Team X! They threatened someone on our side, tried to manipulate him into voting for their side tomorrow! They’re the ones who started it, don’t believe his lies!”

All of them are covered in blood. Some are shaking. Some look terrified, remorseful, and some look furious.

Sae-byeok wraps one arm around Jun-hee, and doesn’t intervene. Not yet. Instead, she focuses her attention on Myung-gi, who walks just behind the group.

The splatters of blood coating his face, already beginning to dry, are a match to the crimson staining the prongs of his fork.

“…Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Chapter Text

“The following players have been eliminated; player 230, player…”

Sae-byeok feels a cold twinge of fear eating away at her. She tightens her grip on Jun-hee’s hand.

…The blood coating Myung-gi’s face suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Jung-bae rushes over, uncertainty written all over his face. “What’s going on?”

Her head snaps to him, eyes wild as she strides over to him. Jun-hee follows behind her, holding onto her hand like they’ll be separated immediately if she doesn’t.

Sae-byeok reaches Jung-bae quickly. “How many people went to the washroom?”

Jung-bae stops, caught off guard. “Sae-byeok, what—”

“Jung-bae,” she snaps, putting her hands on his shoulders firmly. He looks taken aback by the rough contact. “How many? How many people?”

“I— I don’t know, I didn’t count,” he confesses.

She shakes her head, looking to Jun-hee. She feels lost.

But… but she can’t feel lost. Kang Sae-byeok can’t feel lost, not in a situation so dire. Not when lives have been taken, not when she doesn’t know who. Not when it was the men’s washroom that it took place in, and there are so many people that she can’t see Gyeong-seok or Dae-ho or Young-il—

“Sae-byeok!”

Dae-ho’s voice comes through the quickly thickening crowd. Relief floods her chest. She grabs Jun-hee’s hand, trusting that Jung-bae will follow, and weaves through the crowd, in and out, between players that she isn’t allied with.

When she emerges, there they are. There are the missing members of her team of five; Dae-ho and Young-il are okay, and they’re safe, and she isn’t losing another friend, not after Gi-hun and Ji-yeong and Sang-woo and Yong-sik and Young-mi—

No. She needs to stop. She can’t spiral, not now. She needs to think clearly, needs to find a way to figure out how many players the ‘X’ side has just lost.

…But she didn’t know many other people, and she hardly spoke to anyone who wasn’t her team, and— and—

“Sae-byeok.” Young-il’s voice cuts through the roaring of her thoughts. “We should do a headcount,” he says, and she has never been more grateful for him and his clear thinking.

A headcount. Of course. There were fifty of them, so if they just do a headcount, they’ll know how many died.

She nods, composing herself and clenching her hands into fists so that they won’t shake so much. And then she starts trying to figure out how she can gain some kind of higher ground, even if it’s just to see the majority of the other players from higher up.

…The rest of her team is quick to step in and help, however.

“Team X!” Dae-ho shouts, voice strained as he raises his voice to what Sae-byeok assumes is the loudest volume it can be. “Everyone, come over here! We need to do a headcount! Gather up, come on, quick!”

She can see a few others already beginning to appear. Player 047 comes first, with Gyeong-seok directly behind him. Hyun-ju is leading Geum-ja to where the rest of the group stands. Player 145 is glaring at an ‘O’ player, snapping something that Sae-byeok can’t hear and turning to walk away.

Sae-byeok breathes in, trying to force air into her lungs. She feels like she’s choking; her throat is tightening, and her heart feels like it’s being squeezed, and, oh, is this how it feels to die? Is this it? Is this how Ji-yeong felt? Gi-hun? Sang-woo?

Stop, she scolds herself inwardly. If she shuts her eyes, she could imagine that it’s Ji-yeong’s voice telling her to—

No. She can’t think of that right now. She can’t think of any of them right now, not if she wants to do this properly.

Snap out of it, Sae-byeok. You have to focus. You have to keep them alive. Start the headcount.

So she takes a breath, and she takes a moment to compose herself, and she takes Young-il’s hand when he offers it to her.

And then, once she’s sure that everyone who voted ‘X’ is rounded up nearby, she turns, shuts her eyes for only a moment before blinking them open again, and starts counting.

-

“...Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

(“Sang-woo? Hyung? I’m done with this side.”)

“...Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…”

(“Thank you… for playing with me.”)

“...Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

(“Deok-su, I need you to know… you’ve got such a tiny dick.”)

“...Twenty-three, twenty-four…”

(“Hey, hold on, Sae-byeok. Stay here. Don’t let yourself go. Just keep on holding this.”)

“...Twenty— twenty-five…”

(“Sae-byeok. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up. Apologize after I stop the bleeding, asshole.”

“My mom. Please, don’t— don’t let them take what she has.”

“Don’t talk.”

“Please.”)

“...Twenty-five… shit, wait, no—”

Dae-ho sighs and stands up. He puts a hand on her back — ignores the way she flinches, ignores the instant tensing of her shoulders, ignores the momentary fear in her eyes, the flash of emotion that she tries to hide — and guides her to sit down.

She should argue, she thinks. But she allows him to nudge her down next to Jun-hee, and she lowers her head instead of speaking.

She needs a minute, anyway. She needs to clear her head.

So she doesn’t fight when 047 stands to take her place, counting much quicker than she did. She doesn’t look up when Jun-hee moves to rest on her shoulder.

She doesn’t even pull away when Young-il reaches over Jun-hee to take one of her trembling hands in his.

Instead, she just shuts her eyes and tries to remember how to breathe.

-

“...Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight,” 047 murmurs, brows furrowed as his eyes scan over the group again. He nods to himself. “Our side lost two, guys. Just two.”

“The voice said there were five eliminations, so… that’s two out of five. Their side must have lost three,” one of the other players — a middle-aged woman, if her voice is anything to go by — adds quietly.

Sae-byeok breathes out a sigh of relief. Only two. Only two, and her team is safe. They’re safe, they’re alive, they’re okay. She didn’t accidentally kill them by taking time for herself. They’re all alive.

She fumbles for Jun-hee’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Reassuringly, although she’s not quite sure which of them she means to reassure.

“Okay, then… tomorrow, we’ll have the advantage,” Se-mi says, gently fidgeting with her lip piercing. She doesn’t even seem faintly uncomfortable with the amount of eyes that turn to her. “That means we’ll have a better shot at winning the vote in the morning; we have a confirmed win, as long as none of you change your votes.”

A relieved murmur begins to spread through the crowd. Jung-bae reaches over Dae-ho and pats Sae-byeok’s shoulder, his movements quick, excited.

“We’ll win for sure,” a man says from somewhere in the group.

Another agrees. “We can get out of here by tomorrow.”

“One more day,” Dae-ho mumbles faintly, wrapping an arm absentmindedly around Sae-byeok’s shoulder. He looks down at her and smiles, anxious but still sunny. “Just one more day, Sae-byeok. Then we’re out.”

“One more,” Sae-byeok echoes.

She’s not sure why, but she can’t help but doubt that.

That familiar chime sounds over the speakers. Lights out in thirty minutes, it tells them, that saccharine voice making it almost sound like the darkness won’t be a threat to their lives.

Sae-byeok shivers, shutting her eyes and tilting her head up, and then looks at Jun-hee.

Jun-hee blinks back at her, offering a shaky smile.

This is it, Sae-byeok thinks. This is the end, one way or another.

This is it.

She wonders why that feels more like a death sentence than freedom.

“Okay— okay, listen. Nobody change your vote,” 047 says, his voice not quite sharp but still firm. “We have to win. We have to win. As long as we win the second vote, we’ll get the hell out of here. We’ll live.”

Agreement spreads like a wildfire. Sae-byeok tries to feel hopeful, but there’s a familiar dread dripping down her spine, cold and fearful and warning.

She raises her head, hoping — hoping, praying, pleading — that the source of her worry is only a glare from Nam-gyu, a silent threat from Jeong-dae. Please, she thinks, squeezing Jun-hee’s hand once more. Please. Please, just let this be irrational. Please, don’t tell me it’s what I think it is. Please, don’t let it happen again. Please, not right before we escape.

Instead of one stranger glaring at her, she finds all of the ‘O’ team side-eyeing all of the ‘X’ team. She finds that they all shuffle quietly to their beds, murmuring things in voices too low for her to decipher.

They’re really, really bad at pretending they don’t have a plan.

Her stomach drops.

Please, not now, she thinks again, keeping up her mask of cold nonchalance.

Nam-gyu’s hands are shaking as he clenches them into fists, glaring directly at Myung-gi.

Please, she thinks, but she knows.

She knows who she has to protect.

She knows.

She knows.

She knows what she has to do.

-

“Those bastards are acting suspicious over there,” Dae-ho whispers, turning from where he was just peeking through the bedframes. He quietly returns to his previous seat, inhaling somewhat shakily. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

“Because they are up to something,” Sae-byeok cuts in. “They’re… they’ll…”

She doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

Jung-bae scoffs. He doesn’t let the silence sit for long, doesn’t leave her much time to linger in her anxious thoughts. “It doesn’t matter what they do; they’re outnumbered. It’s over.”

“You think we’ll be okay?” Dae-ho asks, his eyes rounded with what must be worry. Maybe doubt.

Sae-byeok tries to ignore the tightening in her throat.

I don’t, she doesn’t say. I can’t stop thinking that we’re all going to die. I can’t stop thinking that you’ll all die, and I’ll be left alone all over again. I can’t stop thinking that this is the end, and not because we’ll escape.

“They say things were… pretty crazy in the bathroom, earlier,” Dae-ho murmurs, concern painfully evident in the furrow of his brow. Sae-byeok worries, privately, that keeping his emotions so obvious, wearing his heart so clearly on his sleeve, will one day harm him.

…His statement is serious; he is literally talking about a fight in the men’s bathroom that ended in the death of multiple players. So maybe that’s why Sae-byeok is so surprised to feel a slight nudge against her left shoulder, looking down to find Jun-hee giving her a side-eye.

She’s confused for a moment, but…

Things were pretty crazy in the bathroom earlier.

(Jun-hee’s lips, pressed against hers. Two women intertwined, blood staining their clothes, horror tainting their minds, comfort found in one another. A room empty except for the two of them.)

…Ah.

It takes everything in Sae-byeok to stop herself from saying something immediately – Jun-hee, this is serious, we really do need to find a way to stop this… but, yes, I’d kiss you again if you just asked, and, yes, I’m very happy that we figured things out – but she instead settles for simply nudging Jun-hee right back, returning her gaze and trying to push down the affection.

Later, she promises mentally, as though Jun-hee can hear her thoughts.

Jun-hee’s lips twitch, and she looks away. She’s stifling a smile.

Sae-byeok wants to let herself get caught up in the warmth of it all. She wants to let herself be swept away into the memories of their moment in the bathroom, into the memories of Jun-hee’s lips on hers and her hands in her hair and her softening eyes and you’re very pretty, Sae-byeok and—

No, she scolds, smoothing any traces of a smile from her face. Not now.

…But the look in Jun-hee’s eyes just before she pulled her in—

Later, she thinks sternly, frustration and affection and nostalgia all mixing into something new, something she hasn’t quite felt before.

Sae-byeok looks up, suddenly hoping that none of the others have noticed her moment of distraction. And it looks like nobody saw the silent exchange — minus Jun-hee, who is turning her head away but resting her hand quietly on Sae-byeok’s — for about two seconds.

Because while nobody sitting to her left saw it, someone sitting on her right must have.

Sae-byeok knows this because Se-mi is side-eyeing her from the other side of a confused Hyun-ju and looking very much like she’s trying not to smile. And because Hyun-ju is looking between Sae-byeok and Se-mi curiously.

Well. At least Hyun-ju didn’t see the moment between Sae-byeok and Jun-hee. That means that Sae-byeok is safe from having an extra person to tease her about it, and she’s free to tell Hyun-ju about it when they’re out of here and living peacefully, and oh, fuck, Hyun-ju is leaning over to ask Se-mi something.

Se-mi whispers what must be an answer in Hyun-ju’s ear, and it’s undeniably the truth.

Sae-byeok knows this because Hyun-ju is now looking at her with an expression that isn’t quite a smile, but something close.

Se-mi looks smug. She isn’t trying to hide her smile now. It’s clear as day on her face; an easy, teasing, shit-eating grin. Sae-byeok glares at her, but turns her attention back to the rest of the group instead of calling her out.

She shakes her head to clear it, finally focusing on what the others are saying. It’s an idle, calm chat, sure, but there’s an uneasy tension in the group. Eyes shifting from person to person, heads turning to where the ‘O’ team is stationed.

Nobody is at ease here, but everyone is pretending to be. And, for now, maybe that can be enough to keep them going until the morning.

Except… Sae-byeok knows that it can’t be.

She knows that something is going to happen tonight. She just knows. It has to happen tonight, because when else would it happen?

She remembers the massacre during lights out from the first games. Deok-su reaching for her. Gi-hun pushing her behind him. A team formed through fear and bloodshed.

It’s going to happen again. And if it doesn’t happen now, when the other players now know that killing each other is allowed…

Well, she’s actually not quite sure what will happen if it doesn’t happen tonight. But what she does know is that she doesn’t need to be sure, because she knows that it will happen.

And, really, she tries to be calm while thinking about that. Has been trying. But she still dreams of the night she woke up to screaming and flashing lights, and she still expects each loud creak and bang to be a massive bunk bed crashing to the ground, and she still flinches and snaps if someone grabs at her arm with a grip just a little too similar to his, or even tries at all. Still tenses up each time the lights go out, still spends the first few minutes of darkness afraid to breathe too loud.

She tries to stay calm, even though she knows that another murderous, bloodstained night is approaching. But she just can’t.

“Listen up,” she finally snaps out. Her gaze, holding a layer of warmth beneath a glacial and uncaring cover, sweeps across the group that sits around her now. Jun-hee and Hyun-ju sit directly beside her, one on each side; beside them sit Geum-ja and Se-mi, respectively. Amongst the rest of the group are Jung-bae, Dae-ho, 047, 145, and, directly across from Sae-byeok, Young-il. “We need a plan. We’re not as safe as you think.”

“Sae-byeok,” Young-il tries, but she holds up a hand to stop him.

She knows what this sounds like. She knows she sounds paranoid, and overly anxious, and pessimistic.

But she also knows how it went last time, and how it will go this time.

“When the lights go out tonight, the other team will attack us,” Sae-byeok tells them all matter-of-factly. “They know that they can kill without consequence, now. That puts all of us in danger.”

“We could take them,” Jung-bae scoffs. “What does the other team have? Scrawny young adults? Old men who are just as out of shape as they are out of luck? We have former Marines on our side, Sae-byeok. We’ll—”

“It doesn’t matter who’s on our side, Jung-bae,” Sae-byeok interrupts firmly. “They’ll get desperate. If we’re not prepared, we’ll all die.”

An uneasy hush falls over the group. It’s the truth, and they should all know it.

A lot of players on the ‘X’ team have things to go home to. Family and friends. Their life.

Most of the ‘O’ players, though? They’ll be going home to debt and irreversible trauma.

“The games… they’re not enough to eliminate everyone. The people running this, they know that. They hold special games, which are really just nights where they flash the lights and let us kill each other until they decide enough players have been eliminated.” She stops, trying to swallow down the fear clogging up her throat, trying to breathe through the terror that threatens to squeeze her heart until it bursts. “They’ll send in guards with guns once it’s time to end it. Once they’re satisfied with the number of survivors. But, still… still, our lives are going to be in danger. Everyone’s lives are going to be in danger.”

Sae-byeok would like to hate them, but she can’t say that she doesn’t understand why they’re doing this; after all, a younger version of her once did it, too.

“We have to do something,” Sae-byeok says sharply. Her tone does not betray her desperation, nor does it shake with the fear that she will never see her brother again; instead, she keeps her voice cold, steely, clipped. “I won’t stay here anymore. I can’t. We have to win the next vote; we have to figure out a way.”

“We’ll already win,” Hyun-ju reasons.

Sae-byeok is already opening her mouth to argue, but Jun-hee brushes her thumb across her hand gently and speaks up. “We need to secure the win,” she says. “We’re only ahead by one player; even if they don’t attack us tonight, what if someone decides to change their vote? What if an ‘O’ player scares them into switching?”

“Yeah, there’s a solid chance Nam-gyu will threaten Min-su to make him change his vote, and I’m pretty sure that’d work on him,” Se-mi pipes up helpfully.

Sae-byeok nods. “So… we do need to secure the win. We can’t just sit around and let them either kill us or convince people on our side to change their minds.”

Dae-ho hesitantly looks around at the other team, then back at the circle of people. “But… how? What do we do?”

Silence.

And then…

“...Let’s attack first, then,” Young-il suggests. “They’re most likely thinking we’ll wait for the next vote, or that we won’t strike at all.” He pauses, as though in thought. “We can use that to our advantage. We’ll attack them first, catch them off guard.”

“I agree,” 145 murmurs.

“It’d be better to attack first,” 047 agrees. He nods as he speaks, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “We’re at a disadvantage, even though we have the majority. Our side has more women and elderly — physically weaker people than them.”

He stops himself, glancing awkwardly at Geum-ja. “Uh… sorry.”

She narrows her eyes, but doesn’t speak. She’s been… quiet, ever since Yong-sik’s death. It’s understandable, but Sae-byeok is worried about her.

After a moment, 047 clears his throat. “Um. Anyway, if they attack us, we’re more likely to lose. We should attack as soon as we can, and then—”

“Hell no,” Se-mi interrupts harshly. When Sae-byeok turns to her, she’s shaking her head, a firmness in her eyes that makes it clear that she won’t be changing her mind on this. “I’m sorry, but Nam-gyu has been on drugs for the past two games. He’s fucking crazy. I am not fighting him — or anyone on his team — voluntarily.”

“We can’t do that,” Sae-byeok agrees, nodding along with Se-mi.

Young-il gives her a strange look. “But… we have to get out of here, don’t we? We need to make sure we win the vote.” He blinks slowly. He seems… awfully calm, considering they’re discussing how not to get murdered in their sleep. “What about your brother, Sae-byeok? Who will take care of him if you don’t make it home?”

Sae-byeok stares at him silently. Something about his words, his expression, his tone… something is causing discomfort to creep up on her. Something isn’t right.

“Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

“That…” Sae-byeok trails off, eyes sharp as they flick rapidly across his face. “Young-il, that doesn’t mean we should kill them! What are you talking about?”

He blinks at her. She blinks back.

His eyes… don’t remind her of Gi-hun’s, not anymore. Not right now, anyway.

The usual warmth isn’t there. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s desperation, but something has replaced the quality of his eyes that made her so comfortable less than half an hour ago.

...And maybe it’s her own exhaustion, and maybe it’s paranoia, but something in his voice, in his words, almost sounds a little like the tone of a man who took everything from her.

No. That’s stupid. She’s just being paranoid, just overthinking everything. That’s such a stupid conclusion to jump to.

“I don’t want to kill any of the players here,” Hyun-ju cuts in, dissolving the tension quickly. “I’d want to kill the guard that shot Young-mi, sure, but…”

“Wait,” Jung-bae says suddenly, eyes lighting up with an idea. “I mean… why don’t we?”

Silence, once again. Sae-byeok furrows her brows, looking at him incredulously.

“...What?”

“Think about it,” Jung-bae urges. “What if we steal the guards’ guns? What would they do then? What could they do?”

“Call for backup and shoot us?” Sae-byeok responds, unflinching and deadpan. It’s common sense, really.

“Think realistically, Sae-byeok,” Jung-bae sighs.

Sae-byeok blinks at him, then looks around at the others. Nobody really seems to get where he’s going with this, but Dae-ho is already nodding along — well, Dae-ho kind of nods along with everything Jung-bae says, so Sae-byeok isn’t sure if he counts. “I am thinking realistically,” she says, baffled. “Seriously, how would we even pull it off? There are a lot of us, sure, but we don’t even know how many guards there are. Our only chance would be to take out the Frontman himself, and I don’t think we’d be able to manage that.”

“The… Frontman?” Hyun-ju asks. When Sae-byeok turns to her, she finds that she’s tilting her head, brows knitted together in confusion.

Oh. Sae-byeok never told them about the Frontman, did she?

“…The Frontman,” she confirms, nodding. She pauses, anger already trickling through the cracks in the walls she doesn’t want to break down. “He’s… he’s the one in charge. The one at the top. I don’t know much about him — the reason I came here was to find out more, in the hopes that I could track him down and do something — but I know he’s the one with the most power here.”

Silence falls over them once again, thick, heavy. She tries to look at Young-il, hoping to find any ounce of regret for what he said, for what he suggested.

…He doesn’t meet her eyes.

Strangely, she feels an urge to apologize. It’s at the tip of her tongue — I’m sorry, Young-il, maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at you; I’m just tired and stressed and I think we might all die and… and… — but she clenches her jaw shut and looks away frustratedly.

She won’t be the one to make a move first. She doesn’t do that, not in a situation like this.

“…I’m not going to say we’d be able to kill every guard,” Jung-bae tries again. He sounds… thoughtful, now. More so than before, anyway. “But… what if we could end this like you wanted to? What if we could work together and kill the Frontman? What if?”

“Jung-bae, I’ve spent the past three years wishing I could kill him.” Sae-byeok locks eyes with him, voice tinged with just a hint of regret. “But it just isn’t realistic. He has an army of guards; not even I know how many there are. There’s just no way we could get to him.”

Dae-ho scoots closer to her, although there’s still a gap where two people separate them. “But you didn’t have us before,” he reasons.

She wants to argue. He shakes his head, eyes burning into her with such a genuine care that something in her throat tightens.

“You said the ‘O’ players are dangerous because they’re desperate, but… Sae-byeok, I’m desperate. I want to go home. I’m sure I can say the same for everyone else here.”

Dae-ho looks around the group. And Sae-byeok…

Sae-byeok doesn’t need to look to know that the others will agree with him.

“What if…” Hyun-ju trails off, looking anxiously over her shoulder at a guard standing silently at the door a few feet away. She shakes her head and shuffles closer, just like Dae-ho did. “What if we wait until the guards come in? What if we find a way to take their guns, and— and go kill the Frontman ourselves? They wouldn’t be expecting it. We could catch them off guard, take out whichever guards are in our way, and… and we can put a stop to all of this. We can all go home, and never have to worry about this again.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Geum-ja argues. She stares at Hyun-ju, a silent plea in her eyes.

“I have experience with guns,” Hyun-ju argues right back, keeping her voice gentle but firm.

“Well, let’s think about this,” Gyeong-seok says. “If we can get the guards’ guns, and that’s a big if, it would all come down to how quick we can get up to the Frontman and kill him. If we move too slowly, they’ll bring backup and swarm us.”

Sae-byeok looks around the group, thinking carefully about the strengths and weaknesses of everyone around her. If they can pull this off, Young-il and Jung-bae will need to be there. Hyun-ju, too; first of all, she’s incredibly strong, and second of all, her grief over Young-mi might be a strong motivation. Se-mi’s quick thinking would come in handy. Dae-ho is an amazing teammate, he was great at Gonggi, and he was a former Marine, but she’s noticed that he freezes up sometimes. Jun-hee and Geum-ja, obviously, should probably stay behind and stay safe. She doesn’t know Gyeong-seok, 047, and 145 too well, but they seem like they would be good to stick with.

And… that’s not even considering any other ‘X’ players who might decide to join them.

…Hm. Maybe, just maybe, this really could work.

Now, Sae-byeok knows that this hope is stupid, idiodic, foolish, silly, unwise, ill-considered… she’s running out of different ways to call it dumb. This is practically walking willingly into their demise, fully knowing where this will lead them. This is locking eyes with their deaths, nodding, and heading straight into it without a second thought. This is watching a fire spark into life and allowing it to happen.

In simpler words… it’s a suicide mission, and they all know it.

Having any hope that this could work out is foolish.

…But even so, Sae-byeok won’t deny that she’s a fool.

She raises her head, expression grim. It’s quiet. She meets the eyes of everyone in turn — 047, Jung-bae, Geum-ja, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, Se-mi, Dae-ho, Gyeong-seok, 145, and, finally, Young-il — and breathes out a sigh.

She’s stupid. She is so, so stupid.

“...So, how fast can we move?”

-

Sae-byeok stands next to Jun-hee, shifting awkwardly as Myung-gi blinks up at them.

“Whatever happens tonight,” Jun-hee is instructing, “don’t try to stop it. Hide when the lights go out, and don’t come out until the morning.”

“Why?” Myung-gi asks. There’s disbelief in his gaze, skepticism in the furrow of his brow.

“Just do it,” Jun-hee says, exasperation laced in her tone.

He opens his mouth to argue, but Sae-byeok fixes him with a sharp glare. He slowly closes it, looking between them with a mix of understanding and that lingering fear, and gives a short, curt nod. “Fine,” he mutters, gaze shifting to eye Nam-gyu nervously.

And when Sae-byeok and Jun-hee turn to leave, Sae-byeok tries to pretend she doesn’t notice his eyes burning into her back.

She fails.

But when she turns, their eyes meet. Myung-gi tilts his head — are you two…? — and Sae-byeok gives a silent, single nod — maybe — before turning around again.

And if she’s clutching Jun-hee’s hand just a little tighter now, the other girl doesn’t say anything.

-

They have a plan. A dumb plan, sure, and one that has a solid chance of getting them all killed, but a plan nonetheless.

Sae-byeok lies quietly on her bed, Jun-hee pressed in next to her, and just hopes that this won’t be the last time she ever gets to hold her like this. Not when she only just started.

If she’s honest, the biggest part of her decision to partake in this plan at all was… well, Jun-hee.

For most of the discussion, she wanted to back out. She wanted to put a stop to it, to convince the others not to do this, to change her mind. But each time, every time her thoughts would drift to playing it safe and just fighting through the night, she would start to think of the future. She would think of bringing Jun-hee home with her, introducing her to Cheol. She would think of supporting Jun-hee through the difficulties of pregnancy — after doing some research, of course, because she’s clueless as of now — and being there whenever she’s needed. She would think of a sweet, quiet life alongside Jun-hee, and it would be enough to keep her quiet.

As much as she wants to stay, and to call this all off… she wants peace more.

And she can’t have peace if she doesn’t get out of these games.

Her thumb absentmindedly flicks over Jun-hee’s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. They flick down, once, gazing at Jun-hee through her peripheral vision just as she did during the first game, but quickly return to staring up.

Curiosity is eating at her. She wants to sit in silence, but she needs to ask.

“Jun-hee,” she murmurs, making sure to keep her voice low. Even if Se-mi and Hyun-ju have caught on — well, Se-mi didn’t merely catch on but whatever — that doesn’t mean that everyone else should. “You said… you said you’ve been flirting with me since the first game.”

“I did say that,” Jun-hee mumbles, shifting just barely closer.

Sae-byeok hums quietly, resting her head atop Jun-hee’s. “When?”

“Well, I mean,” Jun-hee starts slowly, “I did ask you to share a bed with me, even though we had already agreed on the sleeping arrangements. And then got as close as I possibly could without actually smothering you.”

Sae-byeok furrows her brows, thinking back to that night — but, oh, wait, that was only last night.

…Shit. It feels like it’s been a lot longer.

“I thought that was just because it was cold,” she murmurs, breathing out softly.

Jun-hee snorts. “No. I just wanted an excuse to be close to you, so I went with the first reason that came to mind. Also, I had no idea that Jung-bae snores; that just ended up happening at the perfect time.”

“Oh,” Sae-byeok breathes.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then—

“...Can I be super honest for a second?” Jun-hee whispers, hand reaching up over Sae-byeok’s chest to squeeze her shoulder. “Like, no filter type of honesty.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“I actually thought you were, like, super hot from the first time I saw you,” Jun-hee confesses, a warm smile in her voice. She sounds bashful, in a way; maybe it’s just embarrassment. “Like, you seemed all quiet and cold. Untouchable. But, honestly, I swear it felt like I saw heaven the first time you spoke to me directly.”

Silence follows her words. Stunned, unsure silence.

It’s abruptly broken when Sae-byeok snorts. It’s not a quiet puff of laughter, not an absentminded chuckle; a genuine, actual snort.

“You’re super oblivious,” Jun-hee points out, but she’s laughing, too. “I’ve been trying to give you hints, and you basically brushed me off!”

Sae-byeok sits up in the bed, pulling Jun-hee along with her. She turns to face her, deciding to be bold for just a moment and leaning close to rest her forehead against Jun-hee’s.

“Once we get out of here, I’ll learn how to tell when you’re flirting with me,” she promises, a rare genuine smile on her face.

“You’d better,” Jun-hee scoffs. Then, after a moment of silence, “You’ve got a really pretty smile, you know. I’m so lucky that I got to kiss you.”

“I’m lucky,” Sae-byeok corrects.

“Do you think…” Jun-hee trails off for just a moment. Her eyes flick down to Sae-byeok’s lips for just a moment, then back up to her eyes with an absentminded smile. “Are we dating now? Does kissing twice mean I get to call you my girlfriend?”

“…Jun-hee, I am the worst person to ask about that,” Sae-byeok deadpans. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“Do you want to date me?”

“I let you kiss me twice,” Sae-byeok says, squeezing her hand again. “Isn’t that enough of an answer?”

“Mind if I make it three times?” Jun-hee asks, teasing and maybe a little hopeful.

Sae-byeok just laughs again, the sound warm and low, and leans in to quickly kiss her again.

-

When a woman screams in the dark, Sae-byeok’s team — and Myung-gi, probably — are all already hiding beneath their beds, just as planned.

When the lights start to flash, Sae-byeok is ready.

When the fighting begins, Sae-byeok knows what to do.

Stay in your hiding spots. Stay quiet. Don’t put your own life at risk to save a stranger halfway across the room.

She squeezes Jun-hee’s hand and leans the majority of her weight on Se-mi, trying to catch a glimpse of where the others are hiding. She doesn’t know exactly where they are, but she knows who’s with who; Hyun-ju should be hiding with Geum-ja and Gyeong-seok, 047 with 145, and Young-il with Jung-bae and Dae-ho.

If all goes to plan, tonight will be the end.

If all goes to plan, this will be the last time Sae-byeok will need to wonder who the Frontman is.

If all goes to plan, they’ll be out of here by morning.

-

All does not go to plan.

Well, it does; but only temporarily.

The end of the bloodbath begins with Se-mi’s low voice sharply gasping out, “Min-su.”

Sae-byeok follows her gaze, dread forming a pool in her stomach as she looks over to see the source of her shock. Min-su is backed into a corner, trembling, crying. In front of him is Nam-gyu, one hand held up; the gleam with each flash is enough to tell Sae-byeok that he must be holding his fork.

The end of the bloodbath begins with Min-su’s life being in danger.

Now, Sae-byeok is already preparing herself to comfort Se-mi in the aftermath of Min-su’s death; after all, they were friends. Realistically, she’ll need time to process it. Time to heal, even if they weren’t as close as Nam-gyu and Thanos seemed to be.

What she isn’t preparing herself for is the way Se-mi rolls out from under the bed, stands flawlessly, and begins sprinting over to the scene.

A gasp escapes her. With only one glance over at Jun-hee, Sae-byeok scoots out into the open. She stands quickly, only narrowly dodging a hit aimed directly at her, and runs after her.

She’s too late; by the time she reaches the three former teammates, Se-mi is already fighting with Nam-gyu, a shattered shard of glass in her hand.

Sae-byeok isn’t quick enough.

She’s not quick enough. She doesn’t make it in time.

She doesn’t make it.

She’s forced to watch as the gleaming metal of the fork meets the sensitive skin of Se-mi’s neck. Nam-gyu doesn’t push hard, not yet; there’s a crazed smile on his face as he meets her eyes. He’s saying something, his grip on the other side of her neck too tight for her to shove him off, but Sae-byeok can’t hear it.

She’s gasping, breath not quite coming to her now. She’s looking at Se-mi, but she feels like she’s staring at Gi-hun again, feels like she’s seeing Sang-woo.

Time seems to slow.

No.

No.

She can’t let this happen.

(The gleaming metal sliding effortlessly into his neck, the movement purely instinctual— his blood spurting out as Sang-woo pulls the knife back— Sang-woo stumbling away just as a guard pulls him back—

Watching him die, watching him bleed out— watching it all happen— she’s helpless, useless, horrified—

There’s nothing she can do.)

There’s something she can do.

She lunges, just as Nam-gyu moves to stab the knife into Se-mi’s skin. It’s not enough to knock them apart, but it is enough for the knife’s position to slip down just enough.

Se-mi still receives a stab wound, sure, but it isn’t delivered directly to her neck, and it isn’t as deep as it would have been.

And then, finally, Sae-byeok manages to pry them apart. She shoves Nam-gyu away, eyes wild as her chest heaves, and then turns to a pained Se-mi.

Sae-byeok grabs her hand and runs.

She darts through the crowd, avoiding various players locked in combat, weaving through fights and desperate escape attempts, ducks under items being thrown. She keeps her grip tight on Se-mi’s hand, eyes flicking across the room in search of anywhere safe that she can stop to tend to Se-mi’s injury before it’s too late.

There. A secluded corner, not occupied by any other dangerous players; if she can just get there, she can deal with this.

If she can just make it fast enough, she can save Se-mi.

She can save her.

She can do this.

She doesn’t pay attention to who she’s running past as she all but drags Se-mi across the room. The corner is far from where they’re coming from, but it’ll be worth it.

It’ll all be worth it, if Sae-byeok can just save a life.

…She pulls Se-mi to the ground once they reach the corner, moving her without thought until she’s propped up against the wall.

And then it’s time for her to get to work.

Sae-byeok presses down on Se-mi’s injury, eyes sharp with focus and fear, and a frustrated groan tears itself from her throat when she realizes that her hands simply aren’t enough. Blood oozes between her fingers, and for a single, terrifying moment, she thinks of herself in that washroom.

But she didn’t die that night, and Se-mi won’t die tonight.

“Se-mi,” she says, raising her voice above the clamour, “I need to use your shirt as a bandage. Can you take it off? Do you need help?”

Se-mi opens her mouth, as though to protest, but only a groan of pain escapes her lips. She nudges Sae-byeok’s hand off of her shoulder — her hand is slick with blood, dark and thick and all too familiar, and she has to fight back the panic as she clenches her hand into a fist — and rushes to pull off her shirt with violently shaking hands.

Sae-byeok takes the shirt the moment it’s offered to her. She rips off the bottom part — “You’ll have a crop top, now,” she tries to joke, but now really isn’t the time — and places the discarded top of it beside her to pick up again later.

“This is gonna hurt,” she warns, speaking from experience. She tries not to sugarcoat the situation. “Try to stay still. If you move, it’ll take longer, and I don’t know how much more you can bleed out before your life is in real danger.”

Se-mi nods, eyes squeezed shut, and Sae-byeok looks up once to check on Jun-hee — across the room, hiding with Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, and Geum-ja now — before beginning to wrap the wound.

Se-mi hisses, clamping her jaw shut to avoid crying out, but holds still. She squeezes her eyes shut, and Sae-byeok can see the tension in her expression. She sees the pain in her gritted teeth, the struggle in her clenched hands, the desperation in her scrunched brow.

She shakes her head and returns to wrapping the wound. She tries not to feel any empathy as she tightens it and hears Se-mi inhale sharply in response.

She can’t focus on her reactions. If she gets distracted, if she slips up, Se-mi could bleed out. Se-mi could die.

(Ji-yeong’s voice, shaking behind her. Thanking her at the end of it all. A bag of marbles in her grip. Her hands shaking as she tries not to look back. The loud bang of a gunshot. Ringing silence. Guilt fluttering in her chest, as unfamiliar as the other emotions Ji-yeong invoked. Grief, rising up in her throat, choking her as she walks away.)

She won’t let her die. She won’t do it again.

(Gi-hun’s blood, slipping through her fingers. The knife sticking out of the side of his neck. A tear slipping from his eye. His quivering hand reaching up, not to wipe his tears or press down on his injury, but to hold her face. His thumb, still warm, brushing softly over her cheek. His touch, so tender, so gentle. Her ears ringing too loud to hear what he says to her. The light leaving his eyes. A guard lifting her, one hand brushing against her bleeding abdomen, saying something about a first-aid kit.

Fury, burning in her chest, scorching her ribcage as she stares at Sang-woo from across the room. A stone-cold certainty that she’ll kill him.)

Se-mi winces again. Her breath comes shallow, quick, ragged. Don’t think about her pain. Don’t get distracted. Don’t mess up. Don’t let her die.

Sae-byeok tightens the bandage again. She wonders if it’s too tight by now.

(Sang-woo’s eyes, temporarily cold and guiltless as he watches her from across the game field. The slow realization dawning on him as she clutches her bandaged abdomen. Horror entering his expression for just a flicker of a moment. Him on top of her. His hands trembling.

The knife sinking into his flesh. His blood dripping onto her face, seeping around the metal, as she stares, dumbfounded. His teeth stained red as he tries to ask her to look out for his mother. Her snapping at him, pressing down on the wound, desperate not to lose another teammate. Her hatred fading in the blink of an eye as he goes still, as the life leaves his eyes.

Her scream, raw and unfiltered, as she feels for his pulse and finds nothing. Blind rage coursing through her veins as she lunges at a guard. Her wound protesting, throbbing as she’s thrown to the ground. Sand in her eyes. Dirt seeping through the ripped edges of her bandages. A dead body behind her. A new future ahead of her. A haunted, terrified look in her eyes as she realizes that she has won. That it’s all over, that she survived. That she’s alive.

The darkness of her new apartment, two weeks later, as she wonders why she ever went back.)

She ties the bandage, then leans back and just watches for a moment.

Se-mi… isn’t bleeding through the makeshift bandage.

…She must’ve done it.

Holy shit.

Sae-byeok may have just managed to save someone.

“Does that feel okay?” Sae-byeok asks. Her voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t waver. She is, on the outside, cold and calm.

Except that she probably isn’t. She can’t see her face, but she’s sure she hasn’t kept up her perfectly practiced mask of uncaring indifference.

At least her voice is steady, she supposes.

“Fine,” Se-mi grits out. “It hurts, but it’s a stab wound, so I’m not exactly surprised.”

Sae-byeok nods. “Okay. We have to get back under the beds, so that we can stay safe. Do you think you can run, or should we stay here?”

“I can run,” Se-mi confirms.

Sae-byeok doesn’t ask if she’s sure. Doesn’t wait for her to slip up and admit that she can’t actually run. She doesn’t hesitate.

She just takes Se-mi’s hand, pulls her back to her feet, and gets ready to start running.

Except—

“Min-su,” Se-mi breathes, her eyes wide as she holds a hand to the now-bandaged injury. She stares past Sae-byeok, horror and surprise clear as day in her expression.

Sae-byeok turns, shaking just a little, and…

…And Nam-gyu stands up, towering over Min-su’s limp, lifeless body.

Oh.

Blood spurts from Min-su’s neck, originating from multiple points of injury. Sae-byeok stares at the scene, just far enough away that she isn’t afraid of Nam-gyu coming for her next, and she feels sick. She feels like her heart is in her throat.

“Min-su,” Se-mi repeats. “Fuck, I didn’t think— fuck.”

Sae-byeok blinks hard. She can’t get distracted now, not when there’s so much chaos. Not when she only just saved Se-mi’s life. Not when both of them are still at risk.

Se-mi looks frozen. Sae-byeok curses under her breath and grabs her hand, dragging her off towards where she can see Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Gyeong-seok, and Jun-hee.

“Min-su is dead,” Se-mi tells her, as though Sae-byeok didn’t see his lifeless body on the ground just now.

Sae-byeok wants to snap, the stress quickly turning to anger in her veins. I know, she wants to hiss. I know he’s dead. I saw him. I’ve seen enough dead bodies that I would know what one looks like from a mile away.

But she whips her head around, prepared to put her thoughts into words, and the anger melts on her tongue at the sight of Se-mi’s expression. Her cool exterior has broken; she looks more terrified than Sae-byeok has ever seen her. Her eyes are blown wide, face pale, regret clear in her expression.

Sae-byeok thinks of herself after Ji-yeong’s death, the shock thrumming through her blood, the dread creeping through her bones.

Instead of snapping, she tightens her grip on Se-mi’s hand and pulls her further forward, breaking out into a sprint.

She can do it. She can make it. She can run, she can do it, she knows she can do it, she can make it—

The lights flash on again, but they stay on this time, and Sae-byeok knows that she doesn’t have time to get them back under a bed.

“Get down,” she hisses, dropping to the ground and pulling Se-mi with her.

Thankfully, Se-mi seems to understand. They lie on the ground together, Sae-byeok trying everything to make her hands stop shaking, and shut their eyes as the doors to the room open.

It’s only a matter of time, now.

And, sure enough, there’s a guard at her side quickly. She stays perfectly still as something in her neck is scanned — what? — and tries not to think of the last time she had to pretend she wasn’t awake.

“067,” the guard beside her murmurs to another. She tries not to think of being held by the guards as they carried Gi-hun’s lifeless body away.

“Shit, 067’s dead? Isn’t she the one who won a couple years back?” Another guard asks, and now two are leaning over her, and oh god if she even twitches she’s so dead—

A gunshot rings out. Then another.

It’s time.

Sae-byeok acts fast. She flicks her eyes open, quickly flipping the guard above her over, and fights to ignore Se-mi’s pained grunt as she does the same to the other.

And once Sae-byeok gets her hands on the gun resting on the guard’s back, it’s over.

She decides to do the exact opposite of what she’s been doing for the past three years and forces herself to think of Ji-yeong as she points it at the guard’s head.

Her voice, her story, her eyes, her smile—

The ringing silence in the air after the guard shot her without a drop of remorse.

The memory is enough to keep her from flinching as she takes the shot.

The room, quiet and filled with a sick sense of peace just moments ago, has erupted into gunshots and yelling. Sae-byeok takes Se-mi, who has also gained a gun, and finds a wall to press against.

“Less sides for the guards to come at us from,” she explains, only a little breathlessly, and Se-mi nods.

The doors are still open, but they’re starting to close. Sae-byeok feels her breath catch as four guards advance to swarm her and Se-mi, heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears.

Shit, fuck, there’s too many, she can only shoot one at a time, they still have their guns, no—

Bang!

One drops dead.

Bang!

Another falls.

The remaining two are already looking around for the culprits, momentarily distracted. Sae-byeok shoves at Se-mi’s shoulder — the uninjured one, thankfully — and lines up a shot.

One guard goes down, then the final one.

Sae-byeok turns, eyes frantically searching to find who just saved their lives.

In one corner of the room, Young-il locks eyes with her before turning to take down another guard.

From another corner, Dae-ho gives her a trembling nod.

They’ve saved her life again.

But she can’t linger on that; she wants to get to Jun-hee and Hyun-ju, and she can’t do that with the amount of guards between them.

So she takes a breath, steps just a little closer to being in front of Se-mi in case she needs to block a hit, and raises her gun again.

Sae-byeok thinks that she should be afraid of what’s to come, but as she lunges into action, all she can feel is a stone-cold certainty.

Chapter Text

The players’ sleeping quarters, once silent and tense, are alive with the sound of gunshots and thundering footsteps.

Sae-byeok holds her gun in a white-knuckled grip, her breathing shaky as she aims and fires. She shoots desperately, taking down guards dutifully as she silently prays that all of her allies will make it through this.

After all, this is only the first step of their plan; she needs them all alive if she has any hope of succeeding.

The guards are scrambling – some for escape and some for new guns – as the once-afraid players stand tall around them. Sae-byeok can hear shouts between the others – Jung-bae requesting support, Hyun-ju yelling out a warning to Gyeong-seok, Jun-hee alerting Hyun-ju of a guard sneaking up on them – but she stays silent.

She jumps violently as she feels a nudge against her back, head whipping around. But it’s only Se-mi, trying to move her slightly to the side.

Se-mi makes eye contact with her, brows furrowed, eyes unreadable. “Give me space to shoot,” she instructs, although it sounds more like an order. “I want to help. I can help.”

“Se-mi, you got stabbed,” Sae-byeok challenges, turning at just the right moment to shoot at a guard who was trying to take advantage of her distraction.

“We don’t have enough people,” Se-mi argues, frustration seeping into her tone. “Please, Sae-byeok. Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass. It hurts a lot, sure, but you bandaged it up, and I can still function for now.”

Sae-byeok furrows her brows, but eventually nods. Se-mi is right; they don’t really have enough people. “Okay. Fine. Just be careful.”

There’s a shot, originating from nearby. Sae-byeok and Se-mi turn in unison.

One guard stands alone, chest clearly heaving beneath their bright suit. Their gun is raised, but they freeze.

They missed.

That shot must’ve been meant for either Sae-byeok or Se-mi, and they missed.

The guard turns and tries to run. Sae-byeok doesn’t miss a beat; a raw sound escapes the back of her throat, something that doesn’t even sound entirely human, and she shoots with shocking precision.

The guard drops to the floor. Se-mi gives Sae-byeok a look of surprise.

“...Lucky shot,” Sae-byeok mutters, even stunned by herself. Se-mi nods, and then the two return to shooting once more.

And for a long time, that’s all that goes on.

Sae-byeok just prays that her luck won’t run out any time soon.

-

They’re winning.

Somehow, using a plan so stupid and borderline suicidal that it worked, they’re winning.

Sae-byeok and Se-mi have left their spot against the wall. Se-mi is with Dae-ho behind a bed, shooting through the gaps in the metal when they need to. Behind them are Jun-hee and Geum-ja, both without a gun and watching the blind spots of their armed companions. The four work surprisingly well together.

Sae-byeok and Hyun-ju stand back-to-back in the center of the room, spinning around every now and then, yelling out warnings to whoever needs them. They work together as if they’ve been teammates their whole lives, moving as one, taking down every guard that comes near them.

Sae-byeok presses her back against Hyun-ju’s, eyes narrowed. She doesn’t even flinch at the gunshots anymore.

They’re winning; she just hopes it stays that way.

-

The massive door to the dormitory closes with a thud.

There’s one guard left; a square guard, one who turned, tried to shoot an empty gun, and just barely missed their chance to leave because of it. They scrabble at the metal door desperately, helplessly, the useless gun hanging across their back. They don’t scream, but their fear is painfully obvious in their quick movements.

Sae-byeok’s chest rises and falls heavily. The room has fallen silent now, although all guns are pointed towards the manager at the door. “Stop,” she calls out, her voice echoing in the massive room. She stands next to Hyun-ju, creeping forward as her allies run to the door. “Hold fire! Don’t shoot!”

“Hands above your head!” Jung-bae barks out, his voice cold and his gun aimed directly at the guard’s head. “Hands up, now! On your knees!”

Wow, okay. Sae-byeok honestly forgot he was a former Marine. She’s genuinely shocked that such a sweet man can manage to be so terrifying, but she shakes herself out of it.

The guard sinks to their knees, head lowered, hands held up in surrender. Jung-bae and Gyeong-seok both aim their weapons as they reach them, most likely in case the guard tries anything, and circle them like sharks; predatory and firm.

Sae-byeok looks up at Hyun-ju, who watches the scene unfolding with a cold expression. She looks seasoned, experienced, and aged.

Sae-byeok makes a mental note to ask if it’s her first time doing something like this later on.

“You bastards! You fucking animals!” Player 047’s shout, raw and furious, is what pulls Sae-byeok’s attention away from the surrendering manager. Her head snaps to him, and she finds that he is now pointing his gun at a cluster of ‘O’ players.

She can’t stop herself. She races over, skidding to a stop in front of him, and roughly grabs at the gun.

“Stop it,” she hisses, yanking the gun downwards.

“Move,” 047 snaps, attempting to pull the gun from her tight grasp. It doesn’t quite work. “Look around! Look how many players are dead! Do you not see this? Do you not see what they’ve done? They aren’t human; you’ve got no right to stop me from killing them, not after what they did!”

“This is not why we took these guns,” Sae-byeok murmurs, voice low and gravelly. Dangerous. Threatening. “You think you’ll be any better than them if you shoot them now? You think that them being killers means that you won’t be one? That their blood won’t be on your hands forever?”

“We all shot those guards,” 047 argues. His voice shakes. So do his hands. “By your logic, that makes you a killer, too.”

But Sae-byeok just lets out a single laugh; hard, cold, bitter. “I’ve been a killer for three years,” she tells him, unflinching. “Now lower your gun, unless you want the guilt to eat you alive for as long as you live.”

He stares at her for a moment, defiant, angry. She meets his eyes with a careful composure, an unspoken challenge in her eyes.

Shoot them. I dare you. See how you feel afterwards.

He narrows his eyes and mutters something under his breath, but lowers the gun nonetheless.

Sae-byeok doesn’t smile. Instead, she pats his shoulder, firm and reassuring. And then she looks up – looks at the various players staring around with wide, stunned eyes – and walks slowly back to the middle of the room.

“Everyone,” she calls out. “No need to be afraid. You don’t need to hide. We won’t hurt you.”

She casts a sharp glare over her shoulder to 047, but doesn’t speak to him directly again.

Jung-bae shoves at the guard kneeling before him, and then turns his head. “It’s okay to come out! None of this was to hurt any of you.”

Hyun-ju murmurs something to Gyeong-seok. Likely an instruction, given the fact that he nods and moves towards the dead guards. Without missing a beat and without joining in on the others’ attempts to reassure the uninformed players, she looks around the room, aims her gun upwards, and shoots towards where Sae-byeok knows there’s a camera.

She takes it out with the first hit. Then the next, and then the next after that.

…Yeah, okay, Hyun-ju definitely has some kind of experience.

-

Sae-byeok stands in a line alongside her group – her allies, her team – and steps forward, towards where they’ve placed any extra guns and ammo. In front of the group of them is every other player, all gathered in a loose semi-circle.

“Everyone, listen up!” Sae-byeok calls out, hoping her voice is loud enough that everyone will hear her perfectly clear. “We’re going to head up to the masked men’s headquarters. We’re putting a stop to this, tonight. If all goes to plan, all of us will be out of here by morning.”

Young-il steps up beside her. She gives him a side-eye, but it softens quicker than she’d like; she’s still not entirely happy with him for suggesting that they kill the other players, but she is frustratedly fond of him. “We’ll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to the torture they’ve been putting us through, and finally go home. All of us.”

Hyun-ju is the next to step forward. “We have a plan,” she begins slowly, tentatively, “but we need support. There are most likely hundreds of guards. Maybe even thousands. We were enough to carry out the first stage, but we’ll need more people for the next part.”

“Anyone who is willing to join us and help, even if you don’t know how to use a gun just yet, please step forward now,” Sae-byeok requests, gaze sweeping over the other players.

…Nobody steps forward.

The closest anybody comes is Myung-gi taking a half-step towards the middle of the room, but Sae-byeok can see Jun-hee discreetly shaking her head at him. She wishes she could be angry, but she understands the thought process.

She’s just beginning to lose hope when Jung-bae steps ahead of her, Young-il, and Hyun-ju, his head held high.

“I know you’re all scared,” he announces, his voice gentle but firm. “And I understand. I really do. I’m scared, too.”

Sae-byeok almost wants to put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, but she stays in her spot.

He doesn’t seem to need it, anyway. He continues, the moment passing. “But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive. I don’t know about any of you, but I have a child. Sae-byeok has a brother. Dae-ho has four sisters. We have people to go home to.” He holds up his gun. “I won’t let this chance pass by, but we can’t do it alone. Fight with us, so that we can all go home together.”

There’s another moment of tense, unbroken silence. And then, finally, it happens.

A volunteer makes himself known. Player 015 stumbles forward, one hand raised. “I’ll fight with you.”

Sae-byeok smiles, even just slightly. She waves a hand. “Come on. Come take a gun.”

And that’s the beginning. That’s what prompts others to join, too.

Player 072 volunteers.

Player 206 follows, after steadying himself with a puff of air.

Player 324 is next.

After that, nobody follows. Jung-bae turns and shakes his head at Sae-byeok. She gives a nod, then looks around at the surrounding players.

“Please check your guns and ammo,” she instructs, moving away from Young-il to walk in front of the other players.

“Let’s each take one radio,” Jung-bae suggests. He holds one up. “We’ll use channel seven. The lucky number.”

Sae-byeok stops in front of Young-il. She doesn’t apologize often, but now may be her last chance.

“I’m… sorry, for earlier,” she tries, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was on edge, and I didn’t want to kill any of the other players. I… had a lot on my mind.”

Young-il holds up a hand to stop her from continuing. His eyes are warm, and his smile is soft and barely-there, and suddenly she remembers why she was so comfortable with him. “You can make it up to me by buying me soju when we get out of here,” he decides, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

Something softens in his eyes, something that Sae-byeok didn’t even realize was cold until it wasn’t. He looks at her like she’s someone else, or maybe like they’ve known each other for longer than they have. His eyes are round with a type of fondness that she hasn’t seen since Gi-hun smiled at her, so long ago now.

Her shoulders relax, just slightly, and she nods. “Soju it is, then.”

She steps back, standing beside him again. On her other side, Hyun-ju takes one look at Gyeong-seok struggling with his gun, and walks to the front of the group. “Attention.”

She gains the attention of everyone quickly, effortlessly. She holds up her gun, gaze sweeping across the line of people. “This is an MP5. It’s a submachine gun. I’ll show you how to use it.”

“First; to change the magazine, all you have to do is press the release,” she demonstrates as she speaks, focused and clearly familiar with the type of gun she holds, “and then slide it out. It shouldn’t take very much to come out. Second; on the side, you flip the safety down for sustained fire, or put it up here for single-fire. Seeing as we’re running on very limited ammo, you should only be using single-fire. Finally, third; insert the magazine up here, then you pull this lever all the way down. That’s how you load your gun.”

She lets go of it, looking around at them again. Her bangs are sticking to her head with sweat, and there’s a smear of blood on her cheek, but she seems unbothered. “Is that clear?”

A chorus of confirmations follows, and Hyun-ju nods, seemingly satisfied. She holds her gun downwards, in what Sae-byeok assumes is a resting position, and walks back to her former position.

“You really know your stuff,” Gyeong-seok murmurs, just loud enough that Sae-byeok is able to catch it. “Where’d you learn that? You looked like a professional.”

“I, uh… I used to be a sergeant first class in the ROK Special Forces,” Hyun-ju responds, head lowered somewhat bashfully.

I knew it wasn’t her first time, Sae-byeok thinks triumphantly. Then she quickly shakes her head. There are more important things that she should be focusing on now, one of them being the guard who has been silently kneeling behind them the whole time.

Sae-byeok turns and slowly approaches them, pointing her gun at them just to be safe. “Mask off,” she orders.

Slowly and shakily, the guard removes their hood, and then their mask. Behind it is a young man, likely somewhere around her own age. His eyes hold a hint of fear, although less than what she expected to see.

“Oh,” Jung-bae mutters, looking over his shoulder. “So young. Do your parents know what you’re doing here?”

“Jung-bae, he looks like he’s my age,” Sae-byeok reminds him.

“Yeah, and I think you’re way too young to be here, too,” Jung-bae mutters.

Sae-byeok sighs, but nudges the guard’s head gently with the gun. “Here’s what’s going to happen now,” she tells him, voice settling back into that familiar tone, the very same one she used to stop Young-il during his freakout in the second game. “You’re going to lead us to your captain, the Frontman. You are not going to call for backup, or attempt to signal to your coworkers that you need help. You will not try to lead us in the wrong direction, or into an ambush. In return, if we succeed, we will bring you with us. Considering we all have guns now, I’m sure you can imagine what will happen if you try anything. Understood?”

He nods after a moment. She nods back at him, then pulls her gun away, keeping her grip on it. “Good. Stay here.”

Sae-byeok turns around, heading for where the rest of the guns and ammo is. She leans down and picks up some extra ammo, shoving it into her pocket. “I need all of you to check how much ammo is left in your guns,” she announces. “If yours is running low, come and take some from here. We’ll be bringing all of it, but the people who need it now will take priority.”

With that, she steps away and exhales quietly. She looks down at the gun in her hands, feeling slightly distant from herself. They’re really doing this; this very well may be the last thing she ever does.

“Sae-byeok.”

She looks up, finding Jun-hee in front of her.

Without thinking, she lets go of the gun. The strap securing it around her tightens slightly as it falls. It swings around, coming to rest comfortably against her back.

She extends her arms, pulling Jun-hee into her embrace. Immediately, she feels a pair of hands dig into her shoulders, and a head in the crook of her neck.

“Don’t do this,” Jun-hee pleads in a whisper. “Please, don’t go and get yourself killed. Just stay here with me. Let Hyun-ju and Young-il handle this one, Sae-byeok, please.”

Sae-byeok sighs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Jun-hee,” she murmurs against her hair, squeezing her eyes shut. “I have to do this, okay? I need you to stay safe and away from the danger.”

Jun-hee takes a moment, but eventually nods against her. Sae-byeok leans back, taking a good look at Jun-hee’s face just in case this is her last chance to do so, and then turns her head to where Se-mi stands with Geum-ja.

She watches as Se-mi presses down on the bandage and winces.

Sae-byeok sighs and pats Jun-hee’s back. “Make sure Se-mi doesn’t make her injury worse, please,” she requests, letting go of Jun-hee and stepping back.

Jun-hee nods. “Don’t die out there,” she commands firmly.

“I won’t,” Sae-byeok tells her.

She wants to add on a steady, I promise, but holds it in. She can’t promise that; she can only hope.

So, instead, she just turns back to her team and gives a firm nod.

She’s not ready at all, but they don’t have any more time to waste.

“Let’s go.”

-

The walk is suspiciously quiet. Calm. The silence is only broken by heavy breathing and that cheerful voice over the speakers, asking that they all return to the dormitories.

It’s when Sae-byeok turns and shoots the nearest speaker, her hand gripping at the uniform of the guard helping them, that she sees the flash of pink.

Guards. Multiple. Maybe more out of sight.

“Get down!” Sae-byeok shouts, crouching and dragging the guard down with her.

That’s when the gunshots start again.

-

Hyun-ju takes out the most guards. Young-il warns Sae-byeok whenever she doesn’t see a guard aiming for her. Dae-ho crouches, out of sight, and covers his ears.

It’s difficult. It’s loud. It’s long. It’s a close call.

But they survive.

“Is everyone okay?” Sae-byeok asks, trying to ignore the dead guard hanging off the stairs behind her.

The others confirm that they’re all alive, all uninjured, all perfectly fine. Except for Dae-ho, who’s shaking like a leaf, but he doesn’t look to have any injuries. Sae-byeok looks at the guard beside her, who looks very much like he’s lost any hope of keeping his life, and nods again. “Let’s go.”

She drags the guard into a standing position by the back of his hood – he doesn’t fight, doesn’t protest, doesn’t really do anything except just letting her do what she wants – and leads the group further up the stairs.

Behind her, Hyun-ju shoots down any nearby cameras. Jung-bae quietly checks in on the nearest players. Young-il walks close behind her, watching out for any unseen danger.

After a while of seemingly walking around with no destination, Sae-byeok grows frustrated – not that she lets it show. She lets go of her gun to hold up one hand, signalling for the others to stop for a moment, and yanks the guard back. “How much farther?” she asks, taking hold of her gun again.

He doesn’t answer.

Sae-byeok lets out a displeased hum. She turns the guard around roughly, expression smoothed over, and holds up the gun.

A threat.

A promise.

A reminder.

“Is this the right way?” Sae-byeok asks slowly, raising one eyebrow. “I sure hope you aren’t deliberately leading us in the wrong direction. You do remember what I said would happen if you did, don’t you?”

The guard looks… a little more afraid, now. He nods quickly, turning and pointing behind him. “The… the entrance to the management area is just around that corner. I promise. The control room is right above it.”

“Let’s go, then,” Sae-byeok responds.

“Wait,” he says. He reaches for his pocket.

Sae-byeok moves her gun swiftly. The end of it knocks gently against the guard’s forehead. He freezes.

“The item you’re planning on pulling out of your pocket better not be a weapon,” Sae-byeok begins, the words slow and measured. “Not unless you want me to use it on you.”

“...I need my mask to pass security,” the guard explains quietly. Shakily.

Sae-byeok takes a moment, searching his gaze. Then she nods and lowers the gun, although she doesn’t release her tight grip on his shoulder. She watches as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his mask.

He looks back at her. Then past her, towards where she knows Young-il stands.

He freezes.

The next moment, a bullet flies through his skull. He drops to the floor, lifeless.

Sae-byeok moves.

She presses against the wall as the next round of rapid gunfire begins. She breathes heavily, watching as 072 falls against the other side of the wall, blood already soaking through his uniform.

Her heart pounds. Her head spins. She feels like she can’t breathe.

The first casualty of the revolt.

The worst part is that Sae-byeok is absolutely sure that he won’t be the last.

-

The line that the group originally formed has shuffled. Sae-byeok finds herself standing between Gyeong-seok and 015, shooting desperately across the stairwell and hoping – praying – that her shots land.

One guard falls.

Then another.

Sae-byeok wonders if either of them were killed by one of her bullets. She can’t even see where they’re landing.

Well, she must be doing better than Dae-ho, at least, who isn’t even looking while he shoots. He just holds the gun between two walls, sitting out of view, eyes squeezed shut as he shoots at… well, nothing. Not that he knows that.

Sae-byeok lowers her gun and darts behind the nearest wall, breathing heavily. She leans her head against the wall and winces as a bullet flies past her previous place; if she hadn’t moved, that bullet would have carved through her skull like it was nothing. Had she not moved, she would be dead now.

Gyeong-seok comes to stand next to her, reloading his gun with a sharp-eyed focus. She doesn’t turn her head, focused on reloading her own gun, but she can feel his eyes on her. “How did someone so young end up in a place like this, three years ago?”

She doesn’t have enough time to be suspicious of him. Not in the middle of… this mess. “Brother in the orphanage, mother in the north,” she spits out. “Pickpocketing didn’t get me enough money to get either of them, let alone both. The games were my last, best, and only option. What about you?”

“I have a young daughter,” he says. Her stomach falls. Gi-hun. Ga-yeong. “She’s very sick. I don’t make enough money to cover her treatments.”

She finally glances over at him, although it’s only out of the corner of her eye. “If we survive and don’t get the money, I’ll help with the payments,” she promises, checking her gun once for good measure before she swiftly returns to the fight.

The brief moment of connection has passed.

Now, it’s back to shooting. Hoping. Praying.

-

Sae-byeok finds herself next to Young-il once more, the two working together effortlessly.

This isn’t working.

Well, it is. They’re not dying, at least. But they won’t be able to hold the guards off forever.

They need to make progress. They need to keep going.

“I’ll go look for the management area!” Sae-byeok yells out, loud enough to be heard by Young-il over the gunfire but not enough to be heard by the nearby guards.

“Will you be able to find it?” Young-il asks, looking away from her for just a moment to swing around the wall and shoot a few more times before returning. “Should I come with you? I can watch your back!”

“I need you to buy us time,” Sae-byeok instructs, standing from where she’s crouching. “Jung-bae! Come with me!”

Jung-bae nods, taking another shot. Sae-byeok grabs the dead guard’s mask and runs, ducking as low as she can to avoid being shot at. She hears heavy footsteps as Jung-bae runs after her.

The corridor is deafeningly loud with the volume of the battle, but Sae-byeok’s mind is focused on one thing; find him.

And she knows that she will do exactly that, even if it’s the last thing she ever does.

-

They find the management area, and it is so, so quiet.

Unnervingly soundless.

Deafeningly quiet.

Jung-bae keeps the door open using an extra gun, laying it flat on the ground and taking the magazine out. “Why’d you bring me instead of Young-il?”

Sae-byeok shrugs. “Young-il’s better at getting people to listen to him, I think. It’s better for him to be in charge back there.” She pauses, glancing back at him. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Jung-bae reassures, following her through the long, purple corridors.

Sae-byeok holds up the radio, speaking into it. She hopes to reach Young-il; she hopes nothing has happened. “Hey,” she breathes, looking around for any potential threats and finding none. “We found the management area and got in. We’ll make our way up now. The door’s still open for whenever you make it here; just be careful not to move the gun on the ground, because the door closes automatically, and we still have the mask you’ll need to use to get inside if it closes.”

She doesn’t get a response.

…That’s fine. Everyone’s busy shooting guards and trying to stay alive. Probably. Hopefully.

Sae-byeok shakes her head and puts the radio back into her pocket. Young-il will respond when he gets a free moment. He’s probably fine.

Everything will be fine, she thinks. It will. It has to.

As if specifically trying to prove her wrong, a masked guard appears at that very moment, gun raised.

Sae-byeok shoots before they get the chance.

There’s another, but she and Jung-bae both move in separate directions to hide behind the nearby walls. The other guard’s bullets hit empty air. Sae-byeok peeks around the corner once, shooting again, but doesn’t hit them.

She thinks and acts fast. Faster than even she expected. Making eye contact with Jung-bae, she holds up the mask from the guard who led them here, hoping he understands.

They’ll shoot at it, she hopes to convey. It’ll buy us some time. It’ll distract them.

He must get it, because he nods and raises his gun in preparation. Sae-byeok adjusts her grip on the mask, ensuring a minimal risk of her hand being injured in the process. The material feels like a hard plastic, or perhaps something similar of better quality; something more expensive. Something more fitting, for a place like this.

She carefully holds the mask out into the open, just the slightest bit. Then a little more.

Just as expected, a bullet flies right through it. The mask falls from her hand and hits the floor with a hollow thump, and then Jung-bae is moving.

The guard goes down with a flurry of shots of their own, but they go down nonetheless. As Sae-byeok approaches the first guard with Jung-bae, she makes sure to grab the magazine from the guard’s gun.

Her hand brushes their pocket, shifting the fabric beneath her touch, and she sees Jung-bae’s eyes light up. “Look!” he whisper-shouts, pointing at the bright pocket. “The guards keep extra ammo in their pockets!”

“That’s good,” Sae-byeok murmurs. “We can get more if we run out. That’ll be a big help.”

They move together, making sure to take all the ammo from the second guard. Sure enough, there’s extra ammo in this guard’s pocket, too; Sae-byeok thinks it should be safe to assume that it will be the same for all the others.

But she doesn’t have time to dwell on that.

“Which way do we go now?” Jung-bae asks, eyes round as he looks at all the doors. “Most of these are probably traps.”

Sae-byeok looks at the ground. Her eyes focus on the bullets, the small shines that are stark against the purple ground.

Finally, she looks back up at Jung-bae, her mind made up, her eyes firm and sure.

“We go the way they came.”

-

They’re running out of ammo.

Sae-byeok is trying very hard not to panic. She may or may not be failing.

“What do we do?” she hisses, pressing hard against the wall as countless guards shoot at the empty space between her and Jung-bae.

Jung-bae pulls out his radio, his breathing coming hard and heavy. “Young-il! Dae-ho!” he shouts into the radio. “Can you hear me? I think we’re almost there! I think we’re right below it!”

“That’s good!” Young-il responds, the radio crackling as his voice comes through.

“We need ammo,” Sae-byeok snaps out.

Jung-bae nods, even though Young-il can’t see him. He doesn’t seem to care. “We’re running low on ammo, and we need support! Can you get here? Can you come and help us?”

“We’re running low on ammo, too!” Young-il reports. A gunshot sounds through the radio; Sae-byeok hopes that didn’t hit anyone.

She pulls out her own radio. “There should be some extra ammo in the guards’ pockets,” she informs Young-il. “If someone could go back to our quarters and grab it from all the guards we killed, we’d probably be set for the rest of the fight. Can anyone do that?”

“We’ll figure something out!” Young-il promises, raising his voice again to be heard over the flurry of nearby gunshots. Sae-byeok can faintly hear him having a conversation with the other players with him, but she can’t quite make out the words. Well, not until he returns to speaking to her. “Don’t worry! Hold them off for now; Dae-ho will go for magazines, and I’ll get someone to you as quickly as I can!”

“Hurry,” Sae-byeok says.

“Trust me,” Young-il responds.

And she does. She does, even if she didn’t want to in the beginning.

So she just nods to herself and calls out a rough, “Stay alive, Young-il!”

-

When Sae-byeok sees just how close she is to being out of ammo, she knows that she has to act.

“Cover me,” she says, not looking over at Jung-bae.

“What’s your plan?” Jung-bae asks. He’s coming dangerously close to being visible to the guards shooting at them. Sae-byeok wants to tell him to lean back, to keep his head out of the gap, but that can wait.

“We need their magazines,” Sae-byeok explains. “I’m going to get them.”

“You can’t! It’s too dangerous!” Jung-bae protests immediately. His grip visibly tightens on the gun. “Sae-byeok, they’ll shoot you as soon as they see you.”

“That’s why I need you to cover me,” she snaps. “I’m almost out of ammo. If they notice, they’ll close in on us. We’ll die before anyone gets here.”

Jung-bae sighs. “If you die, I’ll kill your ghost,” he threatens, but the tone of his voice is tired and worried. And then he nods and raises his gun, preparing himself to cover her.

Sae-byeok puts her gun down and takes a breath. She tries not to let herself be afraid.

If she dies here, at least Cheol will still hopefully have Jun-ho.

That’s enough to get her moving. Jung-bae starts to shoot at the guards, and Sae-byeok darts out of her hiding spot.

She keeps close to the ground, using the dead guards as a shield as she reaches into their pockets for the extra magazines. She shoves her findings into her own pocket desperately, adrenaline thrumming through her veins as she moves onto the next guard. She can’t hide quite as well this time, but she tries nonetheless.

One bullet lodges itself into the side of the guard she’s currently taking ammo from, just barely missing her head.

“Sae-byeok, hurry!” Jung-bae yells. His voice cracks with the volume.

She grabs the extra magazine from the second guard’s pocket, but it’s not enough. She needs to make sure she and Jung-bae don’t run out.

She yanks the first guard’s gun off of them – the strap gets caught on the back of their neck for just a moment before it comes free – and throws it down the stairs, hoping it doesn’t hit Jung-bae. Then, with barely-shaking hands, she reaches up and repeats the process with the second guard, although she keeps this gun on her.

With absolutely zero regard for her own safety, Sae-byeok turns and throws herself down the stairs. She shouts as her shoulder hits the hard ground but otherwise recovers quickly enough that she manages to roll with the momentum and get back on her feet. She darts behind the wall again, breathing heavily.

The continuous pains in her shoulder, back, and neck don’t quite register, not yet. There are more important things to worry about.

“If you die before me, I’ll kill your ghost,” Jung-bae repeats as she readjusts her grip on the gun in her hands.

Sae-byeok looks over at him, her breath wheezing as she struggles to stabilize it. “Don’t worry,” she responds breathlessly. “I’ll make sure to outlive you, old man.”

Jung-bae chuckles despite the current situation. Sae-byeok feels accomplished.

Both return to shooting at the guards, each now armed with a second gun. They hit exactly zero guards, as all of them duck behind walls to avoid dying, but an attempt is made.

That’s when Young-il’s voice rings out above the shots.

“Sae-byeok!” he yells, running to her with two of their teammates behind him. “Did you find it? The control room?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s right up there, but we can’t go that way,” Sae-byeok tells him. “What are the odds there’s another way in?”

“I did a quick scan of the layout while we were on our way.” Young-il glances behind him at the two players behind him, and at the way he came. “I’m sure there must be a way to get around them. If the two of you can keep their focus, the three of us can go around and shoot them from behind. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” Sae-byeok decides quickly, nodding.

Young-il turns to leave, but Sae-byeok pauses. Her gaze scans across the three players before her.

They were low on ammo, too. What if they run into trouble along the way? What if they run out of ammo? What will happen?

Sae-byeok looks down at the gun in her hands, then at the one hanging over her by the strap over her dully-aching shoulder.

She was running low on ammo, but she and Jung-bae just gained both extra magazines and two extra guns. They can go without one.

“Young-il, wait,” Sae-byeok starts, grabbing at his shoulder before he can take off. She holds the gun in one hand and grabs his free one with the other, shoving the gun into his arms. “Take this with you.”

Young-il looks at her, an unreadable expression on his face. It looks a little like softness, but Sae-byeok can tell that softness isn’t what she’s really looking at. “Are you sure?” he asks, raising one eyebrow.

“You’re going to need it more than me,” Sae-byeok says. “Can’t go out for soju if you’re dead. We’ll get more eventually. Take it.”

Young-il searches her eyes for a moment. But eventually, although he hesitates, he takes the gun from her. “Don’t die, Sae-byeok.”

She nods. Then she and Jung-bae turn together, shooting quickly to distract the guards. The other three run behind them as yet another short burst of a gunfight begins.

-

“Dae-ho!” Jung-bae is shouting into the radio. “Dae-ho, are you coming? Answer me!”

“We have time,” Sae-byeok snaps. “We’re not out just yet.”

But Jung-bae looks up at her, and a shudder runs down her spine as she takes in the expression on his face. His eyes are rounded, his face pale, his jaw clenched.

“I just had this awful feeling that Dae-ho isn’t coming,” he says. “I need him to answer. I just need to know.”

“He’ll come,” Sae-byeok tries, but the look on Jung-bae’s face is making even her question that.

Jung-bae shakes his head and lifts the radio to his face once more. “Dae-ho! Dae-ho, answer me!”

Dae-ho doesn’t answer.

-

At some point in the fight, Sae-byeok’s own radio crackles to life in her pocket.

“Sae-byeok!” Hyun-ju shouts through it. “Dae-ho won’t answer! Can you try? I’m worried about him!”

Sae-byeok lifts the radio to her mouth, brow furrowed as she lowers her gun for a moment. “He isn’t answering us, either,” she says. “We already tried.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t respond again.

Sae-byeok tries not to panic. She fails.

-

“We shouldn’t have done this!” Sae-byeok yells, shutting her eyes tightly as she leans her head against the wall.

She’s running low on ammo again.

Jung-bae looks at her. She sees a single tear slip down his cheek, and she doesn’t blame him. Doesn’t question it. “I’m sorry, Sae-byeok,” he responds. “I shouldn’t have suggested this.”

“I’m sorry,” Sae-byeok counters. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this.”

They could go back and forth all night, but they don’t have the time for that.

If they want any hope of coming out of this alive, they need to keep fighting. They can’t give up.

-

Young-il’s voice eventually comes through her radio again. “Sae-byeok, we found it. We found a spot to get them from behind.”

Relief floods Sae-byeok’s chest. She shuts her eyes, then flicks them back open to respond to him. “Good. Start attacking. We’ll draw their attention so you can get a good shot. They can’t kill all of us, not if we’re coming from both directions.”

“We’ll hit from behind,” Young-il confirms, his voice low.

She puts the radio back into her pocket, then looks up. She gives Jung-bae a steady nod.

They return to the fight. It sounds the same as it has for the past… hour, maybe? The sound doesn’t fade, nor does the tension in Sae-byeok’s muscles.

It gets repetitive. It’s constant, unchanging, deafening. Consistent. Continuous.

Nothing changes for a long time.

…And then, eventually, something does. Sae-byeok realizes that there are no shots coming from where Young-il’s team supposedly stands. She’s getting worried, and she’s about to check in on him when she hears something.

Young-il’s voice comes over the radio again, but something is different this time.

Something is wrong, this time.

“Sae-byeok,” he croaks, static crackling as he does so. Her heart drops. “I’m sorry.”

She hears gurgling breaths. Ragged, wheezing gasps for air.

She ducks behind the wall, eyes wide, heart pounding so loud that she can hardly hear anything but the radio. She knows Jung-bae is shouting for her, but she can’t quite make out what he’s saying. It all begins to sound muffled. Distant.

No. Her breath comes heavy and fast. Her ears ring softly. No. No, no, no.

Another rasping breath comes through.

This can’t be happening. Not Young-il. He can’t be dead. He can’t. Sae-byeok can’t lose him, too.

“Young-il,” she calls. She ignores how her voice breaks, however miniscule the sound is. “Young-il. Young-il! Don’t die, Young-il! Don’t fucking die!”

They were supposed to go out for soju together.

(They were supposed to go to Jeju together.)

“Young-il!”

“It’s all over, Sae-byeok.” His voice is strained. He’s still talking, as if he can’t hear her. Maybe he really can’t. “They got us. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just don’t die!” Sae-byeok barks out. Her hands are shaking. “What happened? How far away are you? I’ll come get you, I’ll come help— I’ll come, I swear, just don’t die, don’t–”

She hears more gurgling. She chokes on a sob that she tries and fails to hold back.

“Young-il, say something.”

One final rasping, rattling breath.

“Young-il, answer me! Young-il! Young-il!”

Sae-byeok hears one final gunshot, and that’s it.

Oh Young-il is dead. He must be.

Something raw tears from her throat; a scream, maybe, or perhaps it’s just a sob. She falls against the wall, sliding down until she’s on the ground again.

It was supposed to be him. He was supposed to be the one to make it out, the way Gi-hun couldn’t.

Young-il.

He’s gone, now.

Sae-byeok thinks that it might be all her fault.

-

The remaining guards start to close in soon after.

Sae-byeok is filled with grief and regret and guilt.

145 came over the radio not long before to tell her that he was out of ammo. That probably means his whole team is dead, too. Including Gyeong-seok.

That probably means Hyun-ju is dead, too.

Everything that Sae-byeok held close to her heart for such a short time is falling apart, shattering before her eyes, and all she can do is try to fight for her life.

But even that won’t work anymore. She and Jung-bae are both out of ammo.

There’s nothing left for them to do. It seems that this plan truly was just as suicidal as Sae-byeok knew it would be.

She and Jung-bae come to an unspoken agreement. They lock eyes one final time, understanding in both of their gazes, and creep out into the open with their hands raised in surrender.

They lower themselves to their knees and set their guns down in front of them. Sae-byeok has a creeping, chilling feeling that she is going to die right here.

“We’re done,” Jung-bae calls. His voice quivers. “We… we surrender. It’s over.”

Two guards. That’s all that’s left.

Maybe they could’ve won, if only they had just a few more bullets. Maybe Sae-byeok and Jung-bae could have found a way to make it out, just the two of them.

But that’s wishful thinking.

The two guards move to stand behind them, guns pointed directly at their heads. Slow, measured footsteps approach, with many, many other sets coming behind.

Sae-byeok knows, before she even looks up, who this is. Who it must be, because the universe fucking hates her.

“Player 067.”

Of course. Of course she would find him after she runs out of bullets. Of course he only reveals himself at the end of it all.

She looks up at him, at the source of that voice. She already knows who she’s going to see, and she’s absolutely correct.

The Frontman.

He stands over her, unforgiving. In his hand is a gun, clutched tightly but hanging loosely at his side.

“Did you have fun playing the hero?”

Sae-byeok is not the hero of this story, nor has she ever been. She has never considered herself one. Not when Young-il asked for her opinion, not when Dae-ho looked to her like a leader, and not when Jun-hee thanked her for allowing her to join the team.

Kang Sae-byeok is not a hero. Perhaps, in another life, with someone else in her place, those words would have been more fitting.

At least the gun is pointed to her. If Jung-bae goes, at least she won’t have to see it happen.

I’m sorry, she thinks, somewhat numbly. I am so, so sorry.

“Look closely,” the Frontman murmurs, head angling away from her for just a moment before he looks back, “at the consequences of your little hero game.”

Never turning away from her, he shifts his arm. She looks to her side, horror draining the colour from her face, and locks eyes with Jung-bae.

“No,” she breathes, but it’s too late. There’s nothing she can do to stop this from happening.

He looks terrified. Hands on his head, refusing to look at the gun aimed towards his chest, hairline damp with sweat and blood. “Sae-byeok.”

She wants to reach for him, but she is paralyzed in her shock. It’s three years ago, and she is bleeding out as she kneels next to a dying man. It’s right now, and she is bruised and terrified as she kneels next to a man who will soon be dying.

There is a knife sticking from the side of Gi-hun’s neck, the very same kind sticking from Sang-woo’s. There is a gun pointed at Jung-bae’s heart.

The gun fires, and Sae-byeok does not scream.

She flinches, yes. But then she simply stares down at his bleeding, dull-eyed corpse, fear melting away and shock taking its place.

She thinks of Ji-yeong, that lazy smile even as she was pinned against the wall. She thinks of Ali, so kind to her, who she never got to see at the end of it all, at the end of his life.

She thinks of Yong-sik, leaving behind his guarantee of survival to find his mother. She thinks of Young-mi, pressed against the door, choking on a cry as the gunshots began to sound behind her. She thinks of Young-il, apologizing through the radio even as he died.

And now, she thinks of Jung-bae. Coming to find her even when nobody else seemed to trust her. Strategizing with her, talking to her, asking things about the games that nobody in the past has ever cared to ask.

The single thing that ties them all together?

The gun wounds that took their lives.

She stares at the dead body, and she imagines Dae-ho in his place. She imagines Hyun-ju in his place. Geum-ja. Se-mi.

She stares at Jung-bae’s body, and imagines, unwillingly, Jun-hee in his place.

She realizes that she may have just locked all of their fates into place.

And finally, in that moment, with the blood and the ringing silence and the Frontman standing before her…

…Sae-byeok screams.

-

The world is a cruel, unforgiving place.

And yet, sitting here, drenched in sweat and blood and tears, Sae-byeok wonders if, for a while, she could have changed that for herself. She wonders if she could have learned to heal, learned to forgive the universe for the shitty hand she’s been dealt, if only she had just waited.

But she didn’t, and now she will never know. Because now Park Jung-bae and Oh Young-il are dead. Now at least four innocent men are dead, including the two that stuck with Young-il.

She doesn’t even know about anyone else. She’s not sure about Gyeong-seok, who only came here to earn the money he needs to help his sick daughter. She doesn’t know about Hyun-ju, the woman who has been supporting Sae-byeok since the very beginning of this year’s games. And for all she knows, Dae-ho might be dead, too.

The guards may have already gone back into the players’ sleeping quarters. They may have already killed the rest of them.

Se-mi could be hurt, even more so than she already was when they left. Geum-ja could be hurt.

Jun-hee could be hurt.

They could be hurt, or they could all be dead. They could be dead, because of her.

And if they aren’t, what difference does that make? Sure, she’ll have less to grieve, but she will still mourn nonetheless. She has led both Jung-bae and Young-il, close friends of hers, into their death.

These are the consequences of allowing new people into her heart. She got so caught up in her desperation to save them, so blinded by the prospect of a carelessly domestic life alongside Jun-hee, that she brought them to die without even realizing.

Left with her thoughts as her shoulder, her back, and her neck begin to throb and ache, she thinks of the people that she has failed to save. It starts with Mi-na, and while she would like to say that it ends with Jung-bae, she knows that such a statement most likely would not be true.

In truth, it starts with Seong Gi-hun — or Ji-yeong, or Sang-woo, or all of them — and it simply doesn’t end. She’d thought that the end was with all the players that died in the first game, that the rest would believe her, that she would lead them to freedom. She’d thought that the end was with Yong-sik and Young-mi, or even Min-su.

The end, she knows now, is with none of them. The end could be now, with Young-il and Jung-bae. The end could be with Dae-ho, or it could be with Geum-ja. The end could be with Jun-hee. The end could be with Jun-ho.

The end could be with Cheol.

It wouldn’t change a thing. No matter who it ends with, the horror of it is that it started at all. The terrifying truth is that Sae-byeok has lost count of the people that she couldn’t save. That she has lost count of the ones that she didn’t even try to save.

The story of Sae-byeok’s life, at its core, is a story of loss.

It is a story of loss. Of regret. Of pain.

And no matter who else is dead, no matter who else will die, there is still one clear fact that has not and will never change.

Kang Sae-byeok is a cold-hearted killer.

And that is the last thing that she's given time to think about before her head knocks sharply against the ground, and everything is gone.