Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE

“An object at rest remains at rest, and an object in motion remains in motion at constant speed and in a straight line unless acted on by an unbalanced force.”

Newton’s first law 

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조현주

CHAPTER I
To go forward, one must…

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The timer on the wall flashed a message in red: 9 minutes remaining. 

Hyun-Ju wiped player 202’s blood from her hand and smeared it across her cheek like war paint. The viscous liquid felt cool on her burning skin, soothing — dragging her from the adrenaline haze back to the present. She locked eyes with the seeker who had stumbled upon the scene and the man froze. Because in that moment, Hyun-Ju was neither woman nor soldier, but something primal, ancient. A wounded animal, baring her fangs in a silent dare.

Try me. 

She was a quiet woman by nature, but no words were needed. Her flared nostrils, unwavering gaze and the corpse at her feet, bellowed with authority. Player 039 raised his knife for a heartbeat, before lowering it. With one last look the seeker gulped, turning on his heel, his red vest disappearing into the shadows of the maze. 

It left Hyun-Ju alone in the silence, heartbeat humming like static in her ears. 

If by her military training or sheer willpower she couldn’t say, but her head cleared enough to remember what mattered. Protecting Jun-hee, the baby and Geum-Ja. Survive, save them all. Get out alive. 

Get out together. 

Player 039’s retreat bought her time to catch her breath – but it meant another desperate, starving predator on the hunt for food. 

And her companions were the perfect prey, unable to flee or fight back. 

Her face stayed flat with teeth clenched, as her wounded leg made itself known, pain surging. It took all her energy to lift it, blood squelching from where the knife had pierced her thigh. She limped forward, staggering and shaky. The seekers would surely beat her back to their hiding place, but she had to try. 

If they died – what was the point of any of this? 

Hana dul, hana dul, one two, one two, just like in the pentathlon. 

But this time instead of six legs, she only had one, pushing towards the exit. 

“…Exit”, the word brushed her mind like a breeze. In a soft, feminine voice; sounding like a whisper from Young-Mi, a ghost in her ear. 

Oh. Young-Mi… if only she’d made it into that blasted room. Whenever she saw the teal of their tracksuits, heard hinges creaking, or touched metal, Hyun-Ju could see them. Those poor, innocent eyes looking at her with desperation through the door. 

…door. 

Where had there been a door?

She turned her head, following the painted rainbow on one of the childish murals. They led her vision to a patch of bright blue, different from the rest of the walls. A door, half-hidden behind the dead seeker. 

Above it hung four Hangul characters that made her world stop moving: 

나가는 곳.

The place to go… the exit! 

For a few beats all Hyun-Ju could bring herself to do was stare, fighting down the smile that threatened the corner of her mouth. 

No, don’t hope yet. 

Focus, soldier, focus, she chastised herself. 

She stumbled forward, bloodied hands finding the doorhandle, only to find not one, not two, but three keyholes beside it; each a different shape. A triangle, circle and square. Hyun-Ju fumbled for the keys around her neck, chains tangling together, hanging heavy with the trust Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee had placed upon her. 

Click.

Turn.

Click.

Turn.

Click.

Turn. 

With a creak and thud, the door unlocked – and warm yellow light spilled into the room. Soft and golden like sunshine. . A recording sputtered to life as Hyun-Ju peeked cautiously through the opening, only to be greeted with an accented male voice:

“Congratulations and celebrations

When I tell everyone that you're in love with me

Congratulations and jubilations

I want the world to know I'm happy as can be.”

The meaning of the words were lost to her. Her English was passable, but the part of Hyun-Ju that comprehended languages had long since shut down under the pressure of it all. The wounded animal could only feel a swell of relief which made her knees tremble. 

A chuckle escaped, short and disbelieving, and hope shone in her eyes. This colorful, suffocating maze would not be her grave. 

Hyun-Ju put her uninjured foot on the threshold and was about to step through – when a force tugged her to a halt. At once, the colors grew dull and fatigued. 

Something inside her, primal and terrified, urged her to take the other step, to let it all be over.  But despite it all, despite all she’d seen in her years, Cho Hyun-Ju was no animal. Her heart, her tired, human heart, was the one part of her body that had not yet failed her. It whispered to her a single truth:

There are still people there who need you. 

She could not leave them behind, even if it meant death.

Her fingers rested on the door frame for a moment longer. Inside, a neon sign pulsed softly: Taking one last look at the warm lights, at the glowing sign inside reading “잘했어”, (well done). 

She shut her eyes and the door both, then turned back around.

8 minutes left.

Hobbling down the alleys, the blood trail from herself and player 202 glistened on the ground. Hyun-Ju followed it through the winding maze, leg burning with each step. Still something glowed inside her, laughter and warmth bubbling in her chest. Not quite hope, but something close to triumph. 

She’d done it, she had found a way out. 

They could leave with the money, settle their debts, get their lives back and eat hot stew at Geum-Ja and Yong-Sik’s house. Maybe even Young-Mi would be there, waiting, arms open with her sweet smile. She limped faster. 

Her bloodied ankle kept squirting red, and nearing the door where her companions hid, Hyun-Ju’s vision filled with that same color.

Red vests. Red flags. Red seekers. 

Player 039 was still out there, along with a hungry hoard of others. Her soldier mind whispered warnings, but she pushed them down, hope carrying her to her companions. 

“Hyun-Ju!” Geum-Ja gasped as the door opened. The old woman still clutching her hidden blade in front of Jun-Hee and the infant in her arms.

“I found the exit!” Hyun-Ju panted, clinging to the door frame. “We can all get out now, come on!”

Blood dripped from her cheek onto her lips and tongue, and it acted like smelling salts. 

“Come on,” she said, still waving as she looked over her shoulder--

-- only to be met by a blur of a red vest, a teal tracksuit, and the cold slice of a blade twisting against the side of her waist. A scream tore from her lips and Hyun-Ju toppled towards the floor.

Chapter Text

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이

CHAPTER II
Hold the line

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Grasping for the doorknob with the speed of a woman possessed, she fell backwards – dragging the green metal creaking on its hinges with her. Closing the door enough to hide her companions from view, but not shut it wholly.

Hyun-Ju had no time to register the fall before that blur of red and teal descended on her, bloodied knife in hand. A noise between a growl and a yelp left her as she lifted herself onto her forearms, pushing down just enough to launch backwards.

Tchk. 

Metal struck cobblestone, and her blood turned to ice. Laboured breathing and piercing silence echoed from the room where Jun-Hee and Geum-Ja huddled. A symphony of terror in the air.

Rolling onto her side, Hyun-Ju made herself as small as possible, as the knife descended towards her again. She screamed although the blade missed, the open wound in her midriff scratching against the ground. 

Lunging out her uninjured leg, she kicked her attacker’s ankle with a crack, sending them toppling long enough for Hyun-Ju to get onto her knees.

“Ah…hah…” She winced, wounded leg throbbing. What happened? Everything spun around her like she was back on the carousel disk in the mingle game. 

It was all wrong — Thailand didn’t look like this, Geum-Ja’s kitchen wasn’t meant to smell like this… they should have all been out of there by now, passing through the warm lights from the exit door and back home. 

But after all those years, how could Hyun-Ju be foolish enough to believe the gods would ever take pity on her?

The back of her mouth tasted of metal, dragging her back to reality and forcing the ground to stop spinning. The knife had only sliced her flesh, losing momentum from her sharp turn and the thickness of the tracksuit jacket; yet it throbbed and stole the air from her lungs. Jaw trembling, she forced a hand against her aching side, and looked up at the seeker who tried regaining their balance. 

A young man, early thirties, late twenties, smaller than me, Hyun-Ju’s hardened military mind whispered. 

Armed, knife, he hurt me, he’ll kill me, her animal heart sobbed.

… He’s the man who caused the death of Young-Mi, they both said. 

He bore the number 333 on his chest, and both his blade and hands dripped with the color of his vest. Moreover, he had a stained chain with a key around his neck. 

A hider’s key, he must already have passed. 

Not a starving wolf then, not so unpredictable as that. Not a man seeking to preserve his own life by tempering a consuming hunger. No, one yet more hair raising than a starving predator; a gluttonous one. 

Murderer, she wanted to call him, despite the red crust on her own hands. 

Hyun-Ju could never outrun him in her state, she knew it and could tell by player 333’s face that he knew it too. Her eyes darted to the green door to her right and she realized; sweet old Geum-Ja with her bad knees, and poor Jun-Hee with her broken ankle and baby, would not be able to run either. So if Hyun-Ju died, the greedy animal would take them too, take them like he’d taken Young-Mi. 

“The amazing Myung-Gi!” A giddy male voice called from behind them. “You find any?” Player 333 froze for a heartbeat before lunging down with the dagger, and it gave Hyun-Ju that precious second she needed. 

With a snarl, she caught his wrist, twisted it violently and used the limb to pull herself up, before kneeing him square in the groin. 

“Fuck!” Player 333  wheezed, losing the grip on his knife and doubling over. 

“Ohoho, you bitch.” His companion, 124, started running towards them, but Hyun-Ju was more awake than ever. 

She yanked player 333 (supposedly named Myung-Gi) down by the key’s chain around his neck, knocking him sprawled onto his stomach. His back lay bared, and Hyun-Ju’s hand itched for the knife she’d grabbed from the first man who attacked them. 

Vengeance and despair burned the ice in her blood away until all that remained in her veins was smog. Defend herself, she had to defend herself – if fleeing was not an option then fight it would have to be. The most basic of instincts. Kill the bastard, for Young-Mi…

Young-Mi’s puffy eyes on the other side of the door, begging for her, for Unnie, filled Hyun-Ju like so many times in the past days. Before the image shattered under an infant's cry. 

Glancing at the door again, she chose, breathing out the vengeful smog. 

She could stab him in the back of the neck and kill him, but then all their lives would be exposed. Turning around meant her back would be free for player 124 to sink his blade into. So with gritted teeth, she let her long legs launch her past Myung-Gi, and back to the door. 

Two against one in such a small space, gluttonous beasts on either side… if she fought like the animal and grieving woman in her soul begged, Hyun-Ju would make herself the first course in an oncoming slaughter; and Young-Mi’s ghost would have five companions in the beyond. 

But fight or flight weren’t the only options, despite the arena resembling the wilds, with prey eating prey.  

…

Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee took shuddering breaths as Hyun-Ju dove back into the room, slamming the door shut, pressing her entire weight against it. 

Hold the fort, stand your ground, the soldier, woman and beast said in tune. 

The door shook as the new seeker threw his body against it, but Hyun-Ju grit her teeth and summoned every ounce of strength in her tired bones, screaming with effort, her size and strength held, for that moment. She glanced at the timer on the wall. 

6 minutes and 34 seconds left. 

An eternity spelled in red numbers. 

“Hyun-Ju, you’re hurt!” Geum-Ja sobbed, reaching out by instinct to caress the larger woman’s wounds. 

Hyun-Ju shook her head, bangs plastered to her forehead and tears beading in her eyes. In the corner, Jun-Hee whimpered as she tried to get up on her knees with the baby — eyes wide and so full of emotion they appeared empty. 

“Six minutes, just six minutes! We just have to hold it shut for six minutes!” Hyun-Ju wheezed, planting her feet. “T-that’s how we win… it’s almost over.” 

“Ah, you hear that, amazing Myung-Gi? There's a whole rat's nest in there! Yoo-hoo, come out and play with me, vermin! You hurt my buddy pretty good, you bastard.” The muffled voice cackled on the other side, trying to push the door open and failing. 

For once in her life, Hyun-Ju praised her heavy, tall body. Her vile, incorrect sack of human parts that was now the only thing keeping them alive. 

“You’re beautiful too, Unnie.” That voice ringing of Young-Mi said. And for that heartbeat, she could almost believe it. 

Geum-Ja raised herself up on unsteady legs before Hyun-Ju could stop her, and pushed herself against the door too. An old mother bear defending her cubs with what little she had. 

The weight increased against them, as Myung-Gi got up and the two seekers pushed back as one.

“You can’t come in!” Geum-Ja cried, thin limbs shaking. “There’s a ba-!

Someone mumbled on the other side, too low to hear. 

“Come on, push harder! You can’t let that bitch go after kicking you like that, it’s so rude.” Player 124 said, giggling. “Open the door and I promise to make you a real woman before I kill you.” He cooed “I’ll slice off your-”

“Shut up and focus!” Myung-Gi hissed, tackling the door.

Despite it all, the threat stung and twisted deep inside Hyun-Ju in a way that made her forget to breathe. Old voices and ghosts suffocating thoughts both logical and desperate. She faltered enough that the door opened a crack, shoulder popping at the impact.

5 minutes and 17 seconds.

That was it; that man, 333, would push himself into their place of safety and hurt them again, exactly like in mingle. Maybe she should have walked through the exit, then at least one of them would have made it. Now three lives would end in the room one had just been born. 

Unless Hyun-Ju stopped them. 

Not again. She wouldn’t give them up for anything. Be it money, pain or death, Geum-Ja, Jun-Hee and the baby had to survive. Her… companions. Shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, she sank into that familiar trance and counted: 

…5

The faces of the seekers pushed up to the opening, looking inside, huffing and puffing.

…4

“Myung-Gi!?” Jun-Hee gasped from behind, startling the infant in her arms who began to cry.

…3

“Anyone home?” Player 124 crooned, shoving and scratching the wall with his knife. “Who’s crying, huh?” 

…2

Geum-Ja strained to not let the door open any further, and Myung-Gi’s bloodied face paled in the gap. 

“Wait – Nam-Gyu, wait…” he choked, putting his hand on the doorframe to hold player 124 (Nam-Gyu) back. "Jun-Hee..!"

Hyun-Ju’s heart stood still, and she pushed Guam-Ja aside, lessening the force against the door, letting it open a smidge more; the chasers stumbled.

…1

With a rasping battlecry, she took a step back – aimed one shoulder forward and threw herself against the door. The crunch and scream that followed was so blood-curdling that Geum-Ja turned green. 

Myung-Gi’s fingers, still on the threshold, smashed between the wall and door; the flesh and bone twisting into a crumpled mess. Nam-Gyu fell, and Myung-Gi was too busy shrieking in pain to push. Hyun-Ju didn’t let up for even a second. 

“LEAVE!” She spat, tackling the door and further mutilating the fingers, before bracing her legs again, pain shooting up her side. “I said GO!” 

“Fhu-fuck…” Myung-Gi choked.

“You stupid WHORE!” Nam-Gyu spat. 

Geum-Ja crawled over to Jun-Hee, trying her best to soothe the baby, and perhaps herself. Not that it mattered now; with the amount of noise they’d made, every chaser would know where they were. But the old woman wasn’t so rattled as to lose her head, grabbing for her hidden blade. 

4 minutes and 30 seconds left.

Hyun-Ju opened the door and slammed it shut again, another wet squelch and crack of bone came from the fingers. The floor started to get slippery beneath her, blood pooling under her right foot from her wound; aggravated from the incredible pressure put upon it. 

Nam-Gyu eventually kicked the metal hard enough to let the other chaser’s hand slip out. The man in question still screaming in pain.

“It-it’s not worth it, come on, w-we-we’ll leave.” Myung-Gi tried. “My hand, oh god my hand…”

“Nooo, I want to play with this toy.” His companion sounded like a petulant child, not letting up. “I think I saw your bitch in there too, and the granny."

“You saw wrong. It’s not worth it!” Myung-Gi choked. 

“Quit complaining, just help me with the door and I’ll stab them myself. A ****** kicked you in the dick and broke your hand, you can’t let let that slide." He paused. "That was your whore in there, wasn't it? That's why you won't help me. Where's your rationale gone now, huh, coward?"

A whimper replied “…No, It’s just I can’t, I can’t, my hand- shit it's broken, let's go."

"I'm pretty sure that was her."

The pushing stopped, giving Hyun-Ju a moment to breathe. 

4 minutes left. 

"I can't push a door like this."

“Then go find someone else to kill! Shoo, shoo, 200 million won, dude, remember?”

After that, no sound filtered in from the other side apart from groans, but Hyun-Ju saw it for the false promise it was — and kept bracing. 

“Leave Jun-Hee alone if you get in, or I’ll kill you in the dorms.” Myung-Gi said with false bravado. “Do you understand? She's mine. You can do whatever with the others.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do-

“This is about justice, right? Just drag the tall one out and come find me. I want to kill her myself.” Player 333 shot back with a note of desperation. 

“Oho-hoo! It’s so poetic, I love it. Now go away, away! Your hand is so ugly. Hey, hear that?! I’m coming in to get you. Knock knock, it’s justice for my dude Myung-Gi! Open UP.” Nam-Gyu started kicking the door, jostling Hyun-Ju. 

The baby wailed.

The child has been born in hell, she thought. 

3 minutes and 20 seconds left. 

An idea, a new solution, filtered through Hyun-Ju’s head, but Geum-Ja seemed to sense it. The old woman looked like she wanted to speak, but her teeth clattered too hard. Poor Jun-Hee sat frozen, all but catatonic. 

“Miss Jang, Jun-Hee,” Hyun-Ju sniffled, “I’m sorry-“

The old woman shook her head hard. “Three more minutes, Hyun-Ju, hold on!”

“If I can’t hold it-“

“I’ll stab him if he comes in.” She hushed. 

A small tear rolled down Hyun-Ju’s aching face, with a hint of a smile she said: “The exit is close by. You can reach it.” 

“If Jun-Hee can give birth you can hold the door for three more minutes.” Geum-Ja said, her voice wet and wobbly. “You’re so strong. Come on, come on. Please! We said we’d all get out together.”

And hold she did.

2 minutes left. 

All at once, the world shook. Player 124 had done a running jump against the door, knocking Hyun-Ju off balance. She moaned, bracing on her good leg. Her shoulder and midriff burned. 

Plastering her whole frame to the green metal, she screamed out with despair and fatigue, trembling but still holding on. 

…

“You there, 007, glasses! C’mere and help me, there’s a whole swarm of blue pests in there.” Nam-Gyu’s muffled voice called on the other side.

Another, oh gods old and new, her ears rang as it sunk in. The adrenaline was dripping out of her in tandem with the blood, staining the ground at her feet and rattling her bones. Hyun-Ju straightened and made herself as big as possible, pushing, pushing…

“What’s with the face, kill one yet?” The seeker continued. 

“N-no…” A wobbly voice replied. 

“It’s your lucky day, curly. Get the door open and I’ll give you one.”

“Give me… g-g-i-give me one?” 

“Did I fucking stutter?” 

“Okay…okay. Okay.”

Not even the wounded animal Hyun-Ju had time to panic before she slipped in her own blood, getting knocked onto her behind by the sudden force of the door. 

Two of them, a glutton and a starving beast loomed over her. Nam-Gyu, panting and giggling, pupils so large his eyes appeared black, burst in, putting his foot on Hyun-Ju’s stomach, pressing down. Blood bloomed from the slash in her waist, as the second, larger shadow blocked the entrance. 

…

“M-Mama?” It breathed.

Art by RottingJam Here

Chapter Text

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삼

CHAPTER III

Close to the chest

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The very air held its breath as the seekers barged into their hiding place. 

There stood Nam-Gyu, player 124, a young man with a giggle on his lips and a drunkenness behind the eyes. His foot rested heavily on Hyun-Ju’s stomach, pressing air and blood out of her through the stab wound. Something about him went beyond animalistic cruelty, a crazed tremble in his hands and pupils. 

He stood above her like a hunter showing off his catch, knife held without much care. An overconfident predator, whose hunger had been satiated; choosing instead to play with and torment its food

The other figure would have been taller, had he not been so hunched in on himself. Clutching his knife with both hands – light reflecting in his blood splattered glasses, curls becoming a frizzy halo. 

“M-mama?” That desperate, pitiful whisper, commanded utter silence. 

Hyun-Ju knew that voice. 

Player 007; Park Yong-Sik, Geum-Ja’s son, who had spoken so fondly of women like her in Thailand. 

“Yong-Sik.” The old woman choked.

The man above Hyun-Ju looked between them all with childlike glee; from Jun-Hee and her infant with Geum-Ja in front of her, to the trembling Yong-Sik, and snarling Hyun-Ju. 

“Mama?” Nam-Gyu stage whispered. “Mommy? Oh, oh it’s your momma! The granny is your mama!” He whooped. “This was so worth it.”

The strength Geum-Ja projected on her face imploded on itself, twisting and warping in an instant before fading like a dying star. She scrambled onto hands and knees, aching to reach out to her boy. 

The seeker dug the heel of his white shoe into Hyun-Ju, seeming entranced by the pain in her expression. He tutted, shaking his head, a warning for everyone to stay put. 

“Here’s your prize, curly! Killing your own mother is bad luck, so you can have the she-man or the pregnant bitch,” Nam-Gyu said, grinning and drooling, before his sight landed on the infant.

“But, what’s that? Myung-Gi’s pregnant pretty thing isn’t pregnant anymore! Who’s baby is that, huh? Is it yours? Oh now I get it.” He taunted, stepping harder on Hyun-Ju and studying her. “That why Myung-Gi wants you dead? Because he got cucked? This is hilarious-"

Hyun-Ju felt like she was back at the beginning of her transition. In her parents' kitchen, in her supervisor's office… in that alleyway… she couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? 

Geum-Ja interrupted her spiral, lips trembling. “Yong-Sik, don’t, d-don’t even think about it.”

The son’s eyes flickered down to Hyun-Ju, to the new mother in the corner, and then his own. Yong-Sik looked at his blade in hands that had never before caused such violence.

“What’s wrong, dude? Little mama’s boy too scared to play? I’m doing you a huge favor here! My buddy wanted these two, but shhh, it’ll be our secret. So come on.” Nam-Gyu whined, growing disillusioned with his game.

Hyun-Ju’s thoughts scattered in every direction at once, and every conclusion ended up the same: Pain, death, and a forever lack of sunlight. This man was unpredictable in every sense of the word, but she could tell that the moment he stopped having fun – the rules would change. 

I cannot be pinned like this when that happens. She begged herself. Wake up, focus, you stupid, good for nothing… 

Then warm whispers seemed to caress her aching limbs. 

“You’re so strong.”

“You’re beautiful, Unnie.” 

“It’s okay, she’ll come with us! She’s a woman, her name is Hyun-Ju.” 

“Don’t throw your life away like this.” 

1 minute and 30 seconds left. 

“I couldn’t do it, mama, I couldn’t kill anyone.” Yong-Sik said. “If… if I don’t, I’m gonna die. I’m going to die.” 

“Listen to me, listen to mommy. Not her, not them. Here, stab –.” Geum-Ja implored.

Nam-Guy groaned loudly, throwing his head back. “Stoooop. Oh my god this is so boring! The old hag is spoiling the mood. I’ll just make her shut up. I tried to be nice, Curly, but now it– agh!” 

Hyun-Ju hooked her legs around the one pinning her down, forming an “X” shape, and using her powerful thighs to sweep Nam-Gyu to the ground – knocking them both onto their sides.  

Getting out together… They were getting out together. 

Nam-Gyu banged his shoulder hard into the ground, cocky grip loosening around the knife which scattered on the concrete, blade detaching from its hilt. 

The maneuver aggravated all of Hyun-Ju’s injuries, and a scream tore from her lips. In basic training, she had learned to hold her opponent down, but the slash in her right leg let Nam-Gyu wriggle out of her grapple. 

“Kill them!” He spat towards Yong-Sik, eyes now devoid of that spark; before turning back to Hyun-Ju, reaching for the dagger, but only finding the blade. “You bastard… you WHORE! I was being so nice to you.” 

Nam-Gyu moved to straddle her side-laying form, stabbing the loose metal towards her face. With a snarl, Hyun-Ju caught his wrists, shaking with effort to keep the blade from her skin. But the strain of the fighting and holding the door shut had sapped near everything she had.

Warm blood trickled from the seeker’s hands and into her eyes, his palms being sliced open from Hyun-Ju’s defiance. 

The metal, stained with the lives of countless others, dug into her cheek even as she struggled and thrashed, cutting a line into the pale flesh. 

Geum-Ja sobbed and Jun-Hee clenched her eyes shut.

Yong-Sik took a step forward, looking down on the helpless woman. “I have to, mama I have to…” He whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “Forgive me.”

“You little bitch,” Nam-Gyu cackled, staring blindly at the woman beneath him, gurgling and spitting blood onto her face. “Take it like a good girl and just die already, I don’t care if Myung-Gi gets pissy with me for stealing his kill. Shhhhh.”

Hyun-Ju grit her teeth in response, digging her black-lacquered nails into his wrists, drawing blood and further forcing the broken dagger into his flesh. “Shut up. Shut up!” She wheezed.

1 minute left. 

Even if she was to die there… she had to hold on a bit longer. Hold long enough that the time would run out before the seekers could hurt everyone she cared for. The Thai sun in her hope now near eclipsed, she had become Young-Mi, banging on the door. If Yong-Sik chose to kill her, she could not stop him. 

A falling knife has no handle. 

Poor Yong-Sik, a voice in her heart said.

Poor miss Jang,

Poor Jun-Hee and her newborn daughter, 

Poor, wretched, weak, miserable, ugly, misshapen, unlovable Cho Hyun — 

At once, the hiltless dagger fell flat on Hyun-Ju’s face. Nam-Gyu gulped, lurching into a sitting position.

Tchk.

Geum-Ja had thrown herself on his back and buried her hairpin in his shoulder. Hyun-Ju couldn’t comprehend what she’d witnessed, before confusion became horror.

No. No, no, no. 

Nam-Gyu easily threw the old woman off, knocking her sprawling on her back. Hyun-Ju forgotten, he draped himself over Guam-Ja, and aimed a punch to her face, cracking her nose. 

“NO!” Jun-Hee, Yong-Sik and Hyun-Ju wailed as one, the baby joining in with its own lamenting cry.

The seeker wrapped his hands around the old woman’s throat, coughing and spitting with pain like a rabid dog – unarmed but livid. 

“…that hurt, you hurt me…” He wheezed. 

“Mama!”

Hyun-Ju’s bones had never weighed so much, as she watched bleeding from the floor. Both her brain and heart rang with silence, all that was left was the struggle and cries from the baby. 

Yong-Sik stood above her, sobbing with his knife raised high. She grasped his leg, eyes pleading: “Not Jun-Hee. Take me instead.” 

But instead, the curly haired man ran past them both. Ran past helpless Jun-Hee and the infant, past Hyun-Ju prone on the floor…

… and rammed his knife into Nam-Gyu’s side.

The seeker gasped, a gasp deprived of air, still crouched over the struggling Geum-Ja. 

40 seconds left. 

Hyun-Ju scrambled to her feet, ignoring everything other than the frail old woman who’d risked her life for hers. She wrapped her arms around Nam-Gyu from behind, using her weight to suplex him over her head. His body was limp, either from pain or shock. Hyun-Ju didn’t care either way. 

He had threatened her companions, her team, her tribe. He had lost the privilege of her guilt. 

“Oh…” Nam-Gyu whimpered as he landed, eyes glassy and clear. “Oh..” 

Hyun-Ju grabbed him by the collar, and slammed his head into the ground repeatedly. Again, and again, and again, before using the stolen key around his neck as a garotte wire. Grunting and growling, pulling hard.

Until “Player 124, eliminated.” Echoed through the speakers. 

20 seconds left. 

Jun-Hee, clutching her baby tightly to her chest, let out a shaky breath, eyes darting around to everyone in the room. “Miss Jang?” She asked, snot and tears crusted around her eyes. 

The old woman sat up, panting and coughing. But apart from a nosebleed, she seemed alright. If anything, she looked like it wasn’t the first time a man had pinned her down and beat her. 

Yong-Sik, on the other hand, looked like a ghost. When the dust settled, logic returned to Hyun-Ju’s soldier mind and she understood why. 

He’d broken the rules of the game. 

The red team  must find and kill a hider on the blue team before the time runs out.

They have been provided knives to aid in their task.

The red team may not attack each other. 

By stabbing Nam-Gyu instead of one of the hiders, he’d doomed himself. 

“I did it,” Yong-Sik sniffled, sliding down along the wall to sit on the ground, “I didn't leave you this time… I promised. Mama, I promised, I didn’t—” 

“Player 007 has broken the rules and will be eliminated.“

Geum-Ja’s wrinkled face pinched with every imaginable type of pain, blood dripping from her nose.

“Yong-Sik, my little Yong-sik.”She whispered, eyes locking on her son, stumbling towards him and taking hold of his face. 

For a man in his early forties, Yong-Sik seemed so young, too young to be engulfed in such horror. But then again, they all were – from Jun-Hee’s baby to Geum-Ja.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” He hiccuped, tears falling free. “He was hurting you, j-ju-just like dad used to. I’m sorry mama, I’m sorry for everything I’ve ever done – for what I thought about doing.”

“My stupid boy,” Geum-Ja sobbed, pressing her forehead to his, “my stupid, brave boy. It’s okay… everything will be okay. Mama’s got you.”

Yong-Sik sobbed, creaking like old machinery, burying his face in his mother’s shoulder. 

Hyun-Ju kept her gaze locked on the corpse of Nam-Gyu, letting the satisfaction of his death and her own survival block out the tragedy taking place just a breath away.

Yong-Sik could have killed her, but he didn’t. 

“Thank you. You did good, Yong-Sik.” Hyun-Ju whispered, words she’d never been able to say to Young-Mi before she was taken away, “you were very brave, you did good.” Like comforting a dying comrade in arms under enemy fire. 

“That’s right.” Geum-Ja said with a teary smile. “Mama is so proud of you, my brave little boy.” The words may have been true, but she held the mask of a mother about to lose everything. It held back the panic for the man who had once been her baby. 

1 second remaining. 

The speaker dinged, as the timer hit zero.

It was over, for the moment, they had all survived hide and seek, defying the cruel gods’ wishes. They’d made it, the three, now four, of them. They survived the fourth game. 

But Yong-Sik… 

“Just lay down and close your eyes.” Hyun-Ju urged, snapping into the role of sergeant. “Miss Jang, take his jacket and make sure he’s comfortable.” Her true goal was to get Geum-Ja away from her son before the guards came to shoot him. However cruel it must have made her seem. She yanked the silver hairpin from Nam-Gyu’s shoulder and hid it in her pocket. 

Like a sleepy child, Yong-Sik could do naught but obey, laying down on his makeshift pillow, closing his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He said again.

“I forgive you.” Geum-Ja replied, face drenched in blood, tears and snot. 

When those faceless guards clad in pink came, Hyun-Ju grabbed the old woman and Jun-Hee into a sort of hug, burying their faces in her chest so they wouldn’t see. 

Geum-Ja thrashed and cursed her, but Hyun-Ju held fast, despite her own pain. Two gunshots, and then, 

“Player 007, eliminated.”

… 

Jun-Hee buried her face against her baby girl, breathing in her scent. Geum-Ja took Jun-Hee’s hand, sobbing and convulsing. Grasping for a purpose. 

Once more, there was no one left to hold Hyun-Ju, as they were ushered from the labyrinth. Instead she clutched her own bleeding leg.

Alive, breathing, for the moment. But the dream of dinner in Geum-Ja’s kitchen got taken away with the bodies of the humans taken during the game. 

To move forward, one must hold the line, close to the chest.

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To be continued in act 2, chapter 4. 

Chapter Text

The acceleration of an object depends on the mass of the object and the amount of force applied.

Newton's second law. 

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사

CHAPTER IV
Poverty is the parent

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The journey back via the bullet-ridden pink staircases lasted an eternity.

There was Geum-Ja, taking the helm with a newborn baby in her arms – her cracked nose swollen and eyes puffy. After her came tall, steadfast Hyun-Ju, tracksuit torn and soaked in her own blood and that of those who had come too close. She did all she could not to limp, to not show those cracks of vulnerability. 

On her back, with a still rounded belly and broken ankle, clung pale and clammy Jun-Hee. 

The four of them were the last to return to the dorms, and the gaze of every remaining player trained on them as they did; their chattering dying down at the sight of the haggard survivors. One pair of eyes in particular locked on Jun-Hee and refused to leave. 

On the other side of the room he sat, Myung-Gi, player 333, pale from blood loss and hand wrapped in a crude bandage made of sheets. He looked towards them and moved as if to approach, but Hyun-Ju’s face came with a warning louder than thunder.

Stay away from them. 

The baby fussed and whined in her makeshift swaddle, but Geum-Ja held her close. The old woman’s bruised face a mask of fragile crystal glass, hiccuping with tears that refused to come. 

Jun-Hee had protested, prideful and lost in the trauma of childbirth, not wanting any more help, mumbling about being capable – but after a stern glare from Geum-Ja, she relented and let herself be carried. 

Once Hyun-Ju managed to set Jun-Hee down on an empty cot, she began to look around, leaning heavily against a beam and attempting to hold her wounds with nonchalance, messy hair curtaining her face. 

She could not help the clenching of her lungs when she realized Dae-Ho was not among the survivors, leaving her and mister Seong the only ones remaining from their attempt at rebellion. Poor Dae-Ho and his trembling hands. Another companion for Young-Mi’s ghost. 

Taking Geum-Ja’s hairpin from her pocket, she began to slice up pieces of cloth from the bedding, making a pile of gauze for later. As well as a hole in the mattress, to hide the blade in if they were to be searched. 

“E-ex-excuse me.” A mousy young man with a bowl cut, a red X patch and the number 125 said, waddling up to Hyun-Ju, unperturbed by her state. “Have you seen Se-Mi? O-or… Nam-Gyu?”

“Don’t know a Se-Mi. But Nam-Gyu?” She replied, voice soft and face still. “He’s dead.”

125 blinked, fiddling with a chain in his hands. “Really? I thought I killed him, but then it wasn’t him, and I– saw Se-Mi but then I heard him and I– ”

“I killed him, he’s dead.” Hyun-Ju interrupted the shaky rambles, noting how his eyes darted every which way. 

“Oh.” He slurred.

Whether it was unfiltered joy or disappointment on his face, she could not tell. He stood silent, staring straight through her, before walking over to the next cot, mumbling: “have you seen Se-Mi?” 

 ***

Only after building a makeshift fort out of blankets and sheets – allowing Jun-Hee some privacy to nurse and bond with the baby –  did Hyun-Ju let herself sit. Hidden behind her own improvised curtain she let out a whimper. Sweat trickling — she pulled up her trouser leg and shirt to inspect the wounds.

Clean cut, shallow, flesh wound, needs cleaning and wrapping, she noted about the slash in her midriff. The one from Myung-Gi’s knife that nearly plunged into her back. It would be sore, but okay. 

The status of the wound in her right leg appeared much more dire. Carrying Jun-Hee put enormous strain on it, irritating the skin. Not to mention the stress of holding the door during the game. But all she had for treatment were strips of dry cloth, since the guards kept them from the bathrooms. Saying something was being “prepared”. She wrapped the gashes best she could, biting onto her collar.

Deep, inflamed, needs stitching. But they had no supplies. 

“There you go… there you go.” Geum-Ja whispered from the other bed, helping Jun-Hee feed the infant. “Oh, what a hungry little princess. Just like that, hold her close, skin to skin contact is good for them.”

The gentleness with which the old woman spoke, with the suckling sounds and soft breaths, turned Hyun-Ju’s stomach inside out. 

Those accursed guards interrupted the reverie, barging in with their guns and masks. 

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the fourth game.” The square commander said. “Here are the results of the fourth game. In the fourth game, 35 players were eliminated. We now have 25 players remaining.”

Before the game there had been 60. Of those 25, only 6 were women. 19 men. 

35 dead…the equivalent of one and a half Korean high school classes, gone. 

She herself had killed 3 of them, and injured another. So many numbers it made her dizzy, blurring together into anonymity. 

Cheerful chiptune music, like that from a slot machine, filled the speakers as the guards lowered down the oversized piggybank from the ceiling, filling it with more money than Hyun-Ju had ever seen.

“The prize money accumulated up to this point is 43.1 billion won, and each person’s share is 1.724 billion won.”

Hyun-Ju’s debts piled up to around 330 million won, the remaining surgeries would cost somewhere along the lines of 250 million in Thailand. She had never been too good at mathematics, but that would leave her—

—with money grown from corpses. 

No, over a billion won, she told herself. Why could her brain not realize that now, when it had been so easy before? 

But it hadn’t been money that fueled her to pick up that gun, had it? Nor to turn back when she stumbled upon the exit door.

“A vote will now be held to decide whether or not to proceed with the games.”

Oh right. They had to vote. She’d been too busy fighting for their lives to recall it was all a game. 

And none of them were truly in control. 

***

Player 039: O

Player 084: X

Player 096: O

Player 100: O

”Player 120.”

Hyun-Ju walked to the podium, looking back at Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee with a nod, before pressing down on the red button.

Player 120: X

The shaky young man who’d spoken to Hyun-Ju before came next. He stood there for a long time, before their eyes met and she saw… something. Red illuminated his face.

Player 125: X

Geum-Ja seemed like a ghoul with her gray hair cascading loose down her back, eyes vacant and feet gliding over the floor. 

Player 149: X

Player 163: O

Many of the remaining people in the room had the look of overeager cubs after their first successful hunt. Like young men entering the military, thinking themselves invincible after being given a weapon for the first time. A hint of resentment tickled the back of her mind. 

But when Geum-Ja bowed on the floor, begging, pleading for Jun-Hee and her baby to be spared, Hyun-Ju felt like a monster for not having tried the same. The woman had lost her son, her everything, and still had the strength to fight even a hopeless battle. 

Player 192: O

Hyun-Ju was no talker, no politician, no one who liked to be visible. She couldn’t change the minds of the masses, but Hyun-Ju could still help the old woman off the floor and hold her steady.  Holding the line. 

But how could anyone keep voting blue after seeing Jun-Hee’s determination? Seeing the newborn hope in her arms? 

Player 203: O

Player 209: X

“Miss Cho.” Jun-Hee said when the guards called for number 222. “Hold her for me, please.”  

“Hold who?” Hyun-Ju whispered, before the penny dropped. “Oh your… I’ve never–”

“I trust you.” The young woman interrupted and before she could complain further, Hyun-Ju held a warm, living weight to her chest. 

I trust you. Words in a foreign tongue. She did not dare look anywhere but forward, holding the most precious thing in the world. 

Player 222: X

None of them gave up, she realized with pride – despite the doubting cynicism. All three of them cast their votes, showing where they stood.

Player 260: O

Player 276: O

Player 306: O

Player 312: O

Then came Myung-Gi, whose gaze kept flickering in their direction. Because of his injured hand, he had to press the button with his elbow. 

Player 333: X

Player 336: O

Player 349: X

Played 353: O

Player 377: X

Player 435: O

Player 442: O

Player 448: O

X: 9
O: 15

“Player 456.” Called the guards, but no movement could be heard. “Player 456?” They repeated. 

456, Seong Gi-Hun, the man who had spoken with such fire about saving people, ending the games, protecting those in need; the man who along with Hyun-Ju ran back during the first game to carry an injured man, led the charge against the supposed VIP’s…

… that man chose to sit silent, not look, not move, not cast his vote. 

And it made Hyun-Ju’s blood boil.

The baby began to cry in her arms, and she felt utterly lost. This was it then, they were at the mercy of the games. 

***

Geum-Ja and Hyun-Ju made Jun-Hee as comfortable as they could, propping the new mother against all the pillows available, bundling her up in blankets. When the food came, Hyun-Ju insisted on standing in line to get the rations for them — but Geum-Ja refused, seeing her limping. 

Instead she stayed with Jun-Hee, sat on the edge of the makeshift fort and looked out. She was an intruder, on the cusp of a world where she did not yet belong. Too big, too wrong. So she sat sentry, and couldn’t help watching Gi-Hun where he sat handcuffed, with feelings too choking to understand. 

Neither Hyun-Ju nor Jun-Hee spoke, watching the line of remaining players cue for a potato and water bottle each. 

“Why did you say you trust me?” Hyun-Ju whispered, breaking the silence, words tumbling from her lips. 

Jun-Hee stared straight ahead, rocking the baby. 

“What?”

“Why do you trust me?

“Because,” she began, voice a mile away, “You saved us. You're the only one who’s ever kept their word to me. You came back, even when—“ her lips trembled. “Even when he— you didn’t have to.” 

“Of course I had to.” Hyun-Ju breathed.

“Why?” Jun-Hee pressed. “It doesn’t work like that. People don’t work like that.” 

“I just… had to.”

“You didn’t.” Geum-Ja said, putting the rations on the bed. “But you still came back for us. Here, Jun-Hee, have mine too.” The old woman handed over two potatoes to her. 

When she didn’t move to take the food, Geum-Ja placed a potato in her hand, kind but firm. “You should eat… I know you’re not hungry, I know it’s hard, but you must. Mom has to live for the baby to live.”

Hyun-Ju nodded, not daring to speak. Jun-Hee was a young woman made out of resilience and stoicism, but her eyes grew wet and red as she chewed. 

“Have something to drink too, so you don’t choke.” Hyun-Ju offered, hissing from the movement, knocking her injured leg into the bed. 

All at once, Jun-Hee’s facade shattered, voice turning small and quivering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this is all my fault. Everyone gets hurt because I,” she hiccuped, “keep misjudging people. It's because of me that–”

Geum-Ja’s eyes grew fierce. “Don’t you ever think that.” She snapped. “From now on, you don’t think about the past. This baby is your only concern.”

Tears rolled down Jun-Hee’s unmarred cheeks. 

“You’re a mother now, sweetheart.” Geum-Ja said, wiping the tears away. “All that matters is you and your baby. Everything you do from now on is for her. Understand?”

The young woman nodded and Hyun-Ju uncorked the water bottle for her.

“Drink.” She said, “you fought a harder fight than any of us today.”

***

Once Jun-Hee calmed down enough to finish her food, Geum-Ja took the baby to give the new mother some respite and moved over to Hyun-Ju’s bed. “Here, this is yours.” She offered, holding out the last ration. “You’ve used a lot of energy today.” 

Hyun-Ju took the potato in her hands, studied it, and broke it in half, handing the rest to the old woman.

Geum-Ja gave a scoff of exasperation. “Hyun-Ju, you need to–”

“You saved my life.” Hyun-Ju murmured in response. “Take it as payment.” She had met more than one stubborn person in her days.

The old woman cursed, taking the offering and sitting down, leaning against the wall so she could have an open field of vision to Jun-Hee’s bed. “Saved her life, she says. As if she bloody well didn’t…” She grumbled.

No one spoke. 

“I don’t understand.” Geum-Ja sighed after a few minutes, taking a nibble.

“Understand what?” Hyun-Ju frowned, eyes darting around the room, keeping track of everything and everyone that moved. Myung-Gi was nowhere to be seen.

“You.” Geum-Ja said. “Why you act like you didn’t save our lives, or gave up escaping to come back. It infuriates me.  You brush it all off like you didn’t do something incredible. The way you were fighting – I’ve only seen people move like that in historical dramas.”

“I just did what anyone would've done.”

“Do you see anyone else in here doing what you do, what you keep doing?” Geum-Ja scolded, as if a child was brushing off a compliment. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you saved us all in the pentathlon game either. You say you had to, maybe then, sure, but you didn’t this time. And then you have the nerve to sit like… like this!” She said, gesturing. “You huddle yourself up like you don’t exist and hold your hands in your lap like a meerkat.”

Hyun-Ju bit the inside of her cheek as the words hit. “I’m sorry.” She whispered, terrified that she may have disappointed Geum-Ja. 

But her eyes softened, looking down with an exhale through her nose. “Don’t apologize, I’m not cross with you. My Yong-Sik was the same when he was little and played sports. Whenever he scored a goal he wouldn’t celebrate, he’d bow and thank his teammates instead, or say someone else scored. He even let others steal his points and would never argue. Spineless, he was, no matter how well he did, or how badly someone hurt him. No matter what I said to him… it drove me mad.”

Yong-Sik hadn’t died spineless, Hyun-Ju wanted to reply. But nothing came out. Geum-Ja’s hands shook, and she felt useless to help. 

“I sit like this… because,” Hyun-Ju whispered instead, a distraction, looking at her hands, “I um, I’m very tall, I’m taller than most Korean men, not to mention women. If I hunch, people see less of me.” She chuckled. “I don’t notice that I do it.”

“It makes you feel safer.” Geum-Ja stated. “Making yourself invincible.”

“I guess it does.” Hyun-Ju relented, fiddling with the bandage around her leg. 

“I did that when Yong-Sik was little. Too many cowards in the world, hurting the small ones.” Geum-Ja grumbled without any anger towards Hyun-Ju, but rather at something far beyond the confines of the games, the confines of the present. 

A comfortable silence sat between them.

“You should be proud of this,” the old woman said, gesturing to Hyun-Ju’s body, “it saved lives, whether or not it has all the parts you want. I know I didn’t understand why someone would want to switch genders before, and I still don’t… but clearly it’s important to you. And if it means anything at all from an old woman,” she turned so they were face to face, “seeing you move, seeing how you treat people in need. It makes me proud to be a woman, proud that we’re both women.”

The words were so foreign that they made Hyun-Ju’s eyes and skin burn. And just like when Young-Mi called her beautiful, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Nothing made sense. 

“I…” She choked, but nothing else came. All at once she was a child confessing to breaking her mother’s vase. “I am sorry about Yong-Sik. If I hadn’t–”

“I have half a mind to smack you.” Geum-Ja interrupted. “None of that, none, I can’t handle anymore of it. Bad people do bad things, but they blame others and go to live in peace. Good people like you, on the other hand, beat themselves up about the smallest things.”

The words hung heavy in their makeshift fort for a moment. “Thank you, for saving Jun-Hee and her baby.” The old woman finally said. “Promise me you’ll look after them.”

Hyun-Ju couldn’t help but notice Geum-Ja hadn’t included herself, and only gave a small nod. “Of course I will.” 

“I know. You’re like one of those western superhero women Yong-Sik was obsessed with in his comics.” Geum-Ja said, a hint of life flickering in her irises. “How did you end up so strong? Mandatory military service doesn’t give you skills like that.”

Hyun-Ju let a smile dance in the corner of her mouth. “I was a sergeant in the special forces.”

“Ah! That’s why you’re so good at taking charge.” Geum-Ja said animatedly, shifting, accidentally hitting Hyun-Ju’s injured leg.

She groaned, doubling over.

“God, Hyun-Ju! Let me see, let me–” 

Hyun-Ju slapped the old woman’s hand away by instinct, terrified she’d see beneath her clothes. “I’ll be okay.”

“You damn stubborn… no you will not. As if you can protect anyone in this state. If you don’t want me to look, at least go to the toilets and clean up.” Geum-Ja fussed. 

“But Jun-Hee–”

“I’ll watch over her and the baby. I’m not leaving them yet.”

“Yes, miss Jang… but keep an eye on number 333.” Hyun-Ju groaned, standing up and grabbing her improvised bandages. “He keeps looking at them in a way I don’t like.”

The old woman did not reply, but her face was that of someone on a mission. Though Hyun-Ju heard her sniffles when she turned her back. 

***

Stepping through the teal door, Hyun-Ju collided with someone. 

“Excuse me-“

”Watch where you’re going.” 

Myung-Gi and Hyun-Ju had bumped into each other in the corridor between the men’s and women’s bathroom, one heading back and one heading in. 

Neither of them said a thing, but Hyun-Ju kept staring daggers in his back while he walked away. But then, she noticed something. 

His hand, previously wrapped in white sheets looked… clean, bundled up in actual bandages. He held his shirt like there was something underneath it, and in the collision something fell. 

Where they’d stood, a white, square packet, no bigger than a baby’s hand, lay. Looking over her shoulder, she bent to pick it up. 

Written in bright pink text was: 청소 닦음. Medical alcohol wipes. 

Disinfectant wipes, for wounds. 

Where the hell had Myung-Gi found first aid equipment? Hyun-Ju thought, before nausea struck her. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Chapter Text

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오

CHAPTER V
Of mirrors and men

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A hundred questions, aches and emotions ran through Hyun-Ju at once while she gripped the small packet in her hand. Her whole being was on autopilot, brain a haze and feet stumbling. 

Where did someone get supplies like that here? And why was it available? 

She all but fell into the women’s bathroom, limping and hopping so fast that she had to catch herself on one of the sinks. Standing was a battle unlike any other she’d faced that day.

Within the perceived safety and privacy of the cold, tiled room – Hyun-Ju’s body began to burn. Her aching, bruised skin and bones throbbed with heat, the cut in her midriff stretching and tearing with every shuddered breath. But the gash in her right leg rendered her thoughtless, stealing every wonder and worry.

Little whimpers and squeaks fell unbidden from her chapped lips, but soon they drowned under the running water from the tap; at least enough that she could pretend the sounds of weakness did not exist. 

Steeling herself, Hyun-Ju bent at the waist to roll up her pant leg, exposing the soaked, makeshift bandages to the air. Explosions of white danced at the edge of her vision, rocking the floor and reminding her of the half potato she had eaten minutes before. 

The blood had already become so hard and clotted around the fabric that it clung like a second skin – meaning any attempt to remove it would surely reopen what little healing her body had made. 

But not knowing what she was working with might be even more dangerous… not to mention the risk of infection. They had no idea what the next game would entail, and she held more than one person’s life on her shoulders now, her legs could not give out. 

Hyun-Ju pulled, sending a stream of fresh blood down her leg and bile into her mouth. Her left hand gripped around the sink and something popped in her jaw as she grit down. 

The bathroom echoed with her panting and the running tap, fluorescent lights growing fuzzy. 

With every movement, the leg of the tracksuit pants rode further up, revealing the pale expanse of skin underneath. Even under the blood Hyun-Ju could see dark, coarse hairs beginning to grow back. And however unreasonable, that made it all sting that much more. 

If she were to look away, all she could look at would be the mirror on the wall, at the reflection of how wrong everything had become. How wrong everything always had been. 

She would have to take the pants off completely to be able to clean the wound, she realized with shaking hands. 

Hyun-Ju thought to go into one of the stalls to sit on a toilet, to make it all easier on herself, but she did not get that far. Instead she slid down onto the floor, leaning against the cool wall, trying to get the fabric off with closed eyes there on the chlorinated tiles. 

Once it was done, she leaned her head on her knees, willing the tears away, tears from pain and more than pain, focusing on the goal, the mission. Clean the cut off with water and wrap it tight in sheets parading as bandages; keep everyone safe. 

The mirror hung over the running tap, taunting, willing her to go look. 

She stood up, unable to pretend away her trembling limbs, tears streaming down her cheeks in sync with the blood pooling at her ankle. Hyun-Ju wiped them away as quick as they’d come. 

Pathetic, in this situation, to feel such a way. 

Washing the wound stung enough to make her punch at the sink. The cut had the shape of a crooked smile – it needed stitching, or gluing, but she had only water. 

The thought brought her back to the little white packet in her pocket, with the bright pink letters. The one Myung-Gi dropped. 

Any other day she might’ve worried of traps and wondered about its origin, but at that moment the wounded animal took the helm.

Tearing the packet open with her teeth, Hyun-Ju was greeted by the chemical scent of alcohol. Stuffing her discarded trousers into her mouth, she brought the wipe to the bloodied wound.

And screamed, vision going completely black for a few seconds, leaving her on the floor, with the flavor of vomit on her tongue. 

***

Hyun-Ju came back to with a start, chest rattling with sobs buried deep, like a car whose motor couldn’t start from not being used in a long time. Slapping herself on the cheek and spitting bile onto the floor, she got back up, and continued. 

After finishing up her leg, wrapping it as tight as possible and getting somewhat clean, the greatest challenge still remained.

The mirror.

Through her wobbling vision, it looked like Young-Mi was in that mirror, smiling, before fading and being replaced by her own face. 

Her eyes went to the lack of makeup left on her skin before noticing the injuries, even if just for a second. 

Every small hair on her skin stood and prickled as Hyun-Ju pulled the t-shirt over her head, leaving her in a worn out sports bra a size too small, digging into her chest, and the trousers she pulled on the moment the wound was clean. Covering her lower body once more. 

So she looked, in the mirror, at her upper body and face, at the damage it had sustained. Halfheartedly she unwrapped and washed the slash in her midriff, studying herself. The left shoulder was swollen purple, but Hyun-Ju didn’t think it was dislocated. Her abs were peppered in bruises and the back of the bra covered a multitude of sins. A mess of hair, limbs and scars stood before her. 

You’re beautiful too, Unnie.

You should be proud of this, it saved lives. 

I trust you. 

Young-Mi’s, Geum-Ja’s and Jun-Hee’s words echoed in Hyun-Ju and clashed and fought against the twisted figure in the mirror, like ripples on a still lake. Maybe she wasn’t so bad.

Keep yourself together.

She wiped at dry eyes. 

A taste and sensation of “wrong” enveloped her, scratching at all she knew and had ever known. 

With her brain in shambles, she stood there, staring at everything and nothing. Multiple minutes passed, but no one else came in; the bathroom empty but for Hyun-Ju and her agony. 

The air grew cold and the water seemed to run faster… like a message, like someone shaking her by the shoulders. And through the haze of pain she woke up, and looked back down at the used alcohol wipe.

If Myung-Gi knew something they didn’t, if he had access to medical supplies, it would be vital for Hyun-Ju to find out. For Jun-Hee’s sake especially, as well as her own. Finishing up her crude first aid, she put the shirt bearing number 120 back on, checking over all the bandages. Clean, if nothing else, Hyun-Ju felt clean.

Adrenaline fading to exhaustion, she limped out to the dorms, soul and flesh held together by determination and strips of sheet. In leu of safety pins, she’d secured it all with her earrings. 

***

“Please take care of my girls, mister Seong.” Hyun-Ju could swear she heard Geum-Ja say when she came back in. 

The old woman sat next to Seong Gi-Hun on the floor, hair loose and lost in conversation.

And by Jun-Hee’s bed, to her horror, stood Myung-Gi. He tried handing her something, but Jun-Hee smacked his hand away so hard it echoed. 

“I don’t want anything from a bastard like you.” The young woman spat.

“Keep it down, no one else knows about it. Jun-Hee, don’t be an idiot. I've said sorry a thousand times— just listen to me, for you and the baby, this is important—“ Myung-Gi whispered, Hyun-Ju couldn’t make out all the words from the doorway. 

“If miss Jang or miss Cho sees you near my baby, your other hand will get the same treatment. Or I might do it myself, asshole.” Jun-Hee said defiantly, motioning to the bandages. “I’ve trusted you one too many times.”

“Okay fine, don’t take it, but listen, the mirror, remember to check the mirrors, there had to be some in the women’s too, I’m trying to help—“

Hyun-Ju cleared her throat, marching up to the cot with as slight of a limp as possible, catching Geum-Ja’s attention who sprung from her place by Gi-Hun and over to the two women. 

“I don’t think she wants you here.” Hyun-Ju said flatly, changing her posture to stand at full height. “And neither do I.” 

“Look…” Myung-Gi tried, raising his hands, frowning. “Who gave you the right to–”

“I said go. Remember last time I told you that? When I told you to leave them alone, during the last game?” She murmured. “Go back to your bed, and don’t look in their direction again. Do you want to see what I can do to an unarmed opponent?” Hyun-Ju took a step closer. “You’re not so tough without a knife in your hands, or your friend behind you. Or when your prey isn’t on their back, are you?”

It was rare for that side of her to peek out, but it did exist with a vigor, a sergeant and survivalist. A woman scorned and mistreated. 

The young man glared, but a pallor dusted his cheek. He mouthed a word towards Jun-Hee, eyes lingering on the bundle in her arms, before walking away. 

“I only took my eyes off her for a minute, I swear.” Geum-Ja gasped, going to Jun-Hee’s side and taking hold of her face. “Did he try to hurt you? Is the baby okay, do you need anything?”

“No.” Jun-Hee sighed, stroking the baby’s cheek. “She’s… she’s fine. He’d never hurt me, I know that… too much of a coward.”

“He was quite determined to during hide and seek. And he almost…” the old woman gulped, looking at Hyun-Ju’s injuries. 

“Almost killed Miss Cho.” Jun-Hee finished, looking down. “With a knife that I gave him. He kept killing people, trying to kill people, even after passing.”

“I told you it isn’t your fault, sweetheart.” Geum-Ja soothed. 

“No. I gave him the knife, I switched roles with him. He promised to come help me but the–” Jun-Hee couldn’t find the words. “People like him don’t change, no one ever does. A scammer and bastard, sure. But I never thought he would murder. 

“You know him from outside, don’t you?”

“Yes.” A response, and a plea for the questions to stop. 

“I’m sorry, it’s not good for a woman who’s just given birth to be under so much stress, let’s get you cozied up so you can breastfeed again, then you need sleep and rest. You can talk later.” Geum-Ja said, fussing.

But Hyun-Ju couldn’t take her eyes off player 333. “Jun-Hee,” she murmured, “what did he try to give you?”

“A piece of bandages, for my ankle, I told him no. He kept saying it was a secret.”

“Ah.” Hyun-Ju frowned. So she was right then, he had gotten supplies from somewhere, somewhere hidden. “He had wound disinfectant wipes as well, he dropped a packet of them in the corridor. Jun-Hee, I know you need rest but please, did he tell you where he got them?”

The young mother shook her head. “All he said was that there wasn’t enough of it to share —  and to check the mirrors.”

Mirrors…

“Let me see your ankle before you sleep.” Hyun-Ju urged, pretending her own body wasn’t on fire; and like she wasn’t selfishly upset with Jun-Hee for refusing the bandages. “And please, just call me Hyun-Ju.”

*** 

Laying down inside her little bed-fort, Hyun-Ju could not rest. Instead, she followed Myung-Gi’s every move from behind the sheet hanging as a curtain. She’d been studying him for almost twenty minutes since talking to Jun-Hee, but had yet to find anything about the supplies. Perhaps she would do better to focus on the old woman and baby – but her leg begged and pleaded for assistance. 

The young man sat on one of the higher bunk beds, eating and fiddling with his injured hand. When none of the potato remained, after a look around, he pulled a cotton pad and gauze roll from under his pillow.

So that’s where he’s keeping it.

“Hey, dude, where’d those come from?” A gangly man with sunken cheeks and an O patch called, causing Hyun-Ju to freeze. But the man, player 203, seemed to be speaking to Myung-Gi. Transfixed, she kept watching. 

203 eyed the fresh bandages peeking out from the tracksuit sleeve, but Myung-Gi didn’t look up.

“None of your business.”

“Kind of is my business, pal,” 203 sneered, “seeing as how I ain’t got any.”

“You don’t look injured.”

“That ain’t the point, it’s about fairness and sportsmanship. You’ve got something I don’t, that don’t seem fair to me.”

The discussion drew attention from the surrounding men in blue patches, who looked up towards Myung-Gi with envy and confusion written all over them. 

“Did he steal them from the guards? Hey! Shouldn’t he be eliminated for that?” The rotund player 100 shouted. 

None of the pink guards moved or said a thing. Something violent hung in the air, growing thicker by the second. Hyun-Ju sat too far away to make out any facial expressions, but something about Myung-Gi seemed to switch, he sat up straighter. 

“I thought you had all already taken your shares?” He asked, scratching the back of his head. 

Player 203 crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Don’t try that shit, far as I know, none of us got a damn thing. Now tell us where you found it, or we might have to eliminate you next game  for being a prick.”

“I got them in the bathroom! In a  cupboard behind the mirrors, like in fancy hotels, you know?” Myung-Gi said. “It had a note saying one ration per person, and a little kit. There was only one left, so I figured I was last.”

Hyun-Ju knew it was a lie, with how hushed he’d been with Jun-Hee, saying no one else knew about the bandages…  but why? If he claimed it to be a secret, why the pivot?

“Bullshit, I don’t have anything–”

“Wait, does that mean someone took more than their share?” Player 039, the man who’d ran away from Hyun-Ju in the hide and seek game, said meekly. “‘Cause I don’t have any either.”

“Yes.” Myung-Gi jumped in. “Someone must be hoarding the supplies and hiding them! I’ve still got a little bit of bandages left, I can share if one of you needs it. I voted X, but it’s only right if someone’s hurt.”

“See, a stand up young lad! But this means we have a rat in our midst.” Player 100 declared. “And that simply cannot stand.”

203 leaned in close to Myung-Gi, “I don’t trust a goddamn word he says, I bet he took it from a guard.”

“Go to the bathroom and check, I swear there is a cupboard behind the mirror on the right hand side.” Myung-Gi cried, raising his hands. “Why would I lie about this?” He nodded towards the gaunt man. “You being suspicious makes you the only person other than me who can’t have taken them, clearly you’re not the rat, we should work together, not against one another. 

“Damn right I’m no rat…” Player 203 chortled. 

“I have a proposal,” player 100 said, standing up, “all of us men go check for the cupboard in the restrooms. If it turns out this young fellow has been lying, we’ll have a further discussion; if he’s telling the truth, we search through everyone’s clothes and beds to find our rat, and eliminate them.” He pointed to player 203, “you and I have our differences, mister Kim, but like he said, you’re the person whose innocence everyone can be sure of, you should lead this. I’ll submit to a search as well.”

“I can accept those terms, mister Im.” Player 203 shrugged. 

“Hear hear.”

“Sounds good to me!

“Why not check the women too?” Someone asked, and Hyun-Ju reached for Geum-Ja’s hairpin. 

“Aye! Or that 120, she or he could trick the guards.” 

“It can’t be a woman,” Myung-Gi hurried, “since the supplies are in the men’s bathroom. The women probably got menstrual products or something instead, and it’s most likely not someone who voted X either. If they want to go home, why would they stash supplies for more games?”

Player 125 was the only man not in the ruckus, instead rocking back and forth on his bed unseeing. No one seemed to note him in the chaos. 

Hyun-Ju winced, slinking from her bed with the knife, walking slowly towards Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee, trying to make it seem like she had not been listening. 

”It’s decided then. You stay here 333, and the rest of us corroborate your story. Like civilized men. I’m inclined to believe you, but it’s like in a courtroom, we need proof.” Player 100 said, puffing out his chest. “The weirdo over there is an X… and I’ve seen him sit there since the voting. We’ll leave him there, he might interfere with the investigation.”

A series of nods and murmured agreements came from the group. Player 100 then led the procession of male players, baring Gi-Hun, player 125 and Myung-Gi, out of the room. 

Civilized men… sportsmanship… fairness… 

While they were deciding who to kill over bandaids and cottonballs. 

Geum-Ja appeared lost in thought, tearing up and tying together strips of cloth into some form of chain, when Hyun-Ju grabbed her by the shoulder. 

“Stay close to me, no matter what happens. Make sure Jun-Hee does too.”

The old woman startled, color coming back to her cheeks. “Hyun-Ju, what’s happening?”

“People are fighting amongst themselves… they’re on some sort of hunt for justice. Because of that Myung-Gi.” Hyun-Ju said with gritted teeth. “It feels like when the guards gave us forks with the gim-bap, like someone is trying to make something happen.”

“What are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath, holding Geum-Ja by the arms. “Listen to me. If you do trust me, listen. You survived the Korean war, you must have seen how people act when supplies are scarce. Come, come.”

Hyun-Ju dragged Geum-Ja over to Jun-Hee’s pillow filled cot. Soon the dorms stood near empty, with only the three women, a female player with an X patch, the baby, Gi-Hun in handcuffs, the trembling man, and Myung-Gi climbing down from his bunk. 

Poor, exhausted Jun-Hee had fallen asleep before Hyun-Ju disturbed her, causing the baby to begin crying. Geum-Ja shook off a weight on her shoulders and cradled the infant to her chest, while Jun-Hee rubbed sleep from her eyes. 

Explaining her fears in a hushed tone again, Hyun-Ju’s eyes landed on Myung-Gi, who near fell to the floor because of the difficulty climbing with one hand. 

The young man jogged over to the other side of the room, past the lone woman with the X, stopping at a messy bunk. From his pockets he pulled a needle and thread, a bottle with a gel of some sort, remnants from wipe packets and bloodied gauze, before stuffing them under the mattress, into the pillow case, and on the bunk below. 

Hyun-Ju found herself struck by an image from a Hollywood film she’d seen twenty or so years ago, called 반지의 제왕,  Lord of the Rings. Where a creature sprinkled bread crumbs on the cloak of the main character's best friend to frame him for eating the rations. 

Myung-Gi shot back up to his own bed, panting from the effort and pain, making a shushing motion towards the other woman looking on. 

He turned his gaze and met Jun-Hee’s, shaking his head. 

Shoving and arguing, the remaining players came back into the room, their voices blending together into static. Hyun-Ju positioned herself on the foot of the bed, hand around the blade in her pocket. 

“We all agreed to the search!” Player 100 called over the noise, raising a fist. “Everybody should line up by their beds.”

“I don’t want some dude going through my clothes.” Someone protested. 

“Why’s that, hm?” Player 203 smirked, leaning towards the shorter player 336. “Got something to hide?”

“N-no! I just don’t like being touched is all.” 336 protested. 

“Sounds like a load of crap to me–”

“Gentlemen, let’s handle this civilly. Sir, we agreed to the terms.” Player 100 said. 

“I never said that– agh!”

Player 203 kicked 336 hard in the shin, buckling his knees, before getting above the shorter man and punching him in the nose. The gaunt player put a leg on the other’s chest, before rifling through his pockets under whimpered protests. 

“Not him, unless he hid it.” He concluded, wiping blood from his knuckles. 203 looked out at the rest of the male players. “Everyone line up goddamnit! Let’s flush the vermin out.”

As the search commenced, Myung-Gi came down to “participate” and Hyun-Ju never once let go of the hairpin. 

The masked men did not move to interfere. They turned their backs instead. 

Chapter Text

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

여섯

CHAPTER VI
Judge the executioner 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Get out of the way you piece of shit!”

“Stop shoving, we said to form a line–”

“Gentlemen!”

“How dare you think I’m the rat?! Maybe it’s you, huh?”

“Wanna say that again, asshole?”

What little respect for personal space there had been within the confines of the games, vanished in an instant. 

The dorms became a cacophony of scavenger beasts searching for scraps of meat as the men’s investigation morphed into frenzy. They tore at pillows and each other’s clothes, sheets and even hair. A rat search, they’d called it; justice, for future safety and  fairness… player 336 sniffled miserably while 203 patted him down. Leg twisted at an odd angle he could not move, his protests drowned under the grunts and clanks of the others. 

It reminded Hyun-Ju of the military in a twisted way, the search for contraband, the superior officers looking for any reason to punish a recruit they had it out for. Rumpled bedding, sweets, anything. A memory crept into her mind of her father; coming home from the army base he worked at when she was a child, turning their ramshackle home upside down looking for such “contraband” before even saying hello. 

Hyun-Ju held her breath, ready to spring into action at the slightest movement, keeping one hand on Geum-Ja’s thigh behind her. 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Player 100 urged. “Let’s not be unnecessarily violent. None of us seem to be stashing supplies on our persons; so form an orderly line by– ”

“There’s one place we haven’t checked.” The gaunt 203 said, sneering at 336. “If we don’t find nothin’, I’ll search your rectum after this. And if you’re hiding anything there, I’ll tear you to bits.”

“W-why would I be-?!”

“Who’s bed is this?” One of the men (276) called, sitting atop the bunk Myung-Gi had planted supplies in.

“Mine.” Came the reply from a hardened man with a buzzcut, player 192.

Hyun-Ju helped Jun-Hee sit up, getting off the bed. “When I say go, you do not question me or argue, you just follow.” She whispered. 

Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee nodded, with trust in their eyes that stole the warmth from Hyun-Ju’s hands. Unconditional trust. 

“Well well… if this ain’t a stash I don’t know what is.” Player 203 cried in triumph, climbing up to the bunk in question, pulling the hidden medicinal gel out from under the mattress. 

“I was the one who found it, everyone remember that; here, there’s more.” The man who’d called out said, pulling out bloodied bandages.

Cheers of victory erupted, the anger becoming glee. Player 100 shoved through the sea of men, raising his arms. “Yorobun! This is the proof we’ve been looking for,” he pointed to 192, jutting his finger in accusation, “what do you have to say for yourself, sir? Hoarding supplies when we’ve all agreed to play fair?! For shame.”

“Shame, shame!”

The buzzcut man stuttered, looking around at the group rapidly turning towards him. “That- that ain’t mine… who put that there?”

“Bullshit, you got caught, own up to it–”

“I DIDN’T TAKE SHIT!” Player 192 bellowed, spreading his arms out like a bird trying to intimidate a cat. It startled the room into silence long enough for him to continue. “Why would I admit it was my bed if I had stuff there, dumbass?”

He ran towards the bunks, pointing to the player who’d found the so-called stash. “I bet it was you, you’ve never liked me. He’s got the bed under me,” 192 began to tear through the mattress below, where Myung-Gi had sprinkled some remnants, “SEE! He’s got supplies, look, look. He clearly planted them on me to get me killed, he’s the rat!”

“What?” Player 276 squeaked. “What are you on about?! I was the one who found the stash, I’m innocent, I just found–”

“Maybe that’s why you knew where to look.” 203 sneered, poking the other man in the chest. 

“If you think I’m involved because I found the damn cache, everyone in the search should be suspect! For fucks sake!” 276 spluttered.

“‘Way I see it,” the gaunt man said slowly, “it’s either you, or you. So as the only person deemed innocent, I’ve made a decision that’ll benefit us all.”

A calm settled back over player 276’s face, before 203 kicked him in the ribs with such force that he fell off the bunk, 4 meters above the floor. A wet crack and metallic clang rang out, as 276 struck the back of his head on one of the metal beams, before landing limp on the floor, blood pooling around the skull. 

“Best to eliminate them both to be sure.” 203 declared.

Battered player 336 on the floor looked at the wheezing body of the fallen man in horror. “T-t-tha-that doesn’t seem very fair to me, one of them is innocent.”

“And one of them is not.” Player 100 filled in. “I agree with this gentleman, it is best to be sure. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The innocent one will be forgiven by God.”

Myung-Gi nodded. 

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” The man with the buzzcut screamed, backing away from the group, grabbing for something to use as a weapon. “Come at me, bastards, I dare you. Stay the hell away from me.”

Hyun-Ju took that as her cue, pulling her companions to their feet. “Don’t look back, pretend nothing is happening, let them forget us.” She said with tender authority. “We’re going to go to the women’s bathroom.The men are focused on each other, they cannot get us there. And if something happens, I’ll protect you.”

“Player 276, eliminated.” Came through the speakers. 

“Let’s go, now.” Hyun-Ju ushered, hobbling and pushing the two women towards the door. For a moment, she feared they would be stopped by the masked guards, but they let the group of women and the baby through. 

Escaping into the corridor on the other side, she looked back over her shoulder, at the mob gathering like ants over a wasp, at the corpse on the floor. When the door closed behind them, she could hear the sound of a riot.

Just like in hide and seek. Just like the night before their failed rebellion. 

***

“Miss Jang, should she sit up or lay down?” Hyun-Ju asked, supporting Jun-Hee against her arm. 

Geum-Ja said nothing, eyes locked on the fussing infant in her arms, rocking her with muscle memory. 

“Miss Jang..?” Jun-Hee prompted, voice small and shaky.

The old woman blinked, pulling herself out of whatever hole in her mind she’d retreated to. “Up, upright. Women who’ve just given birth shouldn’t be flat on their backs.”

Hyun-Ju nodded, helping Jun-Hee sit down on one of the toilets, putting her jacket around the young woman’s neck like a travel pillow. 

The sounds of shouting and ruckus filtered in through the door and corridor, far away yet ever present.

“Are we safe in here, Hyun-Ju?” Jun-Hee asked, referring to her informally for the first time. 

“I think so.” Hyun-Ju gulped, studying the edges of the mirrors over the sinks as she spoke. “Myung-Gi found medical supplies somewhere, a small amount; he convinced the other men that someone had stolen the rest… they’re eliminating people who they think aren’t playing fair.”

Mirrors… 

“Mister Seong said he’d seen something like that before,” Geum-Ja noted, voice clearer – rocking the baby seemed to ground her, “that those horrible people upstairs gave everyone less food so they’d start to fight.” The old woman shuddered. 

Mister Seong… the mention of Gi-Hun’s name made Hyun-Ju clench her fists. 

She felt along the edges of the reflective glass, cutting her fingers in the process – until the one furthest to the right opened with a click. Behind it, a small hidden cubby with a shelf sat. Holding a tiny roll of gauze, bandages, bright pink sewing thread and regular needle, a hand sanitizer sized cooling gel and three packets of alcohol wipes. 

Hardly even a single ration, but in there it may as well have been gold. 

Myung-Gi had told Jun-Hee the truth this time. 

“Miss Jang, help me wrap her ankle, and put this gel on it to get the swelling down.” Hyun-Ju breathed with an airy chuckle. “You’ll be okay, Jun-Hee, this should soothe the pain.”

And she’d be able to sew up the wound in her own leg… maybe, just maybe, there would be a chance for them.

“I’ll take the sterilizers and sewing supplies. I apologize if I make loud noises, it’ll be painful but necessary.”

“Are you sure you don’t–” Jun-Hee tried, but the older woman shook her head.

“Focus on resting your ankle, Geum-Ja will take care of you, I’m okay.” She didn’t leave room for argument, dragging herself into a stall on the other end of the tiled room. 

“Player 336, eliminated.” 

***

Hyun-Ju took a few deep breaths, centering herself with the sound of the baby's snuffles and coos, along with the soft words of encouragement and comfort that Geum-Ja murmured to Jun-Hee, pretending they were meant for herself.

“There, there, nice and neat. The compression should help.” Geum-Ja fussed. “Oh, did the little one just burp? Good job, sweetie.”

The provided needle was not meant for sutures, Hyun-Ju realized as she drove the straight metal through her skin. She sat inside one of the other cubicles while Geum-Ja tended to Jun-Hee, trousers in her mouth to bite down on, wearing only her well worn panties from the waist down. 

She’d had stitches many times before, but never done them on herself. 

She groaned and sobbed around the fabric between her teeth as the needle went in, then out, completing the first stitch while stomping on the ground with her other foot. The feeling so indescribable that it rendered her vision black. 

Pull, she had to pull it through – but her steady soldier hands trembled. Tired didn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe how she felt, fingers not wanting to grab hold of the needle again. Hyun-Ju cursed her body’s betrayal, burying her black painted nails in the meat of her thigh. Whenever she thought herself safe and alone, something relaxed and made every feeling rear its head.

Every fear, every ache, telling her to lay down and let it all be over. 

Her noises must have startled the infant, which began to cry again, reminding her of the innocence in the room, of the ones more helpless than her. 

Hyun-Ju panted, muffled by the makeshift gag, hissing and using both her hands to shove the needle through the irritated flesh, pulling the thread through. 

Putting the tip of the needle to the skin again, her brain told her body to repeat the motion; but it refused, wailing and shouting at her not to do it. 

Geum-Ja’s voice came from the other side. “Hyun-Ju, are you alright in there?”

She tried to respond, to brush the worries away, but nothing came out. The needle fell from Hyun-Ju’s hand, hanging from her skin by the pink thread, and she slumped forward with a hiccup.

“I…” She sniffled, stomach turning and hands going numb, panting getting close to hyperventilation. “I can’t do it. I’m being so stupid.” The admission tumbled out on its own. 

The toilet door swung open and Hyun-Ju went stiff, trying to cross her legs and curl up, covering her head. 

But instead of violence, she was met with two small, bony hands pushing her upright. “Let me help you.” Geum-Ja said softly, but Hyun-Ju was way past reason, trying to crawl away.

“Don’t look, don’t look at me.” She begged, gasping in pain, hyper aware of her lack of trousers and what they would see. 

“You stupid, stupid girl.” Geum-Ja whispered, staring in horror at the jagged wound. “Oh, oh Hyun-Ju, why would you try to do that by yourself? Let me help you. Jun-Hee, honey, will you wet some paper for me?”

“Please don’t look.” Hyun-Ju wheezed again, gripping her greasy hair. “Miss Jang, I’ll fix it–”

Jun-Hee wet a wad of paper, limping to hand it to the old woman, looking at Hyun-Ju’s pale face with wide eyes. “Can I do anything else to help?” She asked.

“N-no.” Hyun-Ju cried, shaking her head and gripping her hair tighter. “Jun-Hee-a, rest, you need rest. Don’t… not because of me.”

“But–”

“No. The baby. Take care of the baby.”

Geum-Ja took the paper and dabbed the sweat away from Hyun-Ju’s brow, keeping the tall woman upright. “You’ll go bald if you do that.” She scolded. “We’re all stuck in here until the fighting stops anyway, let us help.”

“I’ll be fine.” Hyun-Ju croaked, falling forward into the embrace and leaning her forehead against Geum-Ja’s shoulder. Part of her wished to run, another wanted to bury itself against the old woman’s chest and never leave. 

“Sweet, stubborn fool.” Geum-Ja repeated, taking Hyun-Ju’s much larger hands away from her head, holding them tight. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself, because of what, honor? There’s no honor in suffering. You’re hurt because you saved us, because you protected us.”

“We’d be dead without you.” Jun-Hee said firmly. The baby in her arms began to squirm and make noises again, reminding the room what it had all been for. 

"You're not helping anyone by doing this." The old woman continued. "What would help them the most is you being healthy, strong and fit for the fight. Let me give them that, tell me what to do for you. I trust you, Cho Hyun-Ju; can you trust me too?”

Could she? Had she ever, since starting to live as a woman, trusted someone? But these people… fused into her heart by blood.

She buried herself into Geum-Ja’s side, taking a breath, senses bathed in her scent and the feeling of her clothes and skin.

“Yes.” Hyun-Ju whispered, not daring to open her eyes. “I think I can. Just please, don’t look–”

“All the horror I've seen, and you expect me to be scared of what's between your legs?” The old woman scoffed. 

Despite herself, Hyun-Ju let out a wet laugh, a few stray tears trickling down her cheek. 

“What do you need?” Geum-Ja asked. The notion of expressing her needs and wants clashed against Hyun-Ju’s image of her very existence.

“I can’t finish the stitches myself.” She sighed. “Just four more should do. It needs to be wrapped in gauze and bandages and,” she looked to Jun-Hee, “if you want to do something – I’d like to hear you talk.”

“Talk?” The young mother asked, rocking the baby. “About what? 

“Yes, just talk.” Hyun-Ju sniffled. “Remind me you’re still alive.” 

And so they did. For the first time in her adult life, Hyun-Ju let herself be held, touched, seen, helped. In a cramped toilet stall with men beating each other to death outside – her mind went blissfully silent. 

Even when Geum-Ja accidentally called her Yong-Sik.

The baby sneezed and wailed in the background, and that was the most important sound in the world. The reason they needed to keep breathing. 

***

When all was said and done, Hyun-Ju’s skin tingled with remnants of panic and stress, but putting weight on her injured leg no longer felt like slicing herself open with each step.

Maybe they would all be okay, in the end. It was a delusion she allowed herself in that moment. 

“I think we can go back now.” Hyun-Ju rasped. “They talked about eliminating two players, and two are gone. I’ll go look and come get you if it’s safe.”

“Good, you both need to sleep.” Geum-Ja fussed. None of them mentioned tomorrow’s game, the supports holding their hope up too fragile for future doubts. 

“So do you.” Jun-Hee said. And after some silence, the old woman nodded.

“Yes…I think I do.” 

Hyun-Ju limped towards the bathroom door, fingers on the handle–

“Player 448, eliminated.”

Gravity increased and rooted her to the floor. Player 488 had been a woman, who voted O, that meant–

“Player 197, eliminated.” 

Four people dead, because of thread and gauze. The justice system in the dorms had fallen as soon as it was born. Hyun-Ju turned nauseous with realization. 

“We have to cover that up.” She gasped, pointing to Jun-Hee’s ankle. “With sheet, or something.”

“What?”

“The bandages, if they see we have bandages,” Hyun-Ju gulped, “Myung-Gi’s whole lie falls apart. They’ll question us, attack us. We have to make it look like we have nothing.”

“I thought they were holding some sort of trial.” Geum-Ja hushed.

“So did I, stay here.” Hyun-Ju said, “I’ll grab some sheets and come back.” 

“Be careful, we need you.” Jun-Hee called, and warmth spread through Hyun-Ju’s fingertips.

“I will.”

“Hyun-Ju, wait… do you think mister Seong is in danger?” Geum-Ja gasped.

“What?” Hyun-Ju blinked, one leg out the door.

“He’s shackled to a bed in there, he can’t hide, what if someone turns on him?”

“Why,” she couldn’t make heads or tails of it, “why would you think of that right now? Everyone is in danger. He’s not on our side.” Words tinged with venom. 

“Of course he is,” the old woman frowned, “I spoke to him, he’ll help you, I know he will. He’s just… trapped, in his guilt. The poor man looked so shaken he could barely speak.”

“He didn’t vote.” Hyun-Ju whispered

“He came here to help people–”

“He did. Not. Vote.” Hyun-Ju said sharply. “I was there too, I followed him, I taught those men how to use the guns. Guilt is no excuse, he’s given up, we can’t rely on him. Stay in here, I’ll get the sheets.” She snapped, cursing herself immediately for the harshness.

Through exhaustion and pain, the animal took charge of all decisions, pulling her out the door, but her warm heart looked back. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll be back soon.” Hyun-Ju murmured over her shoulder. “Thank you.” She bowed, stumbling to the dorms.

***

The first thing that struck her was the lack of pink guards by the doors, the second were the four corpses and many men with bloodied noses. 

The remaining two female players cowered together on one of the top bunks, the dead player 448 on the floor below, while some others hid beneath beds. Gi-Hun stuck out in the middle of the room by the left wall. The O men still clustered on one side of the room, stood in a half circle with someone on the floor, and some stragglers at the edge of the pack. 

She limped towards Geum-Ja’s bed, finding the fabric rope the old woman been tying before, using the hairpin to slice it apart into useable strips. 

“He’s the one who broke the damn rules!” Someone shouted behind her, followed by a wheezing groan of a man being kicked in the stomach. 

“Yes but we need to be rational–” Player 100’s unmistakable voice.

“WE SAID WE WOULD KILL THE RATS! And this bastard goes and bashes a woman’s skull in. What’s stopping him from killing the rest of us?”

“S-sh-she wanted a cut of the supplies, they were ours.” A wounded voice. 

Hyun-Ju worked faster. 

“But if we’re eliminating people now, shouldn’t it be the X’s instead?”

Oh gods.

“Yeah, that’d get the prize way up.”

“That’s not how we agreed to play this, we said we would stick together and take everyone out in the games. Otherwise we’ll be exposed. Let’s focus on–”

“I should just kill you all, that way there won’t be anymore games.”

“Fucking hell, shut him up!” 

Faux bandages in hand, Hyun-Ju stumbled back towards the exit to the corridor, ready to head back to Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee… when a gnawing sensation crept into her stomach, and she looked back.

There he sat, Seong Gi-Hun, empty eyed, dead to the world in his handcuffs, sat out in the open – an easy 100.000 won for anyone hungry. 

He put himself there. She told herself. He made his choice. She was in no place to make sense of her anger and feelings of betrayal towards Gi-Hun, there wasn’t any time.

“It was your fault, I could have saved her.”

“There was no time!” Myung-Gi’s voice in her memory brought on tremors.

Leaving Young-Mi behind, because there supposedly wasn’t time… was she thinking of that? Leave someone because it would be easier? Because she was upset? What right did she have that her pain should hurt someone else?

And Geum-Ja, wonderful Geum-Ja’s worried eyes. She would burn before she denied that woman anything. 

I said I trusted her.

Stuffing the cloth into her pocket, eyes vigilant, she hobbled towards where Gi-Hun sat, reaching for the bloodied needle the old woman used to stitch her leg up. The man didn’t look in her direction, catatonically focused on the wall. 

Gaze flickering between the single handcuff and the group of rioters, she used the needle to pick the crude lock with practiced motions, catching them before they could make any loud noise. 

Biting the inside of her cheek in discomfort, Hyun-Ju stood back up, headed towards the door again, but Gi-Hun made no movement. 

“Hey,” she hissed, “get up, go hide somewhere.” 

No reaction. 

“I said get up, hey, hey.” Hyun-Ju urged, pushing his shoulders. “It’s not safe sitting here.” 

“What does it matter?” Gi-Hun said, and in that moment he looked more husk than man. 

She wasn't expecting him to respond, but now that he was talking, she couldn't hold back her frustration. 

“What does it matter? How dare you?” She spat. All of Hyun-Ju’s despair bubbled over, and she yanked Gi-Hun up by the collar, dragging him behind one of the cots. “Look at me.” She grabbed him by the chin, forcing their gazes together. His sunken, glassy eyes staring back. 

“There’s no honor in suffering.” She said, parroting Geum-Ja’s words from the bathroom. “After the choice you made, you don’t get to hide away in your guilt.”

“What would you know about guilt?” Gi-Hun rasped, eyes a little sharper. 

Hyun-Ju almost punched him. 

“I was the one who loaded the guns for them, I was there too. It’s just you and me now. We won’t forget what happened, those deaths, they’re on us, and we’ll carry them, you’ll carry them. But we have to do it standing. You wanted to play soldier that day, mister Seong, and I know a thing or two about that. Soldiers don’t get to wallow, soldiers don’t get to let their pain hurt innocent people with inaction.” 

Hyun-Ju dragged them further away, trying to keep her voice down despite the fire in the words. 

“There is a young woman out there, who’s just given birth to a baby girl. There is a wonderful, incredible old lady who’s lost her only child, they’re still fighting. Miss Jang keeps insisting you’re righteous, and I can't bear to see her disappointed again. So wake up, Gi-Hun, and live. That’s the least you can do…everyone didn’t get that chance.”

She let go of his tracksuit, throat and jaw aching, making her way back to Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee with trembling hands. 

Chapter Text

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

일곱
CHAPTER VII
Baptized by fire 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The lights went out, and the remaining players got into their beds, curling up under thin blankets and the threat of the guards outside. 

Two gunshots into the air followed by the words: “Violence between players will no longer be allowed until the next game.” had spelled the end of the riot in the dorms. Hyun-Ju, Jun-Hee and Geum-Ja were escorted out of the bathrooms by the masked guards, and instructed to sit on the beds while the corpses got put away into boxes. 

“A total of 4 players have been eliminated since the last vote, leaving 21 remaining for tomorrow's penultimate game. Bringing the prize accumulation to–”

Tomorrow the games would start again.

Her eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with sandpaper and every limb weighed a ton against the flimsy mattress; but Hyun-Ju could not sleep. Every time her eyelids fell, ghosts danced behind them and shuffles and snores sounded like gunfire, jolting her back to consciousness. 

She tossed and writhed in the sheets, trying to keep her throbbing leg flat, but her head ached and spun with each movement. Though the body stilled, the mind ran on and on. 

Too exhausted for sleep, too tense for her heartbeat to slow – she lay there, staring at the underside of the bunk above her. Holding her breath, she turned to look at Jun-Hee, sleeping with her infant daughter in the next bed over, for the umpteenth time. Hyun-Ju forced herself to see through the fog of her mind and darkness of the room, to look for movement. For chests going up and down, up and down, a sign of life.

Rest would not come. All that was left was to think… 

Think of the terror she felt while she pressed against the door in hide and seek, the vile taunts from Myung-Gi, the wound in her leg, Geum-Ja’s wails as they dragged Yong-Sik’s body away. Of Young-Mi, her parents, Jun-Hee… and the baby. The sweet, innocent baby. 

“Congratulations, and celebrations”, repeated in her brain on loop. 

Darkness closed around her like a hug, lulling her into unconsciousness again, just for a moment in the midst of it all. But a cough and creak to her left made Hyun-Ju shoot up into a sitting position, instincts and fatigue warring. Someone had come to kill them, to take her tribe away, her animal heart cried. 

Instead, a familiar, warming voice reached her ears. 

“You can’t sleep either.” Said Geum-Ja, thin frame outlined by the colored lights on the ground. 

Hyun-Ju grunted, leaning back down on an elbow, every nerve alight with adrenaline overuse. “Miss Jang? Has something happened?” She whispered.

The old woman shook her head. “Too much, way too much.” She chuckled hollowly. The mattress dipped, as she sat down next to Hyun-Ju. She reached out, fingers finding the larger woman’s arm, stroking it in slow, repetitive motions. "The guards said no one is allowed to hurt anyone until tomorrow, you don't need to keep watch. Rest.”

“I’m trying.” Hyun-Ju sighed. “I will–”

“I don’t think you know how.” Geum-Ja said, letting their shoulders brush together. Something about the touch, calloused and weathered, became an anchor rather than danger. “I don’t think you’re letting yourself take a break.”

“What if something happens to the baby?” Hyun-Ju whispered, a small child in Geum-Ja’s embrace. 

“We’ll know, babies are good at that, telling us when something is wrong. Better than some adults.” Geum-Ja assured, features hidden in the darkness. “You must sleep, you’re beyond exhausted. It’s safe, you protected us, you did your job and you did well.”

You did well.

“You did good, Yong-Sik, you were very brave, you did good.”

“You need to sleep too.” Hyun-Ju whispered.

“I will, right now I’m making sure you do. Old people don’t need to rest as much, you know.”

“But–”

“Hyun-Ju.”

“What if–”

“I understand, honey.” The old woman entwined their hands and all Hyun-Ju wanted was to stop them both from shaking. “It’s alright, breathe. You’re allowed to.”

Silence enveloped them, sitting arm to arm, hand in hand. 

“When I’d just given birth, I was terrified of leaving Yong-Sik alone. I’d go check on him every few minutes and put my hand on his little chest to feel his breathing. Only after that could I go relax. I did the same thing after his suicide attempt… I sat by his side, checking to make sure he kept...living.” Geum-Ja's breath hitched. “Jun-Hee’s baby needs to be fed soon, come check on them. Maybe that’ll calm you, if you’re anything like me.”

Without any of the usual weariness and doubt, Hyun-Ju nodded yes, following the old woman to the next bed over. 

Jun-Hee slept on her side, one hand outstretched and the other curled close to her chest. The infant lay in a nest of all their jackets rolled together, stirring ever so slightly, lips smacking and nose wrinkling. 

“See, they’re alright, look.” 

With clumsy, hesitant hands, Hyun-Ju reached out to brush the baby’s forehead. “Yeah.” She whispered.

A whine startled them both, though it did not come from the baby; but her mother. Jun-Hee whimpered in her sleep, eyes clenching tight and her outstretched hand twitching. 

“Is she-?”

“She’s having a nightmare.”

The old woman stroked Jun-Hee’s brow, sitting by her side. “Wake up, darling. Hey, it’s just a bad dream.”

The young mother’s eyes fluttered open and she gasped, tears brimming and chest heaving. “My baby, m-my baby…” she wheezed.

“Is right here, look.” Geum-Ja hushed, brushing Jun-Hee’s hair from her face. “Shhh, she’s alright, your little princess is right here. She just wants to eat and be close to her mama.”

“You were dead.” Jun-Hee choked, wiping her eyes. “You were both dead and my baby–”

“We’re here too.” Hyun-Ju swallowed, hands unused to such comfort reaching out to hold the younger woman’s shoulder. “We’re alive.”

The infant started to cry softly, demanding milk. Geum-Ja helped Jun-Hee to guide her daughter to her breast, whispering soothing words.

“I saw… your eyes were empty, it felt so real. I was all alone.” Jun-Hee hiccuped, eyes wide and red. 

“You’re not,” Hyun-Ju hushed, “we’re alone together now, and you have her.” She gestured to the hungry newborn. “I won’t let you be abandoned.”

The soft breaths and suckling noises filled the stuffy night air with a sense of contentment. Though their faces were obscured, Hyun-Ju could see Jun-Hee’s shoulders drop back down. 

After a while, Hyun-Ju asked: “Did you name her yet?” Catching Jun-Hee off guard, startling the nightmare away. 

The young mother looked at the bundle in her arms, the baby's mouth opening into a small yawn against her skin.

"I..." She began, before shrugging, fingers rubbing the child’s little fist. "It didn’t feel important.”

The unspoken words rang loud and clear. It didn’t feel important because they may all be dead come morning.

“Of course it is. You can’t keep calling her the baby forever.” Geum-Ja tskd. 

“Names matter.” Hyun-Ju whispered. “When I chose my new name I…” she stopped herself. She hadn't meant to talk about this. Not now, not ever. But Geum-Ja's soft eyes and the quiet, dark room were almost too comforting. Too much like home. 

"New name?" The old woman stilled. “Ah— you weren’t always called Hyun-Ju were you? You had a boy’s name.”

She bit her cheek, head throbbing and heart rate speeding. “I did.”

Geum-Ja wanted to say more, but as tired as they were nothing would come. 

“How did you choose?” Jun-Hee rasped. “I don’t know how to name someone, how did you do it?”

Geum-Ja's hand felt warm through Hyun-Ju’s sleeve.

"I...I kept thinking about who I wanted to be." She said, "Who I felt I should have been, who I-" Her voice cracked, all too loud in the silence. “I chose something new, something different." Hyun-Ju whispered, “I just wanted… I wanted a new start, something that was me, and mine.”

“Dream of that instead, Jun-Hee.” Geum-Ja prompted, laying the new mother back down and swaddling the baby. “Dream about who you want your little girl to be. Maybe then a name will come, just like Hyun-Ju’s.”

When she finally fell asleep, it was a restless, fickle one. Hyun-Ju tumbled in and out of consciousness in a way that made it difficult to discern between dream and reality. But she could have sworn, in the dark, that someone sat by her side; that someone held her hand, kissed her cheek and put a hand on her chest. Watching it go up and down, up and down. 

*** 

The sirens squealed as morning came and the lights snapped back on, beckoning the restful players back to attention. 

Last day’s exertion and her crudely stitched wounds left Hyun-Ju with concrete for feet and a pebble for a brain. But her heart and priorities remained absolute, seared into her soul like a brand. So she got up, and looked around for her companions. 

She found Jun-Hee still on the bed where they’d left her, baby nestled close — but her heart beat faster when she realised Geum-Ja wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Miss-Jang?” Hyun-Ju called, forcing herself into standing, walking steady as she could to the middle of the room, looking around. “Miss-Jang?!” 

“I’m up here, Hyun-Ju.” The old woman’s tired voice called from a bunk against the other wall. “Don’t push yourself, I’m coming down.”

“W-why were you over there?” She gulped, meeting Geum-Ja halfway and grabbing her shoulders. “Why were you so far away?”

Her grayed eyebrows knit together, removing Hyun-Ju’s hand tenderly. “I had to walk around, clear my head a bit, and I didn’t want to be too loud. You girls needed rest.”

“Please don’t do that again.” Hyun-Ju whispered, “Don’t scare me.” 

They’d made it through the night, all four of them. The ghosts and wounds hadn’t stolen them away. Her leg throbbed, but the stitches held and the bandages weren’t entirely soaked in blood, which meant the flow had been stifled. Pulling herself together, the haggard group huddled around Jun-Hee’s bed.

They’d made it through the night. 

“Do you know how to use a binyeo to put up your hair?” Geum-Ja asked, as Hyun-Ju tried tying hers back.

She shook her head. “No one’s ever taught me how to do any hairstyles.” The admission dusted her cheeks pink. 

“Here, you’ll make better use of this than me.” The old woman held out the sheath for the hairpin knife, placing it in Hyun-Ju’s hands. “Put it back together and I’ll do it for you.”

While Jun-Hee cleaned the newborn, Geum-Ja put her gray hair in a low ponytail using Hyun-Ju’s hair tie. While the taller woman’s dark strands wrapped around the silvery binyeo and into a simple knot. 

“My mother gave this to me, but I think it suits you. It was meant to be here.” The old woman murmured wistfully.

“Attention, please.” Echoed the cheery PA voice. “The fifth game will begin momentarily. Please follow the instructions from our staff. Let me repeat: the fifth game will begin momentarily–”

Out of the frying pan, into the flames. Hyun-Ju thought, watching a sea of teal tracksuits trickle in. All remaining players lined up in front of the triangle guards. 

Jun-Hee kissed her daughter’s forehead, before placing her back down against the pillows, leaning on Hyun-Ju to walk. It wasn’t so much of a limp, and more a shuffle across the floor. But the infant’s cry filled the room, as the unnamed girl fussed in her little swaddle, tugging the young woman to a halt.

“I can’t leave her alone.” Jun-Hee said firmly, face twisted with emotions unsaid, stopping Hyun-Ju’s tracks. “Please. I can’t leave her there alone.”

So they didn’t. 

Geum-Ja carried the infant up the pink staircases leading to the game, while Hyun-Ju did her best to support Jun-Hee, one arm around her shoulder and the other her waist. Together they stumbled upwards like in the six legged race, blind leading the blind, wounded with wounded. 

“I’ve got you.” Hyun-Ju kept assuring, walking as normal as she could. “I’ve got you.” 

The young woman gasped, doubling over and grabbing onto the wall, stomach cramping from the birth the day before. The sudden stop caused Hyun-Ju to stumble, and another player knocked into them from behind. 

“Watch where you’re goin’ asshole.” He sneered, pushing past. 

“Hurry it up!”

“Ignore them.” Hyun-Ju hushed, getting Jun-Hee steady. “I’ll crouch, and you can get on my back. I’ll carry you, just like yesterday.”

The young mother had a sharpness in her eyes that looked like an argument, but one look at the baby made her relent, bowing her head in acceptance. 

“I’m not too heavy? Your leg–”

Hyun-Ju smiled with reassurance, “My specialist's field gear weighed almost 40 kilograms, and I had that on all day, come on.”

But gods, was it painful. Last time she’d bore them both down the staircases, not upwards. Every other step felt alright, while pushing upwards on the injury seared. After a few minutes, the two fell behind the rest of the group, when Jun-Hee yelped and clutched her stomach again. But because of the weight and precarious position, Hyun-Ju lacked the strength to pull them upright. 

Ice crystals settled in her gut when she felt herself and Jun-Hee topple backwards, but it stopped as quick as it had come. Something or someone propped them up from behind, keeping both women from crashing down the steps.

“Are you alright?” A raspy male voice. Seong Gi-Hun.

Gi-Hun held his hands on Jun-Hee’s arms, coaxing her to get off Hyun-Ju’s back, keeping her steady. 

“Yes.” Jun-Hee nodded curtly. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve got her.” Hyun-Ju muttered, taking the young woman by the waist again and walking them onto the nearest landing. 

“She could get hurt.” Gi-Hun said, looking like a ghoul with his eyebags and the blood dried in his hairline. “Let me help support her.”

“I thought you said there was no point in trying anymore.” Hyun-Ju sneered, not looking back. 

“I’m facing my choices standing.” Gi-Hun choked, “like you told me. I’ve made many, most of them wrong. But I had a daughter too, she was the one thing I ever did right. I was never a good father… but watching her grow up after she was born…” he bowed his head, “Jun-Hee, your baby needs to live, and so do you. I knew another young girl, just like you. A North Korean defector, fierce, strong and lost. I couldn’t help her in the end, but I’m here now.” 

He reached out a hand. “Hyun-Ju, show me how to be a soldier.”

With a sharp nod, she took it. For them. For the first people who ever trusted her, accepted her and had her heart in return.

“Are you alright down there?!” Geum-Ja called from a staircase up, holding the baby, before spotting Gi-Hun. “Oh! Oh thank you, mister Seong. See, I told you he would help. Come now, come.”

Linking their arms together, Gi-Hun and Hyun-Ju made a two handed seat, hoisting Jun-Hee up and carrying her together. The lessened weight and increased balance made it much easier, letting them catch up wirh Geum-Ja. 

“I was afraid I’d end up alone again, that’s why I had her. I thought the baby would be my family, someone who would stay with me forever – make me happy.” Jun-Hee murmured, holding onto Hyun-Ju. “I thought about what you said last night, about who I wanted her to be.”

“...and?”

“Are there any names that mean future?”

”Of course there are.” Geum-Ja smiled. 

***

The players filed into the arena for the fifth game, and it was large beyond comprehension. Walls painted like a sunset, with colored lights, signs and flower beds. A narrow wood bridge reminiscent of train tracks stretched over an abyss as deep as the ceiling was high– and one enormous doll-like statue stood on either side. Each with something in their hands. 

“I think we need to get to the other side.” Someone said, before the intercom voice pinged to life. 

“Welcome to the fifth game. The game you will be playing is jump rope.”

Time froze around Hyun-Ju, and she tasted despair. Jun-Hee could hardly stand, and her own leg throbbed. 

“You must cross the bridge as you jump over the rotating rope and get to the other side within 20 minutes. You may decide on the order amongst yourself.”

She -Ju could have laughed had she not gone so pale, laughed at the gods’ mockery of her. As a child she always wanted to join the girls in playing jump rope but her father didn’t allow it. The first time she’d get to do it was in hell. 

“Sit down, honey.” The old woman ushered, leading Jun-Hee onto a bench, as Hyun-Ju stared at the game board. 

“Now, let the game begin!”

Metal creaked, and the rods in the dolls’ hands buzzed to life, until the rope began to spin, swooping around the bridge like a guillotine. 

“Ttokttok

Nugusimnikka?

Kkomaimnida

Deureooseyo

Kkomaya, kkomaya, dwiro dorara

Kkomaya, kkomaya, ttangeul jipeora!”

Children’s voices sang, and the timer began to tick down. 

“We can do this.” Hyun-Ju said, staring straight ahead. “It’s not that far, we can do it.”She didn’t know if she believed the words, but everyone depended on her, looked up to her. Leaders didn’t have the luxury of showing doubt.

One hand touching Geum-Ja’s hairpin, she planted both shoes on the ground, eyes following the movement of the rope, bending her knees to catch the rhythm. The other players did the same, no one daring to speak.

Hyun-Ju jumped straight up, landing unsteadily and wheezing; but by making a short forward leap, using her upper body to pivot, she managed to find a way. Not a painless one, but doable. The shoes were too flat to provide grip, so she kicked them off, trying again and again until her muscles settled into the technique. The stitches would pop, but what did that matter if she died?

“Okay.” She nodded, crouching before her companions and Gi-Hun. “Jun-Hee, I’ll carry you across, get on my back, I need to practice. Gi-Hun will help miss Jang, and the baby stays here until the game is over, then we come pick her up. It’s just like the race, all we need is to focus on the rhythm."

“But…” Jun-Hee frowned, looking at her ankle like the appendage had betrayed her. “I can– I’ll manage, you don’t need to.” 

“I’ve got you.” Hyun-Ju snapped. “I won’t leave, trust me. You’ve seen how strong I am.” 

“She’s right, honey.” Geum-Ja hushed, stroking the baby’s cheek before handing her over to her mother. “Remember what I told you, everything you do is for your child now, she needs you.”

“Lay her on my jacket.” Gi-Hun offered, zipping off the garment bearing 456, putting it on the bench. 

Jun-Hee nodded, pressing her forehead to the infant’s before laying her down. “Okay. Let’s try.”

Before Hyun-Ju could rise to her feet, she felt a presence behind her, a shadow creeping over her whole form. “All players must make it across the bridge within the time limit.” The distorted voice of a square guard said, words clutching her by the neck like predator’s teeth. 

“Any player who fails to cross the bridge within the time limit will be eliminated.”

Mouth agape, Jun-Hee wrapped her body around the bundle in her arms. “My baby is not a player.” She said with trembling ferocity. 

“Everyone here is a player.” Their faceless tormentor responded. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Gi-Hun spluttered, “the baby has nothing to do with the games!”

“Any player who fails to cross the bridge within the time limit will be eliminated.” The pink guard raised a rifle, pointing it towards the newborn. Jun-Hee gasped, shielding her daughter. 

“You’re insane.” Hyun-Ju cried, putting her tall body between the guard and Jun-Hee. “It’s insane! The baby doesn’t have any debt, it hasn’t done anything, you can’t do this, I won’t let you!”

A rifle cocked by her head, as a pink triangle soldier stepped to her side, but her anger would not simmer. “She’s innocent! She isn’t a player, she doesn’t have a number, surely you can’t be a player with no number. She’s a person, not some—“

“Everyone here is a player.” The voice responded with the same dry tone. “Anyone who doesn’t follow the rules will be eliminated.”

“Please, mister square, sir, please.” Geum-Ja sobbed, clinging to the guard, gun pivoting to her instead. “It’s just a little baby, it doesn’t belong here. Isn’t it bad enough making a pregnant woman participate?! Now you’d–”

Hyun-Ju put a hand over the old woman’s mouth, pulling her away from the barrel, face red with horror and fury. 

“She’s not a number, she has a name.” She reaffirmed. 

“There are no records indicating–”

“Her name is future.” Hyun-Ju whispered. 

“Mi-Rae.” Geum-Ja finished. “Beautiful future.”

“Calm down.” Gi-Hun said, “they’ve already made up their minds.” He looked towards the wall, at something only he could see. 

Four minutes had already passed. 

“We can’t just keep wasting time like this!” Player 100 shrieked, waving his arms. “Somebody has to step up and go first!”

The gaunt player 203 sneered, face dappled with blood. “You go first then.”

“Uh–”

“You can’t do it, you’re all talk.”

“I have an idea.” Myung-Gi raised his uninjured hand, and pointed towards player 353, an unassuming man with two black eyes, a split lip and a limp. “He broke the rules of the search yesterday and killed that woman, let him atone by going first.”

“Agreed!” 

“You motherfucker.” 353 wheezed, but 203 grabbed him by the neck.

“If you don’t go, I’m pushing you off.” He hissed, and the smaller man nodded frantically, stumbling up to the bridge.

He made it halfway, before hesitating too long at the gap in the bridge, metallic rope slamming into his shins and sending the him down to the ground below with a thunk. 

“Player 353, eliminated.”

The man’s corpse bled out in a painted field of flowers. 

With Jun-Hee’s arms wrapped tight around her neck, Hyun-Ju attempted jumping again. But this time, with the added weight on her shoulders, she couldn’t steady herself in time and fell, cushioning the young woman with her thighs. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll try again.” Hyun-Ju panted, losing her reason with every breath.

“Miss-Cho.” Jun-Hee interrupted, “It’s useless. You’re strong, but your legs can’t hold me too.” With shaky hands, she held up the baby like an offering to a deity. “Please, save her instead.”

Hyun-Ju was struck mute. “But… she’s… she’s too important.”

“You promised you’d protect us.” Jun-Hee bowed, “You’re the only one I trust with her, please. Hyun-Ju… Unnie.”

Unnie. 

“If Hyun-Ju takes the baby, I’ll carry Jun-Hee.” Gi-Hun ushered, looking at the timer. 

“Mi-Rae.” Jun-Hee whispered. “Her name is Mi-Rae.

“What about miss Jang?” Hyun-Ju asked.

Geum-Ja waved a hand in dismissal. “I was the best in my neighborhood at jump rope when I was a girl, don’t worry about me.”

“I will,” Hyun-Ju frowned, “you matter too.”

“Once we get Mi-rae and Jun-Hee across, we’ll come back for you.” Gi-Hun decided. 

Jun-Hee zipped the jacket shut over her daughter’s face, kissing her nose before looking away. “Unnie, keep her safe.” 

Unnie.

Unnie…

The word fueled and drained her all at once, but Hyun-Ju accepted the squirming bundle of life, letting the others tie her in a makeshift sling around her chest. The most precious thing in the world. 

“I’ve got you.” Hyun-Ju whispered, pushing and shoving at the animal telling her to run away. “I’ll protect you.”

The other players parted like for a funeral procession, watching the wounded former soldier move. 

Fourteen minutes left.

"I believe we can do this. Let's show everyone else here that these games are no big deal." She told herself. For herself, her newfound companions, and all those she’d lost; Cho, Hyun-Ju stepped onto the bridge, and jumped over the rope. 

Chapter Text

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여덟

CHAPTER VIII
Kim Mi-Rae

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They cleared the rope by mere millimeters, the rough surface tickling the soles of her bare feet. Hyun-Ju had been so focused on finding the rhythm that the distance between rope and platform hadn’t registered before that moment. 

It wasn’t just a matter of jumping, but jumping high enough to not get knocked down. 

The rope made a creaking, swooshing sound as it approached – sending loose hair whipping around her cheek. Mi-Rae began to wail in the makeshift harness, thrashing against Hyun-Ju’s chest as a result of the jostling.

With the extra height, the landing made her go rigid. Her stitched wound throbbed in protest and Hyun-Ju could see in her mind’s eye how the skin tore and crackled in her leg. 

But she made it, grunting and landing with a wobble, one foot hitting the bridge’s railing and the other the bridge itself. Her upper body twisted around from the added weight of the baby, but the grip from removing the shoes helped her stay upright. 

One jump done, a million more to go. 

Hyun-Ju held her breath, shuffling forward before having to jump again, further this time, keeping her eyes trained on the other side. The remaining players gasped and whispered with each movement she made, eyes digging into her neck. 

Part of her begged them to look away, but the horror of being perceived and seen as she was, died under the responsibility she held. Her trust and her promises. 

Mi-Rae cried harder during the second jump, even while Hyun-Ju kept the babe’s neck and head secure. “Shhh…” she hushed, the heart wrenching noises letting doubt and guilt creep in.

Groaning, she pushed on. The third jump took her breath away, the fourth left her with searing pain in her right foot and leg, heartbeat quickening every time the baby wriggled. 

Hyun-Ju cradled the bundle with one arm, using the free one as a rudder to steady herself, putting it out and waving it around for balance. 

“You’re okay.” She gulped. 

Her mind wandered to a mine field exercise she’d both participated in and taught in the armed forces, where recruits had to walk and find the safe path through traps. Except this time, the mines were at the edge of the bridge – but the result of failure remained the same. 

“Hurry up, you lazy bastard!” Someone called at the edge of Hyun-Ju’s consciousness. Real or not she could not say, but it sounded like her father.

Focus. This was a battlefield, she had to focus. 

1, 2, 3, jump— 

1, 2, 3, jump— 

1, 2, 3, ju…stop – STOP!

All at once, the ground beneath her feet disappeared, dragging a gasp from her lips and nausea to her stomach. Vision filling with the orange, floral ground, and the small, teal speck laying on it, crumbled and lifeless. They’d had suspicions when player 353 fell that there was an obstacle of sorts; and here it sat, a gap a meter long. 

“Oh.” Hyun-Ju wheezed, jumping in place, forcing her gaze up from the drop below. 

She shuffled backwards, hoping to give herself enough space to take a running leap. Her arms shook, shoulders heaving. 

“Just go!” Player 100 bellowed from the startling platform.

“Shut up.” A hoarser voice hissed, Geum-Ja. “She’s got this…”

With one last gasp for air, Hyun-Ju planted her feet, putting her uninjured leg back, bending at the knees, and pushed. Yelling and hugging the baby, she launched across the gap, landing with a loud thud, lightning shooting up her hip.

The momentum kept her torso going forward, nearly sprawling Hyun-Ju onto her stomach. It left her no time to get a proper foothold before the rope swung down again, but she had to keep going. Scrambling back up, leaning dangerously, Hyun-Ju tensed her muscles. Jumping. 

One of her knees hit the bridge, and its nerves shuddered and shook, freezing up. The tall woman whimpered, pushing upright with the injured leg, all but tripping over the rope, but avoiding it. 

A few more steps, and they would be safe. 

But Hyun-Ju had lost control of her movement and timing, swaying wildly and still leaning forward from the speed at which she propelled herself.

“Mi-Rae,” she gulped, “It’s okay.”

Two jumps left, three at most, she guessed. An endless abyss. 

1, 2, 3, jump… oh.

“Ah!” Hyun-Ju slipped forward, throwing out an arm to keep the baby and her own face from slamming into the wood, ending up in a mockery of a downward dog position. She felt like a great big ape, her infant on her chest, being ogled at by delighted tourists in a zoo. 

The rope…

The rope lurched towards them in slow motion, aiming for the helpless Mi-Rae and injured woman. With a defiant growl Hyun-Ju used her powerful core to bend back up, then sprinted forward.

In many games she played as a child, from ojingŏ (squid) to baseball, there would always be one competitive boy who threw his whole body forward in order to reach a base, leaping like a diver. Often they fell and scraped themselves, to their mother’s dismay, and oft discussion of whether the child had been tagged or not followed. “I was in the air, I jumped, he didn’t touch me.”

There on the bridge, Hyun-Ju found herself in a similar position, falling forward at a high speed, legs trying to run all the while, to get to the end; desperate to reach the finish line. 

But like so many of the children before her, she fell. Mere steps from the safe ground under the doll statue’s legs, she fell, momentum knocking her sideways, feet and shins catching on the railing. 

Hyun-Ju tumbled at a diagonal, stretching her arms out to catch anything, anything at all. Her chin and nose banged into the concrete of the safe platform, filling her mouth and throat with blood and half a tooth. But thanks to her height, her lower arms landed on the ground, suspending her between triumph and ruin. 

Legs and feet on the bridge, arms on the safe ground, Hyun-Ju’s torso heaved and floated in the no man’s land between. Along with the sobbing baby on her chest. 

“HYUN-JU!” 

“UNNIE!”

“NO!”

Far away voices filled her ringing ears. 

The rope crashed down again, but it didn’t make contact with her; legs too low and flattened, sliding under the metal beam. If not for the gap, she would have died then and there. Hyun-Ju cursed, panting, blood and tears mingling, dripping down onto the jacket covering Mi-Rae. 

She could feel wetness across her right leg and knew the stitches had torn, the knife wound reopening. The slash in her midriff stung in tandem, and her forearms scratched against the rough surface. 

Teeth grit, Hyun-Ju let a single tear of frustration leave her eye. Finally people had trusted her, loved her, and she let them down. The baby’s little arms shot up in reflex, pushing against the jacket swaddle, screaming.

With all the strength of her muscles and heart she hung on, trying to push herself up. Getting back on the bridge wasn’t an option. While her feet and ankles could slip under the rope, the rest of her couldn’t — and in this state Hyun-Ju would be too slow to get up. 

If they were to survive, she would have to climb onto the safe platform. 

Hyun-Ju pressed into a plank, spitting out the broken tooth and phlegm, relying on her arms where the legs failed. She spotted an orange metal fence to her left, rods going across like monkey bars. Maybe she could reach them. 

The poor infant’s voice had gone gravelly from overuse, shrieks becoming hisses and coughs. 

Hyun-Ju could barely hear above the heartbeat in her ears, sweat trickling off her forehead into blurry eyes. Her arms began to tremble, vision foggy. It felt as though her shoulders were at their limit, ready to dislocate...

Throwing her limbs forward, she managed to curl her left arm around the fence. It wasn't enough to pull her whole body up, but it gave her the leverage to hoist her top half over the edge of the platform.

Panting and moaning, Hyun-Ju dislodged Mi-Rae from the swaddle, shoving the baby none too gently onto safe ground. It must've hurt the poor girl… but she’d done it, kept her promise. 

Jun-Hee’s baby lay safe on the other side. Shaken but alive. 

“SHE MADE IT!” Hyun-Ju shouted, “Jun-Hee, she’s there!” Before letting her legs fall from the bridge, swinging to hang completely free in the air, but for the hold her arms had on the cold metal. 

“Please, god, please!” Geum-Ja cried from the other side, the old woman’s concern lending strength to Hyun-Ju’s burning joints. 

Biceps and lats thrummed with adrenaline, every vein in her neck popping and face turning red. Using the movement gained from her swing, her long, uninjured left leg reached far enough to also wrap around the fence. Giving her the stability needed for one more feat of strength. 

One last growling cry, and Hyun-Ju pressed with her entire body. Pulling up, twisting, curling around the orange bars. Rolling and contorting, she landed with her back on the concrete, flopping like a starfish. 

“Player 120, pass.” The PA announced. 

Alive, she spluttered for air, letting her body sink into the ground. A shout of triumph and exhaustion left Hyun-Ju, before she shuffled onto hands and knees, focus returning to Mi-Rae. 

If the baby is injured I might as well throw myself off… she thought. 

Pulling the zipper down, she uncovered Mi-Rae’s face, stroking her cheeks. The baby’s features scrunched up, but she moved and responded to the touch. 

Hyun-Ju could not help herself, she laughed. Laughed, laughed and laughed again, blood and snot spraying every which way. Picking up the bundle, she held the baby high, turning towards the players on the other side.

Geum-Ja jumped up and down, clapping her hands, Jun-Hee looked ready to collapse, and even Gi-Hun cheered. 

“That’s my girl!” The old woman called. 

Pure euphoria permeated her tired bones. She’d done it, she’d won, she…

More players filed onto the bridge to jump the rope, and Hyun-Ju sobered in an instant. Her gaze crept to the timer on the wall, tall white numbers ticking down and taunting her. 

11 minutes and 53 seconds left. 

An eternity in hide and seek, but no time at all for her companions to cross. 

And it struck her then, while limping with Mi-Rae to a flower bed, laying the baby down with a kiss, that she could do absolutely nothing at all to help them. That helplessness made her tremble as much as hanging from the edge. 

Sinking down on the ground, she leaned against the flower box, wiping blood from her lips and chin. Watching the first men hop across.

“Player 096, pass.”

A squat man with an O patch landed on the other side, giving Hyun-Ju a thumbs up, before turning back towards the others, waving. 

“You got this, hurry, one more jump!” He cheered, beckoning 312 to the safe platform. The other player cleared the rope, grinning with relief.

Only to be shoved hard by 096.

The man shrieked in terror, tumbling down into the abyss, the sound of his body cracking against the ground reverberating up the walls.

“Player 312, eliminated.” 

Hyun-Ju sat numb, unable to process what she’d just seen. This… this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

“Why’d you do that–?” She asked hoarsely, shuffling to one foot by leaning against the wall. 

“Why do you think?” Player 096 huffed with a shaky smile. “I’m playing the game.” A mad giggle left his lip, not unsimilar to Nam-Gyu’s. “Think about it, if no one else gets across, it’ll just be us two left. Then we’ll vote X, and leave with the money!” He gave a thumbs up towards Hyun-Ju again. “22.7 billion won!” 

Another player on the bridge tried to bolt past, but 096 kicked him in the chest, sending him barrelling to his death. 

“Player 084, eliminated.”

“Stop.” Hyun-Ju whispered, eyes wide and stomach churning. 

“No one can cross the bridge now!” The squat man bellowed, too focused on the money to hear the woman behind him. “It’s game over, shitheads!” He cackled, making taunting movements to the next victim on the bridge: player 100. 

On the other side, Gi-Hun was working to get Jun-Hee onto his back, when the eliminations began to trickle in. He lacked Hyun-Ju’s raw strength, but she saw the determination in his posture.

In no reality, she knew however, could they reach the other side with 096 in the way. The players already on the bridge stopped going forth, as 100 jumped in place, refusing to move. Hyun-Ju found the timer again, 9 minutes remaining. At that rate, Gi-Hun would never even make it on the bridge. Much less Geum-Ja, who she’d promised to help. Even if they did… 

…An image of Jun-Hee, bleeding with her skull open among the flowers, burned her tired human heart. Followed by Geum-Ja’s empty eyes and broken bones, near to Gi-Hun smashed to a puddle…

Young-Mi’s brain splattered on the door, Yong-Sik dead in a box… Dae-Ho slain by unknown hands in that cold alleyway. Ghosts past and future threatening to drown her. 

Basic survival instincts kept the players from jumping, but they dragged Hyun-Ju forward. With a last glance back to Mi-Rae, she unsheathed Geum-Ja’s hidden blade from her hair, spitting more blood and broken teeth. Another gluttonous beast stood before her, ready to eat her family whole.

Unless Hyun-Ju defied it. 

“Stop.” She repeated firmer. “Get out of the way.”

Player 096 didn’t seem to hear, focused on the bridge. 

“Please, I can’t jump anymore!”

“Die then.” 096 giggled. 

“J-just let me pass.” Player 100 pleaded, sweating profusely. “I’ll help you knock everyone else off.”

“You two faced assholes!” The man jumping behind him cried, losing his focus and balance, rope slamming into his ribs with a sickening crunch.

“Player 442, eliminated.”

“No way, gramps.” Player 096 cackled, gesturing at Hyun-Ju. “Help me keep them off!” He cried. 

“No.”

“No? Didn’t you hear what I said, we’ll get all the money–”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? STOP.” Hyun-Ju hissed, grabbing the squat man by the scruff of his neck, burying the hairpin into the flesh.

With a breathless gasp, player 096 stumbled back, trying to grab and claw at Hyun-Ju, only managing to levy an uncoordinated punch to her collarbone; before life ebbed out of him, and he fell to the ground. 

“Player 096, eliminated.”

“Player 100, pass.”

Player 100 shrieked and bolted onto safe ground, wrapping himself around the doll statue’s leg. “T-thank you sir, ma’am, sir… thank you for–” He stuttered.

Her face twisted into a sneer. This man had goaded many into voting to stay, he’d led the witch hunt started by Myung-Gi’s planting of medical supplies. Nothing about the elder man showed her genuine thankfulness, and whatever he could offer she did not want. 

“D-do we keep pushing people off?” He asked, wiping sweaty hands on his tracksuit pants.

“If you as much as think of knocking somebody from the bridge,” Hyun-Ju said coldly, baring blood stained teeth, “you’ll join them down below.”

Player 100 bowed, paling significantly. “Of course, of course not! L-let’s play this fair and square, certainly.” He scurried off, leaning against the green doors. 

Fair. 

That bloody word again, it kept coming up. Fair, fairness, justice. But Hyun-Ju saw the illusion for what it was, looking at young, sweet Jun-Hee hanging around Gi-Hun’s neck.

The next person on the bridge was a middle aged woman with short cropped hair, eyes frantic and wide. Their gazes met, but she did not move forward.

“It’s okay!” Hyun-Ju called, pocketing the knife and showing her hands. “You can make it, come on, you’re so close.”

“I– I want to turn around.” Player 349 whimpered. 

“You have to move forward.” Hyun-Ju shouted, slipping into the old sergeant voice. “For everyone’s sake. Come on, I’ll catch you!”

One more jump, and with Hyun-Ju grabbing her arm, 349 made it safely to the platform. 

“Player 349, pass.”

Time kept ticking, people kept jumping, failing and succeeding, she couldn’t keep track of them, even while saving those she could. Her focus lay solely on her companions, so close yet too far for Hyun-Ju to protect. 

With a kiss on the cheek from Geum-Ja, Gi-Hun walked towards the front of the line, eyeing the rope going round and round. No use in delaying the inevitable any longer… but just as they moved, Hyun-Ju saw a shadow at Jun-Hee’s side.

“Hey, get away from them!” She shouted, watching Myung-Gi grab onto Jun-Hee’s arm, keeping Gi-Hun from taking the leap onto the bridge. She couldn’t hear what they said, but the young man froze at the sound of her voice, before Jun-Hee spat at his feet. 

Ideally she wanted them to go last, so they would be safe from threats from behind, but time was in short supply. 

Though that fear dampened somewhat when Myung-Gi pushed past and went before the pair, egging on players before him to make them speed up. 

Why didn’t he just shove Gi-Hun off instead, she found herself thinking. Nothing about that young man who’d caused her so much pain made any sense at all. 

6 minutes and 12 seconds remaining. 

Mi-Rae had gone quiet, sleeping after all the excitement. Hyun-Ju thanked all the treacherous gods that the baby wouldn’t have to watch her mother’s struggle. 

No one moved or breathed when Gi-Hun took that first shuffling step onto the bridge, and despite how her heart begged, Hyun-Ju didn’t let herself close her eyes. Whatever happened, she would make herself remember forever. 

Bending down, Gi-Hun heaved himself and Jun-Hee over the rope, sending a sough passing through the players who had passed. But the effort crashed his knees into each other, Jun-Hee yelping and trying to keep the man upright like a steed. 

He got up again, shuffling fast as he could, before jumping again, landing even shakier. They never managed to get a secure foothold between the jumps, just like Hyun-Ju at the end; and the laws of motion were brutal. 

Hyun-Ju saw it before even Gi-Hun did, the way his torso twisted sideways and Jun-Hee angled herself in the opposite direction. 

They were falling. 

She covered her mouth, screaming against her palm, hands going completely numb, watching her own failure take place slow as damnation. Watching joy and hope slip away.

Like Young-Mi outside the green door, out of Hyun-Ju’s reach.

Jun-Hee only meters away, toppling over the railing.

But no fall came, no blood or announcement. A pair of sinewy hands pushed the pair up from behind, grabbing Jun-Hee by one arm and Gi-Hun by his trousers, pulling them up. 

“Keep going, mister Seong, don’t stop! You have to get her to her baby.” A hoarse, oh so familiar voice cried. 

“Miss Jang.” Hyun-Ju choked. 

Geum-Ja, despite being told to wait for help, had run onto the bridge just in time to prop them up from behind, managing to avoid two rope swings. 

Hyun-Ju’s terror did not simmer. It increased tenfold. 

It was entirely out of her hands now, whether all of them made it to the other side or none at all. She sunk into the ground, blood from the reopened leg wound trickling down her skin. One hoarse, dry sob shook her chest, and the rope swung back around, headed for her reasons to live. 

Chapter Text

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아홉

CHAPTER IX
Brave enough 

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“What’s happening?” Jun-Hee wheezed.

“We told you to wait!” Gasped Gi-Hun. 

“JUMP!” Came Geum-Ja’s voice, keeping her hands on Jun-Hee’s back, taking some of the weight and letting them focus on the rope rather than balance. Without the old woman’s call, Gi-Hun would have missed the timing completely. 

“Miss Jang, t-thank you.” The young mother sniffled. 

“Don’t thank me yet, eyes forward.”

Hyun-Ju stared frozen from her spot on the ground, hands still clasped over her mouth, forcing down the whimpers and shaky breaths. There were so many words she wanted to say, things her heart yearned to share with Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee – but fear of distracting the group for even a moment kept her quiet. 

But what if the words went forever unheard?

From her time in the military and life after coming out, Hyun-Ju had become an expert at loss, death of companions, people leaving her. Still the idea of not being able to hold Geum-Ja’s hands again, of not seeing Jun-Hee smile…

Stop, stop it. She chastised herself, tearing her mind back to the present. 

Swing, jump, swing, jump, the tune of the rope sang, soft and all consuming. 

Her nails found their way into her hair, scratching and pulling at the flaking scalp, body moving in time with the rope as if that would have any effect. 

Has the rope always gone so slow? She wondered. The seconds which seemed to melt away before, now ticked at a snail's pace. Hyun-Ju was useless on the safe side. She’d always known it, and there was the proof. 

You’ll go bald if you do that. A tender voice whispered in the back of her head. 

The old woman’s knees crackled every time they landed, and Gi-Hun had gone beet red from the strain, sweat plastering the white shirt to his skin. Jun-Hee hung on for dear life on his back, looking as helpless as Hyun-Ju felt. 

Swing, jump, swing, jump – the rhythm repeated, until they reached the gap.

Gi-Hun yelped and wobbled, Geum-Ja coughing as she tugged him upright. 

“When you jump, I’ll push you,” the old woman panted, not so much jumping over the rope as hopping from foot to foot, “s-so you’ll have speed to get over.”

“What?!” Gi-Hun said, groaning and jumping in place. “But what about–”

“Hurry up already.” A voice sneered from behind them, that’s when Hyun-Ju spotted the gaunt player 203 getting on the bridge. If the way he’d pushed 276 to his death during the hunt for medical supplies – they were in grave danger. 

She slapped herself in the face, hard, getting back up and cupping her hands around her mouth. Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee both looked frazzled, focus leaving their postures. 

“Up!” Hyun-Ju screamed with all her might, startling the group enough for them to hop over the rope. “Wait, Miss Jang,” she barked, “if you push them they’ll fall. Mister Seong you– up! – let go of Jun-Hee’s legs. Miss Jang, grab them, divide the weight, mister Seong goes first – up! – focus you can do it. Yes, yes, like that, like carrying a stretcher in reverse.”

Getting into position while the rope swung around them happened less than gracefully, Jun-Hee yelping at the pulling of her lower body, vomit trickling from her lips. A mixture of nausea from the birth and pain from her ankle. But by the end of it, Gi-Hun carried the new mother by the underarms, Geum-Ja taking her legs, Jun-Hee facing the bridge. 

“Trying to kill the rest of us by holding up the bridge, eh?” The gaunt man accused, jumping precariously close to Geum-Ja. “I don’t think so.”

4 minutes and 48 seconds remaining. 

With only half of Jun-Hee's weight to support, Gi-Hun cleared the gap, leaving the young woman suspended in the air like a hammock. 

“Are you alright?” Gi-Hun called.

“Mhm.” Jun-Hee rasped. “What do we do now?”

“You have to jump forward at the same time!” Ordered Hyun-Ju, heart threatening to break out of her bruised ribcage. “I’ll count with you, do it out loud, understand? Gi-Hun, you need to make space for her to land. Do not let go of Jun-Hee, not for anything.”

Easier said than done, considering their margin of error equaled Jun-Hee’s height. 

“You’ve got ten seconds or I’m clearing the way.” Player 203 said. “Drop the bitch already!” 

“Yea, let us through, the time is running out.” Someone jumping behind 203 piped up. 

Hyun-Ju stood rigid, eyes plastered on the group on the bridge; committing every movement, breath and expression to memory. She began to count, calling out instructions every few seconds until Geum-Ja and Gi-Hun could move in sync. 

"7…6…5…4…"

"I'm slipping!" Jun-Hee screamed. 

“3…”

“Hang on, there!” Gi-Hun called. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Nodded Geum-Ja. 

“2…1…”

“Jump!” Every pore on Hyun-Ju dripped with desperation, ears starting to ring and white crystals dancing in her vision. 

Geum-Ja leapt over the gap with a yell, at the same time as Gi-Hun ran forward. The pair pulled and pushed Jun-Hee between them, giving the old woman just enough room to plant her feet back on the bridge.

Hyun-Ju’s arms raised up in silent triumph, movement involuntarily, knowing there was still a ways to go. But maybe, just maybe. 

“Get her up steady, quick.” She gulped, one hand pulling at her hair, a clump of strands between bluish fingers. “You’re almost there, you’re doing so well.”

Please, please. 

4 minutes remaining. 

“Just MOVE, assholes.” Called the gaunt man behind them, followed by a scream, as the other player on the bridge fell to his death. “I’m not dying because someone is too weak to play on their own.”

No.

Then came the sound of two bodies connecting, a cry, someone slamming into the ground, and the voice of the announcer echoed through the arena.

It happened all at once; the world was torn asunder, and Hyun-Ju’s legs moved before she could tell them to. Player 203 shoved Geum-Ja from behind, who in turn put all her weight forward to push Gi-Hun the last step he needed to reach the safe platform. He dropped Jun-Hee in the chaos, sending her flying forward over his head, his own face colliding with the concrete… Hyun-Ju did not see where Jun-Hee landed. 

Instead her eyes zeroed in on one thing, with no time for woman or soldier to notice the swirling emotions. Instead the animal threw all caution to the wind, flying through the air. 

Because that last action destroyed any chance of Geum-Ja staying upright, and she fell, toppling sideways just as Hyun-Ju herself had, but lacking the height and strength to catch the ledge. A silent gasp of a cry left the old woman, ground disappearing beneath her feet, body out of sight. 

“Player 456, pass. Player 222, pass. Player 203, pass.”

Hyun-Ju heard nothing, but her throat and lungs seared in a way that made it clear she was screaming. Something unconscious, fueled by panic and love carried her forward, and she lunged herself head first towards the chasm, scraping bare skin on the concrete– but her hand managed to wrap around the old woman’s thin wrist. Skin wrinkling under the force, cold to the touch. 

The speed of Geum-Ja’s fall dragged Hyun-Ju all the way to the edge, nearly sending them both plummeting. Her knee caught on the orange fence, giving the smallest stop to the momentum. But because of the leg injury, she didn’t have the power to get upright. 

Geum-Ja panted and shook, dangling like a puppet in the other’s grasp. 

“Is… is Jun-Hee–?!” The old woman choked. 

“Yes,” Hyun-Ju groaned, arm muscles burning and crackling, “t-they made it. Try to reach, reach for me with your other arm!” She begged. “I’ll pull you up.”

Still swinging, Geum-Ja did all she could to get her other hand up, but when Hyun-Ju leaned down to grab it, she slid further forward, making them both shriek in surprise. 

“Stop! You’ll fall too, don’t do that, you have more to live for, think of the baby, let me go.”

The notion sounded so nonsensical to Hyun-Ju’s ears that it may as well have been spoken in another language. 

“No!” She said sharply, leg soaked from her own blood, wound grinding against the fence. “Try again.”

“Hyun-Ju–”

“Just a little higher.”

“Hyun-Ju–”

“I’ve got you, it’s going to be–”

“Sweetheart,” Geum-Ja whispered, that’s what finally pierced through the stress. “It’s okay. Let me go.”

The tenderness in the old woman’s voice sent a tsunami of confusion over her, so at odds with their situation. How could Geum-Ja be so calm and accepting when Hyun-Ju felt like her soul was being ripped to pieces. 

“I won’t.” She managed to choke out. 

A weak smile stretched across the old woman’s pale face. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as Hyun-Ju forced her gaze down, seeing the drop below, the corpses spread out over the field of flowers. Faces blurred into anonymous numbers, forever. 

Geum-Ja’s hand trembled, and her eyes were wet and weary, but the tenderness in her gaze was as strong as ever. "It's alright." She repeated softly. 

“Don’t make me.” Hyun-Ju sniffled, clinging on with all she had ever been worth. "Help me!" Hyun-Ju bellowed, looking over her shoulder at the other nearby players. "Somebody help!"

Useless, stupid, weak Cho Hyun-Ju… pleading for anyone to hear her. 

Gi-Hun made his way to his feet, and a slight sliver of hope filled them. Hyun-Ju swore she could hear him moving, that his footsteps were the ones echoing behind her. But instead, a colder rasp filled their ears. 

"This is so sad... I'll end their suffering together. Not fair if the old lady couldn’t get across." Player 203 sighed, ushering mumbles of agreement from the others. But before he could reach Hyun-Ju, Gi-Hun tackled into his side, knocking them both to the ground.

“What the fuck?!” 203 spat.

“Someone pull them up!” Gi-Hun cried, keeping the man pinned to the ground. “Quick!”

The other players nearby only stared at the spectacle with blank expressions, some backing away, others averting their gazes. 

"Myung-Gi." Jun-Hee pleaded, looking at player 333 by her side, but he shook his head. 

"I need to watch out for you." He mumbled, “we passed, that’s what matters.”

Jun-Hee gulped and banged her fist against Myung-Gi’s knees, pushing and pulling at his tracksuit pants. “Help them! Help them you piece of shit! UNNIE, MISS JANG!”

“What do you want me to do, risk falling down?” The young man spluttered. “I need to take care of you and our chi–”

“Mi-Rae is mine you coward.” Jun-Hee sobbed. “I wish you’d been knocked off, I wish you hadn’t made it, that I never met you. Somebody do something!”

“My hand is fucked up, what do you expect from me?!”

“More than this, somehow, and you still let me down every single time!”

Gi-Hun continued to wrestle with 203, leaving Hyun-Ju alone, shoulder popping and palm growing sweaty. Her hand was slipping, her leg was slipping, her hope was slipping, the weight dragging her another few centimeters over the ledge. 

“You did good, honey,” Geum-Ja said with an empty smile, tears in her own eyes as well, “you did more than anyone could've ever asked for. Take care of them for me, like you promised.”

Hyun-Ju shook her head, groaning in pain. “Stop it, stop moving. Please reach up again.”

“I’ve lived longer than I should have, think of everyone else–”

“Let me be selfish, just this once!” She whimpered. 

“There isn’t a selfish bone in your body, Cho Hyun-Ju.” The old woman sniffled, letting herself go limp, increasing the weight and burden, offering herself up like a sacrifice. 

Hyun-Ju couldn’t let go, even as her joints screamed and jaw creaked. Every second drew her further towards the edge, logic left her in the tears on her cheeks. 

She inched closer and closer to the drop, lost in a grief old and new, before a pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind and a torso pressed against her back, pulling both Hyun-Ju and Geum-Ja up. Quite thin, short arms, just enough to hold her steady. 

“I’m n-n-o-not a coward.” A weak male voice wheezed in her ear. Hyun-Ju recognized it, but couldn’t tell from where. “Nam-Gyu’s w-wrong-wrong, I’m not a coward.” 

Oh.

“E-ex-excuse me.” A mousy young man with a bowl cut, a red X patch and the number 125 said, waddling up to Hyun-Ju, unperturbed by her state. “Have you seen Se-Mi? O-or… Nam-Gyu?”

“Nam-Gyu?” She replied, voice soft and face still. “He’s dead.”

She did know. It was the mousy young man who’d come up to her after hide and seek, who asked where Nam-Gyu was. And for some girl– there was a name he’d mentioned over and over again. 

“Hold onto me tight.” Hyun-Ju snapped back into the sergeant. “I need to get to my feet. Whatever he said, he was wrong, you’re brave enough for this. Can you do that?”

“...Brave enough.” Player 125 slurred, holding onto the tall woman. “Se-Mi… I’ll save you.”

Whether he was sane or could be trusted didn’t even cross her mind, as she let herself lean down enough to grip Geum-Ja’s hand and wrist with both hands, forcing herself onto her knees. Pulling, leaning back – player 125 keeping her anchored. 

When Geum-Ja’s shoulders lifted high enough to peek over the edge, another pair of hands joined in their struggle. The lady whom Hyun-Ju coaxed into getting across the bridge grabbed the old woman’s other arm, letting Hyun-Ju get to her feet without fear of dropping her precious cargo. 

Putting her whole mass into it, Hyun-Ju fell backwards, toppling herself, 125 and 349 into a heap – Geum-Ja landing on top. 

“Player 149, pass.” Said the intercom voice. 

125 stumbled back up, looking around with a wide smile and glassy eyes, searching for someone, before landing on Jun-Hee. “Se-Mi-A.” He whispered, kneeling before her and taking her hand, grinning and touching the piercing in her eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was brave this time. I didn’t betray you. I di-I didn’t.”

“Back off.” Myung-Gi hissed, kicking the mousy man’s hand away. His own bandage fingers unable to do so. 

125 whimpered, covering his head. 

It all became background noise to Hyun-Ju, as she wrapped Geum-Ja against her larger body, curling over the old woman and clutching her to the chest. She bawled like a child, burying her nose in Geum-Ja’s hair, staining the pale, gray strands with red. 

“Idiot.” Geum-Ja choked, but Hyun-Ju kept rocking them both back and forth. “Why didn’t you just let go? Sweet girl… don’t cry.”

No words of response came, too lost in the relief, Hyun-Ju let herself sink into the fuzziness. Heaving and shaking against the old woman, refusing to let go. She would never let them go, no one else. All she could feel was a heavy, debilitating relief. 

“Don’t hurt him! He saved my friends, unlike you.” Jun-Hee sneered at Myung-Gi, bringing his existence into Hyun-Ju’s periphery. 

“The cross…” 125 slurred, face going from triumphant to frantic. “I’m not… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– I shouldn’t have taken it. Mister Thanos, sir, I didn’t mean it!”

“He looks high, Jun-Hee–” 

“And he’s still a better man than you.” Jun-Hee said. “You’re not protecting me, you were going to let them die for the money.”

“That’s not true, damnit! I’ve saved your life so many times.” Myung-Gi groaned, walking towards the flower bed. “At least this one is okay.”

“Hey, what are you doing? Get away from my baby.”

“Hyun-Ju,” Geum-Ja urged, taking the woman’s face in her hands, “Mi-Rae, take care of Mi-Rae.

The baby’s name dragged Hyun-Ju to her senses, using player 349 to get upright, limping towards Myung-Gi and grabbing him by the collar. 

“Touch her and you die.” She panted, ears ringing and lips going numb. 

“You don’t have the right to keep me from that baby.” Myung-Gi said.

A beep went through the speakers, and the rope creaked to a stop. “The game is over.” The PA announced. 

Guns cocked behind them, pink guards dragging fighting players apart, dragging a bleeding Gi-Hun away from the frazzled, but alive, 203. 

“What’s with you, everywhere there’s pain I see you in the shadows. Killing one person I cared about wasn’t enough?” Hyun-Ju sniffled, vision dimming. “Everyone is money to you.”

“Oh my god, you cannot still blame me for that!” Myung-Gi groaned. “I saved your life during mingle, you should be grateful. Let go, I’m not going to hurt the child, you crazy bastard.”

“I'm the crazy one?" Hyun-Ju hissed. "Me? You couldn’t even be bothered to save an elderly woman. If you think I’m letting you as much as look at that baby, you’re out of your mind.”

“It’s a game! Why should I risk more than I have to? You’re the one who did this to me.” He waved his mangled hand in the tall woman’s face. I'm not here for you, I'm not doing this for you."

“You disgust me–”

“The fifth game is over, you will now be escorted back to the dorms.” One of the square guards said coolly, pulling out a pistol, pointing it at the squabbling pair. 

She shoved Myung-Gi away with a snarl, the masked men separating them, to preserve their playthings for the final game.

“Unnie?” Jun-Hee called, limping over to take Hyun-Ju’s arm, face going white. “Your mouth–”.

Hyun-Ju tried to speak, only for her chest to squeeze with a rattling cough, spraying warm liquid over the ground. She wiped at her lips, fingers coming away dark red. Then like a switch had been flipped by force, she lost control of her arms, limbs falling limp to her sides. 

Next came the legs, knees buckling sideways, sending Hyun-Ju prone to the ground. Her eyes were the last to go, before rolling back in her head and basking her aching bones in blissful darkness. 

To be concluded in act 3, third law.

Chapter Text

PART THREE

“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

Newton’s third law

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열

CHAPTER X

Nobody's daughters

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The dark rocked Hyun-Ju back and forth  like a cradle, leaving her afloat in a body which was for once, free of pain, free of disgust. She lay atop the nothing… or was it water? Distant, warbled voices drifted alongside her, bobbing on the waves, splashing into her eyes and nose. 

“Beom-Chul, darling, lower your voice, the neighbors–” 

“Where is your uniform, son?”

“At least let him take his shoes off.”

“Cho [𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄃], where is your goddamn uniform?” A name, the voice said a name. A name that had once belonged to someone, made of soundwaves which her ears refused to hear, leaving only garbled noise. 

“I can explain.”

Color returned to the world like a gunshot. Then a familiar carpet was beneath her feet – the old green one, flattened by decades of shoes stepping on it – and the foyer to her parents’ house opened up. At once she stood back on a stage she thought she’d left behind. The beige tile beneath gleamed like glass, with a layer of water sloshing on top, soaking her socks. 

Before Hyun-Ju loomed Cho Beum-Chul – her father– and his wife, Ba Hye-Su. Their faces fogged at the edges, blending into the wallpaper, like photographs faded in the sun. Despite her father only reaching her shoulders, Hyun-Ju still had to crane her neck to meet that heavy, flat gaze. 

“Father–” Hyun-Ju said, a nagging sense of deja vu at the edge of her consciousness. “I chose to dress as a civilian for my visit.” She had lied, why had she lied? The murky water gathered up to her ankles. 

“Not only do you dishonor me with your conduct, but you have the nerve to come into our home, and lie to your own father? Did I raise you to have no shame?” Beum-Chul accused. 

“What are you talking about? He’s not in service right now, and you always complained about how uncomfortable the uniform was, dear.” Her mother mumbled, leading Hyun-Ju into the sitting room. The water followed.  “They’re probably being washed, that's all.”

“I’m talking about the fact that I spoke to my friend sergeant major Soong yesterday, and he told me you hadn’t been in service for two months.” Beum-Chul continued. “He tells me, you were dishonorably discharged.”

Hyun-Ju shook her head, water rising to her knees, cold and somehow boiling at the same time. “It was an other than honorable discharge, father–” she blurted. 

“So you admit it? God, god what did I ever do to deserve this?” Beum-Chul choked. “You were a good soldier, [𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄃], what happened?”

Her mother gasped. “[𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄃], is it true? When did this… why didn’t you say something?”

Because you’re going to hate me. Hyun-Ju knew, she recognized the conversation. 

“And what’s with the hair? Why have you let it grow that long, it looks ludicrous.” Beum-Chul squinted.

“Oh that’s why you look so strange,” Hye-Su sighed, “because you’ve been depressed after losing your job– really, you’re in your thirties–”

“Mother, father.” Hyun-Ju interrupted, bowing her head. “I was going to tell you, I swear. It felt wrong to do it over the phone, that’s why I asked to come over.” 

She picked at the sloppy nail polish on her fingers, it was only the second time she’d dared to wear it out. 

“I’ve found a place in Gwangmyeong.” She continued. “I am looking for new employment and–”

“I heard they found lipstick in your barracks.  Did you bring a girl into the base, is that why?” Her father huffed. “Have you finally found yourself a woman to settle down with, at the cost of your career? At your age?”

“Oh… that explains it. But you’ve never been interested in that stuff before, no matter how much I beg for grandchildren. A messy one no doubt, that’s why your hair is so long.” Hye-Su tutted. 

“I–”

“What’s wrong with your shirt, it’s bulging at the top?”

“And your hands– is that nail polish?”

“It is completely unbecoming of a sergeant first class to find himself with a–” 

“Will you listen to me?!” Hyun-Ju shouted, water at chest level. “I am–”

Lightning struck outside the window, filling the air with the smell of sulfur. The room turned sideways, all of the furniture sliding away, glass breaking, lamps toppling. Hyun-Ju grasped the couch for dear life, yet her parents remained upright, unaffected by the change in gravity. A shadow crept across the water, as her father grew a foot taller, voice darkening. 

Her head struck a wall and in a flash they were in the kitchen, plush curtains becoming pots and pans, Beum-Chul crushing his glasses in a tight fist, and Hye-Su sobbing on a stool.

“Eomma.” Hyun-Ju whispered, reaching out to comfort the woman who’d birthed her, raised her. “Mother, why are you crying?”

Hye-Su kept weeping into her hands, before beginning to slap at Hyun-Ju, hitting her face, chest, arms. 

“Because you… you…” her mother hiccuped, “you killed my son! You’re not my child, you killed my son. I want him back, give me back my [𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄃], you dokkaebi!* Where is my boy?!”

Her father whispered, wire frames crumbling in his hand. “I’ve given you everything, fed you food from my table, given you my wisdom, and this… this is how you repay me? Look what you’ve done to your mother!”

He spat on the ground, putting himself between Hyun-Ju and his wife. “Get your painted, disgraceful face out of my home, and never, ever, show yourself here again. If you want to defile yourself, you’ll do it where I don’t have to see you.”

“I’m still me, I’ve always been me.” Hyun-Ju begged. “I’ve always felt like this, always wanted this, I just didn’t have the words.” 

“Don’t put this on us, we didn’t make you a… a transgender.” Beum-Chul spat the word like it tasted foul. 

“Eomma, please.” She whispered, pushing past her father‘s hulking shadow, and cupping her mother’s face with trembling hands. 

The skin beneath her fingers started to pulse, sagging against the bone. The jaw elongated, eyes sinking into the head, even more gray creeping into the hair. Then it wasn’t her mother at all on that stool; but Geum-Ja who sat there. Her gentle face was split in two, one side pale and bloodless, the other caked in red. Her hollow eyes blinked to life, and she started to scream. 

“You killed my son!” She cried, “you killed my boy, it’s your fault, it’s all because of you.”

Wood splintered and debris fell onto the floor, as Beum-Chul inflated to monstrous proportions, head smashing into the ceiling. 

“You chose this,” her father growled, “you earned this. Every disgrace.” 

“You took my child!”

“Get out of my sight.”

“You killed them all. They’re all dead.” 

Hyun-Ju whipped her head around, and there stood Young-Mi, terrified eyes barely visible over the water drowning them both. 

“No.” She whimpered. “This isn’t real.”

“You let them fall.”

“You’ll never be a real girl.”

“How can you be so selfish?”

“Congratulations and celebrations

When I tell everyone that you're in love with me

Congratulations and jubilations

I want the world to know I'm happy as can be.”

The water rose over her shoulders, to her face, welling into her mouth and nose no matter how hard Hyun-Ju held her breath. The darkness which had cradled her so tenderly, filled her lungs and eyes. She kept sinking, skin stretched taut over every imperfection in her bones.

Until an infant’s cry brought her to the surface. 

***

Unlike in the movies, Hyun-Ju didn’t wake up with a start, didn’t shoot up sitting with a scream on her lips. Her eyes simply fluttered open, and she gasped  for air like a woman drowned. The first thing she felt when she returned to consciousness were hands touching her with an unfamiliar tenderness. One hand was small and soft, the other clammy and weathered; holding onto Hyun-Ju, stroking hair from her face. 

“I think she’s waking up…”

“Oh thank god. That’s it, sweetie, it’s all just a dream.”

“You’re safe now.” A raspy woman's voice whispered. 

“A nightmare?” 

“Looks like it… poor thing.” 

Panting, Hyun-Ju blinked and began to orient herself, taking in the bright white lights and stiff mattress below her. It dipped down by her head and knees, where two other people sat vigil: Jun-Hee and Geum-Ja had not left her side. 

“Unnie, are you in pain?” Jun-Hee whispered. 

Somehow, the answer was no. Hyun-Ju felt more stiff and drained than anything else. Every limb seemed far away, like nothing in her body was attached anymore. Had she fainted? At once it all sunk in: she was alive, her companions were alive, the jump rope game had been real.. 

But instead of any question about what happened, any response to the question, the only word that left her was a wet: “Eomma…”

“Hush, dear, you’re awake now” Geum-Ja said, massaging her numb hands, “can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Her breathing began to deepen and she looked down towards the old woman. “Three.” Hyun-Ju rasped.

“Good girl. Do you remember where you live?”

“Gwangmyeong.” Her voice seemed so small in the massive room. 

“That’s right, good job. And your name?”

Her name…[ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄃] filled her ears, she shook her head. “Cho Hyun-Ju.” She responded, firm and resolute. That was her name. 

“Yes. The amazing Cho Hyun-Ju.” Geum-Ja smiled, stroking her arm. 

“Will she be alright, miss Jang?” Jun-Hee murmured, stroking Hyun-Ju’s hair still. 

The old woman nodded. “She needs a hospital, but I think she passed out from exhaustion and not a wound or infection. After what she did on that bridge… I don’t blame her. Can you sit up? Let’s help her.”

Jun-Hee propped her up from behind, while Geum-Ja placed a pillow behind her head. Despite the demons lingering in her bones and the fatigue, Hyun-Ju managed to stay upright.

“How did I get back here?” Hyun-Ju asked, mind racing to forget the nightmare still gripping tight. She tried to focus on remembering the game, looking around the dorm. What had once been a massive space full of barracks and bunk beds reaching the ceilings, now sat stark white and near abandoned. The beds had been placed along the walls as singles, leaving everyone exposed. 

“Mister Seong carried you, with the help of a young fellow and a woman.” Geum-Ja said slowly, bringing a piece of cloth to Hyun-Ju’s lips, drying the blood trickling out. “I would have too, but I took Mi-Rae.”

“125 and 349.” Jun-Hee supplied, pointing to two beds on the other side of the room. The room was still divided by the line in the middle, separating X and O. On the O stood 6 beds, X had 7; one occupied by 125, trembling and blue in the face, another by 349. Gi-Hun lay on the next bed over, a bundle by his side. 

Mi-Rae, the baby– she had to see the baby, make sure she was alright, but Hyun-Ju couldn’t make her mouth move, couldn’t make her hands recoil from the soft touches. The hatred and disappointment in her parents’ eyes were all she could see still. Young-Mi drowning, Geum-Ja screaming in revulsion. 

“What did you dream about?” Jun-Hee asked hesitantly, leaning her forehead on the tall woman’s shoulder. 

“My parents.” Hyun-Ju shuddered, and that seemed to be enough of an explanation. 

They sat in silence for a moment, bodies touching. Like Hyun-Ju was a frostbite victim needing to be heated back up. 

“They don’t know what they’re missing by not having you in their life.” Geum-Ja muttered, wrapping both women in a big hug. “But you’re not like that, you don’t give up on anyone, not even when you should.”

“No one deserves to be given up on.” Hyun-Ju rasped, leaning against the old woman. 

“None of us have family waiting on the outside, do we?” Jun-Hee whispered. 

Mi-Rae made a snuffling sound in her swaddle on the next bed over, Gi-Hun watching over her, grounding them all with just a tiny noise. 

“My house isn’t very big but it’s… way too much for just me.” Geum-Ja murmured. “If you two need somewhere to stay I– I have that waiting for you. Yong-Sik would be–” she grit her teeth. “That baby girl deserves better than a slum, he’d think so too.”

All Hyun-Ju did was nuzzle herself closer to the two women surrounding her, and felt Jun-Hee do the same. 

“...I’ve lost a tooth, haven’t I?” Hyun-Ju grumbled into the fabric of the tracksuit against her cheek. The proclamation brought snorts from them all, and Jun-Hee’s chest vibrated against her back. 

“Yes, yes you have.”

***

The doors to the dorms opened to the sound of the siren, three masked guards stepping down onto the floor.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the fifth game.” Announced the square guard. “Here are the results of the fifth game,” with a remote, he lowered down the piggybank from the ceiling, lights dancing around it. “In the last game, 8 players were eliminated. We now have 14 players remaining.”

“But I only counted thirteen beds?” Jun-Hee whispered, looking at the ceiling. 

Hyun-Ju frowned, blinking herself awake. seven plus six should be thirteen…

“The prize money accumulated to this point is 44.42 billion won, and each person’s share is thus 3 billion 157 million 142 thousand 857 won.” The guard continued. 

“How are there fourteen players left?” Player 203 called from his bed, counting on his hands. “It’s thirteen!”

“He’s right, we’ve counted.” Said another man, pointing to the bunks in the room. “There’s no way we’re wrong. Loads of people fell off the bridge, I saw it! Fourteen is way too much, there's barely any money left for us once it's divied up."

Holding up his hand, the square leader silenced the ruckus. “Players 456, 435, 349, 333, 312, 222, 206, 203, 149, 125, 120, 100, 039, and 001.” He declared robotically. “14players have survived.”

“Hold on.” Gi-Hun exclaimed, putting Mi-Rae to the side. “Player 001, what do you mean? He was a friend of mine, I was there when he died, you hung his body up on display! His name was Yong-Il, he was player 001.”

“Yeah!” The rotund player 100 agreed. “You can’t start including eliminated players, that’s unfair. We demand a recount.”

“Aye!”

“Recount! At least ten people had to have died on the bridge!"

Hyun-Ju bowed her head, remembering the unrecognizable bloodied carcases of those who’d participated in the rebellion, suspended above the stairs as a warning. But Gi-Hun was right, Young-Il had been gone for days now. 

“Player 001,” Said the guard in the same empty, distorted voice, “is right over there.”

Following where the gloved hand pointed, Hyun-Ju’s eyes found themselves on Gi-Hun, which didn’t make the words any more sensible… until she realized he was not alone on the bed.

Mi-Rae lay sleeping beside him. 

Jun-Hee stood up, limping towards the bed as fast as she could, while Geum-Ja sat with her mouth open. Hyun-Ju herself didn’t feel a single thing, except the heartbeat in her throat. 

“What?” Player 100 spluttered. “You’re saying that baby is player 001?”

“Correct.” The square affirmed. “The child is player 001. 

“B-but that guy said player 001 is dead, this makes no sense.” 312, a middle-aged man with a puffy face and greasy black hair said. “How can a newborn baby join in the middle of the game, and take someone else' s number?”

“Wait, but that means the baby gets a cut of the money, right?” 039 mumbled, looking around for approval. 

“Correct, player 001 is a player like anyone else.”

“The hell is this shit?!” Sneered 203. “The bastard who had the number is dead, now you’re just giving it away to a random infant? The damn thing hasn’t even played most of the game, it’s completely unfair.”

“What does a baby need 3 billion won for, huh?!” Shrieked the rotund man, jutting his finger at the money suspended from the ceiling. “That means the mother gets twice as much money as all of us, just for giving birth!”

“Yeah, we all risked our lives in these games, we followed the rules, and this bitch gets more than us for popping out a child. How’s that fair? Most of us can’t give birth, it’s an advantage for the women.” 203 spat. 

“You think it’s easy to give birth, who the hell would want to do that in a place like this?” The woman that had helped Hyun-Ju chimed in, voice wavering. 

“The rules of the game state that 456 players compete in games with the chance to win 456 billion won.” The masked guard continued, just as lackadaisical as before. “The baby entered the games after they had begun, as such, a number could not be added, seeing as the highest number, player 456 is still in the game.” He gestured to Gi-Hun. “Therefore, the child has inherited the number 001, to keep the previously established conditions.”

That masked face turned slowly to Hyun-Ju. “After all,” he continued, “as player 120 pointed out: you cannot be a player without a number.”

If they’d had anything to eat Hyun-Ju would have vomited as her words were parroted back. Used as a twisted excuse to force poor Mi-Rae to be part of this. 

“You can’t do that!” Jun-Hee wailed. “I don’t care about any money, you can’t do that, she’s just a baby!” She curled her entire body around the wiggling bundle, shielding her from view. 

“What are you complaining for, you’re the only one benefiting from this.” Player 203 groaned. “As if this wasn’t your plan all along, why else would you enter the games with that thing in your belly?”

“How can you say that, sir, shame, shame on all of you!” Exclaimed Geum-Ja. “To accuse a woman of bringing innocent life into this world for money. She’s been voting to leave the entire time, this isn’t a place for a mother and babe.”

“She hasn’t signed a consent form.” Gi-Hun remarked, striding up to the guard. “You can’t make her play anymore.” 

“Since player 001 is underage, she cannot enter a binding contract herself. Instead, the mother’s acceptance has been taken into account.”

“I did not consent to Mi-Rae being here!” Jun-Hee said. 

“You were pregnant when you signed. Any player who refuses to participate will be eliminated. Everyone here is a player.”

“If that’s the case, we should just eliminate them right now.” Suggested 206. “This is no way for a child to live.”

“That’s right! No one wants the kid to play, it’s better to eliminate it and bring everything back to what it was.” Player 100 nodded. “It’ll be fairer that way, am I right?”

“Aye!” The gaunt man agreed, stepping towards the line dividing the X and O side. “Hand it over, lady, we’ll make it quick. Or we’ll get rid of you too.”

“C’mon, let’s not make it messy.”

The remaining men who’d voted O crowded around each other, prowling towards the helpless Mi-Rae in her swaddle. 

“Try it.” Hyun-Ju huffed, pushing up from the bed and taking a wide legged stance in front of Jun-Hee. “I dare you.”

———

*Dokkaebi= Korean mythological creatures. Shape shifting goblins. 

Chapter Text

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열하나

CHAPTER XI

Four star sergeant

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“You’re barely standing,” the greasy player 312 scoffed, but there was a quiver in his voice. He lifted a foot as if to step forward, letting it hover in the air a beat too long. Like her father in the nightmare, Hyun-Ju held a stare so like steel in that moment that the man crumpled beneath it. 

She cracked her neck to the side, loosening her shoulders. “If you even breathe in the direction of that baby, you’ll find out just how much is left in me.” Hyun-Ju growled. She fumbled for the hairpin in her pockets, only to find it missing. 

The guards must’ve taken it off her. 

Whether the group of O’s halted due to fear of the tall, battle worn woman – or surprise at her defiance, she could not say. But stop they did. 

Behind her, Mi-Rae stirred and let out a string of whimpers, not understanding why the world had become so loud, or why her mother was clutching so tight. 

The female player 349 sat in complete silence, moving as if to hide under her bed at the first sign of confrontation. 125 didn’t see anything happening around him, glassy, watery eyes staring at nothing. Myung-Gi, meanwhile, kept that same, lingering gaze on Jun-Hee. 

“W-we don’t want a fight,” the meek player 039 squeaked, “we just… want a fair game is all.”

“How is any of this fair! Leave the baby and her mother alone, vote X before the next game and let’s all get out of here.” Geum-Ja tried, standing by Hyun-Ju’s side like a tired old guard dog. “Because this… this is cowardice.”

“Cowardice? You couldn’t even get across the bridge by yourself. And where’s your son, huh?” 203 accused. 

“Listen to yourselves.” Gi-Hun exclaimed tersely. “That young girl didn’t bring her baby in here on purpose, she’s not the one who chose for this to happen– they did.” he pointed towards the pink guards, looking at something only he could see.  “You think you’re in control?” His voice cracked. “You think any of us are in control?!”

“You calling us stupid, mister rebellion, mister played these games before? Think we believe a word you say?” Player 100 hutted. “If anyone knows about playing dirty it’s you, with your stunts getting people killed. We all know you did it on purpose.  And you,” he pointed to Hyun-Ju, “you knew this would happen, that’s why you keep protecting the little thing. Trying to make the mother like you so she’ll give you the money? People like you make the world a worse place to live.”

People like you. 

“I have two kids and a wife at home, I need the money too!”

“Just kill it already!” Someone groaned. 

“What if we take it instead? If the mother is eliminated, whoever has the baby has to get its share, right?” Offered 039. “So we don’t have to… you know.”

No one answered – the silence vibrated… then somebody moved. 

And it wasn’t an argument anymore – it was a scramble. 

Hands were everywhere; shoving, grabbing, flailing. A body tried to dart past Hyun-Ju, but she instinctively used her leg to trip them, tensing as she did. It was the injured leg she’d put out, ankle twisting at an odd angle. Someone else's knee crashed against a bedframe, she elbowed a man in the chest… who she could not say. 

In the mess, player 312 got past on her other flank, sprinting, yanking at the swaddle in Jun-Hee’s arms. 

“Let go of her!” She cried, clinging onto the baby with both arms, kicking and wriggling, baring her teeth. 

“Just give it here. I’ll take good care of her–” player 312 panted. 

Gi-Hun jumped into the fray, gripping 312 from behind, trying to dislodge his grip on the fabric. The innocent little life in between, a tug of war rope. Jun-Hee fell down into the mattress as Gi-Hun dragged the other man backwards, sprawling onto the ground, hands waving by their sides. And for a terrifying moment, Mi-Rae was airborne; the shrieking bundle of cloth tumbling through the air. 

Jun-Hee jumped but missed her by a decimeter, landing hard on the floor. 

Hyun-Ju didn’t think, she just moved, diving, arms outstretched – in spite of bruised ribs and crippled leg. Eyes trained solely on the baby. She felt the weight of Mi-Rae against her palms for a heartbeat, before a body barreled into her side. 

The baby sobbed, sailing through the air again — until her small voice quieted down, muffled. 

Silence grabbed the tumult by the throat, choking them. 

At the edge of it all stood Myung-Gi, mangled hand at his side, infant nestled in the crook of his elbow. Hyun-Ju felt all the blood rush from her face and into her feet, making her heavy.

Of all the people in the world, it was him. 

Myung-Gi didn’t say a word, looking like Mi-Rae had come into his arms by complete accident, unable to cradle her properly because of the broken right hand. He looked at the whimpering bundle, lips parted – swallowing, eyebrows knitting together. The infant whined, but was no longer screaming, feet kicking outside the cocoon of jackets. 

Hyun-Ju couldn’t help but notice the torment in his eyes, similar to how he’d looked at Jun-Hee through the entirety of the games. The scene was almost… paternal. Before she could move, think or speak, a gunshot cracked the stillness to pieces. 

Everyone flinched and covered their heads; but for Hyun-Ju and Myung-Gi.

The square guard had raised his pistol to the ceiling, firing a shot, before the armed triangles by his side descended the stairs by the door towards the players. 

“Cease all movement,” the distorted voice boomed, “all physical violence between players will be suspended for the time being. It is our intention to give every player a fair chance to vote. Please cooperate."

Jun-Hee lay panting on the ground, Geum-Ja by her side, looking ready to defy everything to reach out and take back her child. 

The doors opened with a metallic creak, after which a line of thirteen masked men with circles on their faces stepped inside, carrying black boxes wrapped in pink ribbons. 

“To congratulate you all for reaching the final game, we have prepared a special gift.” Continued the square, as the guards with the boxes lined up. “A feast will be held in your honor, with a special prize, to award your performances in the games. You have set a record, never before have so many contestants reached the finale. We sincerely congratulate and commend you for your achievement.”

No one dared move, but Hyun-Ju tasted hatred on her tongue.

13 out of 456, the most that had ever survived thus far?

443 men and women gone, and they were being congratulated for not being among them?

How many people have died in this room? She found herself wondering. 

What goddamn achievement were they being thanked for?

“Before you receive your reward, please change into the outfits we have brought you. You may now approach and retrieve your respective boxes.”

No one wanted to be the first to move, until player 203 stepped up, wiping blood from his nose – courtesy of Hyun-Ju’s elbow. 

“About fucking time, I say.” He grumbled, taking the box with his number, shaking it like a curious kid with a birthday present. Jostling the clothing inside, an innocent, nostalgic sort of sound. 

But for that moment, all Hyun-Ju could hear were the soft snuffles and whimpers from Mi-Rae, still in the no man’s land of Myung-Gi’s arm. Then Jun-Hee pushed off the ground, face white and legs wobbly, but she moved with purpose.

“Give her back.” The young woman said, voice sharp but breathy, stumbling up to Myung-Gi. 

He opened his mouth, eyes still trained on the infant – before closing it again. An argument seemed to physically linger on his lips, though nothing came of it. Still, Myung-Gi made no move to hand over the child. 

“She’s mine,” Jun-Hee whispered, holding out a hand, “you didn’t want her then, you can’t have her now.”

“Jun-Hee.” He gulped, eyes fluttering up from the child, then darting to the other players in the room, who were all observing them in one way or another. “Come on–”

“We don’t need you, we don’t want you.” Jun-Hee said  with a leaden tone of finality. “There’s no meaningful part of you in her.”

Hyun-Ju rose with Geum-Ja’s assistance, ready to step in at the drop of a hair… but the way they spoke, the familiarity and disdain so much deeper than anything that could have been forged within the games. Something old. 

Could he be–? No, surely not. 

“All I want is to help.” Myung-Gi murmured, words stumbling over themselves. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Do this… you did this to your damn self.” Snapped Jun-Hee. “You’ve run out of chances.” Her outstretched hand shook, lips wobbling. “We’re done.” She choked out. 

“Why them?” He asked, voice sharper. “Why them and not me?” Face a collage of love, fear and disdain, the word “them” drenched in venom. 

“Give me my daughter.” Was all Jun-Hee offered in response – she had no more words to spare the man. 

“Jesus…” He hissed, closing his eyes, mangled hand hanging useless by his side, twitching. As if Mi-Rae had morphed from the most precious thing in the world to something scalding hot, he shoved her into her mother’s arms. With one last look at the child, he turned heel and walked off, sending a glare in Hyun-Ju’s direction all the while. 

Geum-Ja and Hyun-Ju gathered around Jun-Hee, who was fighting down tears like they were made of acid. Mi-Rae squirmed and scrunched her little face, but the poor baby was back in her mother’s arms. Safe, in a way.

But for how long?

***

Never could Hyun-Ju have dreamt that a women’s bathroom would become her safe haven, yet there she stood, gift box in hand, back inside the tiled room where she let herself breathe. Four of them plus Mi-Rae occupied it, Geum-Ja, Jun-Hee, herself, and player 349. 

The short, middle-aged woman had been reluctant to let Hyun-Ju into the bathroom, it was clear by the way she’d stopped, realizing where they’d headed – but Geum-Ja spoke up for Hyun-Ju just as she’d done days prior, and 349 relented. 

“Wait for us, don’t go back on your own.” Hyun-Ju said, bending down on herself to appear less threatening. “It’s better if we stick together.”

349 hesitated for a moment longer, before bowing her head in thanks, heading into a toilet stall.

“Unnie, will you–?” Jun-Hee asked, holding the baby out to Hyun-Ju, rocking her gently. “While Miss Jang and I change.” 

It still came as a surprise, even after all they’d done together, the trust they’d shown each other. “Of course.” Hyun-Ju nodded, taking the infant. She gurgled, tiny hands flailing around, before grasping a piece of Hyun-Ju’s t-shirt. Light, soft and warm Mi-Rae lay – yet the game makers had looked at her sweet face and made her a plaything. 

She wanted to keep standing, to keep watch and vigil, but not even her stubbornness was enough to push down the pain anymore. So Hyun-Ju sat herself atop a sink, trying not to drop the baby. 

Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee went into a stall, helping each other change, before coming back a few minutes later clad in sharp suits. 

They looked tailor made, trousers at just the right length, dress shoes polished to a mirror finish. A crisp white shirt sat under suit jackets with draped collars; fit for either wedding or funeral. Despite the elegance, the patches on her companions' chests were a stark reminder of the battle to come. Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee wore two patches each, one with their player number, and the other a black square with the red X indicating their vote. 

“How’s your ankle?” Hyun-Ju asked, looking at the still swollen, bandaged limb. 

Jun-Hee just shook her head. “Not good, but it hasn’t gotten worse. What about your leg?”

“Worse.” Hyun-Ju sighed in response, looking down and flexing her toes. “But we can tear our old shirts up and use them as dressing and… we have a majority, the games should end after this vote. I’ll find a doctor.” She closed her eyes before speaking again, but the words didn’t taste as foul as she expected. “I’m going to need help getting the suit on. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Geum-Ja grunted. “Come on, let’s start with the trousers.” She held up a hand before Hyun-Ju could interrupt. “No, I won’t look, don’t worry.”

Just like the night Geum-Ja had stitched up her leg, the old woman knelt before Hyun-Ju, now sitting on a toilet lid, helping the sweatpants off her hips and legs. This time there were no tears of shame, only hisses of pain. 

Hyun-Ju rolled her stiff shoulders, buttoning up the white shirt while Geum-Ja fastened the suit trousers at the waistband. 

“It doesn’t feel like it fits.” She murmured, feeling the fabric stretch over her defined biceps and chest. 

“You look good.” Geum-Ja reassured. “Jun-Hee, hand me her jacket please.”

Jun-Hee held Mi-Rae close, nose buried against the baby’s scalp, but retrieved the suit marked 120 from its box. “Here.” 

“Thank you.” Geum-Ja said, taking the jacket and holding it up for Hyun-Ju to put her arms through. “There you go and – oh!” The old woman’s eyebrows shot up. “What’s that?”

At the gasp, Jun-Hee walked up to the stall, eyes widening. “Unnie, why are there stars on your jacket?”

“Stars?” Hyun-Ju frowned, running a hand over her chest. Sure enough, over her number sat four embroidered patches; woven in silky, golden thread. Four gold stars, reminiscent of a military uniform. “I don’t know… maybe there were some in your boxes?”

“No, they’re empty, I checked everything in case there were weapons.” Jun-Hee said. 

“Four stars?” Player 349 called from her own stall. “I only have one!”

“This makes no sense at all.” Geum-Ja muttered, standing up. “Miss, come out here please so we can see! Everyone is dressed. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Alright. I uh– I’m Ae-Cha, Lee Ae-Cha.” The woman gulped, stepping out into the open, fiddling with her cuffs. Sure enough, a single gold patch hung above the number 349.

“Huh! You have zero… and you have four.” Ae-Cha hummed, her face a vision of bafflement. “Why have I got one?”

“Are there any in Mi-Rae’s box?” Hyun-Ju asked, snapping into action. Something about the stars filled her with unease, tugging at her heartstrings like metal clamps. 

In the box labeled 001 was only a tiny bowtie, and a black swaddling cloth with the same number on it. No stars. 

“I don’t get it, they’ve never said anything about stars before.” Jun-Hee said. 

“Does it show how much debt we have?” Ae-Cha offered.

“No… we’re all in debt.” 

“Do they indicate teams?”

“How can we be divided into teams before we’ve even voted to play the last game?”

A ding from the speaker interrupted the discussion, but Hyun-Ju kept looking at the fabric, running a nail over the glossy thread. 

 “Players, please report to the dorms, our staff will escort you outside while we prepare the feast.”  Announced the PA voice. “I repeat: players, please report to the dorms–”

“But I have a feeling we’re going to find out soon…” She whispered, more to herself than the others.

***

The remaining players were herded together into a line, forming a sort of twisted penguin huddle; everyone clad in black and white with bowties around their necks. 

While limping towards the dining hall, Hyun-Ju scanned all the men’s jackets, looking for a pattern to explain the stars. Strangely enough, she found only three players (sans Mi-Rae) with no stars at all: Jun-Hee, Geum-Ja, and player 100. Player 100, who in Hyun-Ju’s opinion had the least possible in common with her companions. Most players, like Ae-Cha, had one star; player 125 and Gi-Hun among them. A scattering had two, while the breasts of Myung-Gi and player 203 gleamed with three each.

No one else has four. She noted, as if she needed to stick out more than she already did… She crossed her arms, covering her chest, feeling eyes present and past boring into her. 

The guards led the procession into the corridor, leaving them to stand along a wall, waiting, watching workers clad in pink scurry about like worker bees. 

Player 100 rocked back and forth on his heels, looking down the line, then at his own jacket, before elbowing the man beside him. 

“Hey, where’d you get those stars?” The rotund man asked in a frantic, hushed tone.

“Hm?” Blinked player 312. 

“Where did you get them? Why don’t I have any?”

“I don’t know man, they were on my jacket.” The other man answered, putting a protective hand over them. 

They mean nothing. Hyun-Ju thought. They mean nothing, and they’re still fighting over them – over the simple idea of having. 

“Hey, hey guards!” Player 100 called, waving at a square manager. “You forgot to give me my stars.”

“Everything is in order.” The masked man replied, not so much as looking in their direction. 

“No it’s not,” player 100 complained, “why do they have stars and I don’t, huh?”

“We ask for your patience and continued cooperation, everything will be explained in full during the meal.”

*** 

In mere minutes, the dorms had transformed into a sort of ballroom, with living candles, flower arrangements, tables and chairs set up in a half circle; clad in tablecloth and fine china. Beside a table at the end stood a crib, decorated just the same. 

They had a crib ready… 

Had they planned for Mi-Rae to be part of this from the start?

At the center of the semi circle she saw a dais, with the accursed piggybank and a voting machine with the X and O button beside it. In front of it all hung a projector screen, evoking the image of her school auditorium. 

“Players, please, be seated.” Said the square, gesturing to the tables. Leaving the hall in silence, polished shoes clanking against the tiles. 

Myung-Gi became the first to grab a seat, unceremoniously plopping down at the far side, away from the crib. Geum-Ja kept a hand on Jun-Hee’s back, helping her to her seat – only after that did Hyun-Ju allow herself to do the same. 

Soft, classical music drifted through the speakers, and pink guards trickled in, pushing carts over-full of cloches and bottles of rich wines and champagne. Soon the tables filled with steaming bowls of rice, noodles, beef, bangchan, seafood pancakes, kimchi… the mountain made Hyun-Ju nauseous. A masked man in a circle set a bottle of baby formula in Mi-Rae’s crib, and looked ready to feed the baby, before Jun-Hee stared him down. 

“We’ve prepared enough food and drink for you all. If you want more, don’t hesitate to tell us.” Called the square leader. “This feast is in your honor, please, savour it.” He walked onto the dais, taking a remote from his pocket. 

“Congratulations once more for your perseverance. As you dine, we invite you to reflect on your journey. But first a special announcement.”

The lights dimmed, and a projector hummed to life behind them, flickering, sending light onto the wall. “As mentioned, this is a record breaking game. Therefore we wish to reward you.”

The silhouette of a star appeared on the projection. “You may have noticed the stars on your suits. They represent your… achievements, throughout the game. And if, but only if, the majority votes to play the final game; every star will earn you an additional 50 million won each. This money is individual to the star holder, and will not be added to the total prize pot.” 

Several players froze mid-bite, Geum-Ja dropped her chopsticks on the floor.

“You mean— some of us are already richer than others?” Ae-Cha murmured. 

“Excuse me?!” Shouted player 100, standing up. “This is some horseshit, I didn’t get a single star! I’ve survived just like everybody else.” 

“And he has three, how come he got so many?” Player 312 agreed, pointing at 203. 

The gaunt man stood up, slamming a fist on the table. “Ey, don’t look at me! That bitch has four,” he jabbed a thumb towards Hyun-Ju, “how the fuck does that work out? Did she bribe you? Did you? Seems like favoritism to me.”

“Or rigging.”

“Where’s the fairness in this?!”

“The games will always remain fair ” Continued the square, voice flat. “They still are. Each star was earned, not through luck, but initiative. This will not take away from the normal winnings, it is simply a bonus.”

“Oh yeah, earned how?” Player 100 demanded.

“A star is awarded to a player, through elimination. You have received one star for each player you directly caused the elimination of.”

Hyun-Ju couldn’t breathe, the black and white tiles around them swirling into gray mush. Every single eye in the room turned her way, staring, judging, calculating. Seong Gi-Hun, who sat directly across from her on the other side, looked at her with pin sized pupils, mouth agape. 

She’d killed four people – all in defence, all to save others… but the stars on her chest only told one story. One of slaughter. 

The pink leader pressed the remote again, projecting a score sheet full of numbers. It read:

001: 0

100: 0

149: 0

222: 0

039: 1

125: 1

206: 1

349: 1

456: 1

312: 2

435: 2

203: 3

333: 3

120: 4

“This is rigged, I must have eliminated someone!” Player 100 bellowed, spitting pieces of unchewed food everywhere. 

“I believe it, you got carried, gramps.” Player 203 sneered. “You’ve been having everyone else do your dirty work.”

“T-that’s not–” the rotund man faltered, before pointing to Hyun-Ju, “you’re telling me you think someone like that could eliminate four players?! A-and him,” he gestured to 125, “he’s high out of his mind! How did he–”

“Please, settle down.” The masked guard ordered, warped voice overpowering all. “If the group votes to continue, there will be more chances to earn stars. Moreover, the stars are not individual, and can be given away freely. Further rules will apply, if the majority vote is O.”

“I still don’t trust it, where’s the proof?”

“To ensure transparency,” the music was turned off entirely, lights dimming further, leaving only the flickering of the candles, and the projector, “we will now show how each star elimination took place. As I said, take this time to enjoy, think about your decision, and reminisce about your time here thus far.”

Oh gods.

Oh gods. 

Hyun-Ju’s ears rang, and she gripped the side of her table hard. Desperate eyes looked for Jun-Hee and Geum-Ja, finding no resentment, only pallor and worry. But Gi-Hun’s gaze remained black with shock. 

“Player 120, four stars.” The PA announced, and the projector showed three different camera angles, a bird's eye view of the hide and seek maze. To her infinite horror, there was audio. 

Jun-Hee’s yell as she broke her ankle on the stairs, tumbling to the ground, Geum-Ja darting after her, player 226 approaching. “Just move.” The man in seeker red panted. “Okay listen, the little bitch is the only one I’ll kill.” Then the scene flickered, the time stamp skipping forward fifteen seconds… 

Showing the moment Hyun-Ju drove the knife through player 226’s neck. 

Food had never looked less appetizing. 

Chapter Text

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

열둘

CHAPTER XII

Crimson constellations

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Death was supposed to come with a slideshow of your own life – your loved ones, your choices, your regrets – or so they said. But as Hyun-Ju stared up at the flickering projector screen, she couldn’t help but think this was closer, that it was a more punishing fate. It wasn’t her life flashing before her eyes, but images of the lives she’d cut short. Laid out one by one like evidence in a courtroom – like sins on judgement day. 

“Player 226, eliminated.” Pinged from the speakers, just before the time stamp skipped ahead once again. 

They were transported back to that blue room with sea creatures painted along the walls, watching the intimate scene of Jun-Hee and Geum-Ja wrapping up the newborn, squirming Mi-Rae in a jacket. A scene too personal and human to be caught on camera in such a voyeuristic way, numerous invading eyes none of them could control. 

Eyes of the finalists in the room turned from the screen and their meals to Jun-Hee, who hid her face behind her hair, feeding the baby. Geum-Ja left her seat to wrap the young mother in her arms, glaring at everyone who stared, whispering comforts. 

Then player 202 filled the screen: Hyun-Ju’s second star. 

He strode into the room, knife in hand, lunging with deadly intent. Hyun-Ju watched herself tackle the seeker into the corridor, both of them colliding and falling – and then her own scream pierced through the speakers. Sharp and familiar, as the knife stabbing into her leg was broadcast in grainy projector definition. 

Now every finalist knew where she was injured. 

The footage skipped forward, showing her back against a rainbow mural, nostrils flared, muscles popping; driving a knife into the man’s chest again and again. Before letting his body drop, and smearing blood onto her cheek like war paint. 

But notably… they didn’t show her finding the exit, being found by 039, or going back to protect her companions. 

“Player 202, eliminated.”

“Holy shit.” Blurted someone in the dining room. 

She wanted to disappear. 

The third came without preamble, camera showing Hyun-Ju straddling Nam-Gyu, bashing his head into the ground again and again. Before her fingers wrapped around the keychain on his neck, choking him to death. 

Nothing of the confrontation before. 

Nothing of the people she tried to protect. 

“Player 124, eliminated.”

At long last, star number four: the man who had begun pushing people off the jump rope bridge in the last game. But as if their tormentors had a set deadline for her torture, none of that was shown. All three angles zoomed in on Hyun-Ju forcing player 096 to stop by stabbing his neck. 

No context. 

No redemption. 

Only murder. 

“Player 096, eliminated.” 

The room was abuzz with whispers. Ae-Cha who sat at the next table, moved her chair away, hand going to the sharp cutlery – as if Hyun-Ju might attack her at any moment. 

Her head throbbed and throat closed up. 

Player 203 gave her three slow, taunting, applause. “Well…” he swallowed, “fuck me, I guess I was wrong.”

“Dragging the grandma and mommy along for an easy kill at the end? Jesus Christ. What a beast.” Scoffed another. 

“How’s a baby worth more than four men?”

“...threat.” Someone murmured. 

“Ruthless.” Echoed the consensus. 

“That’s not what happened!” Jun-Hee choked. “That’s not what happened at all! She was protecting–”

“Player 203: 3 stars.” The PA interrupted, and the reel of slaughter continued. 

“I earned all three.” The gaunt man huffed, spooning rice into his mouth. 

A woman cut with a fork the night before the rebellion, then a stab in the back to a hider in hide and seek. Two stars– 

Geum-Ja began to sob, covering her mouth and reaching out as if to touch the projected image. 

Because under the dead man lay Yong-Sik, splattered in blood, looking terrified. He’d been fighting the hider before it happened, and had almost been killed by him. That was the vision the game makers chose to broadcast, the last image Geum-Ja might ever see of her child. 

Last came the player who had been the first victim of Myung-Gi’s medical supply lie, 276, cracking his skull open on the tiled floor of the dorms. 

“What?” 203 scoffed, spitting food everywhere. “Mind your damn business.”

Next: “Player 333, three stars.” 

Myung-Gi.

For the first time since they’d woken up within the games, he could not look Jun-Hee in the eye.

His first star was hard to see, the footage grainy and not visible from as many angles. The camera was half covered by a mess of bodies, it looked like the tumult in the men’s bathroom that they’d heard about. What she could make out clearly, was the shock of purple hair of that rapper, Thanos, getting a fork pierced into the underside of his chin. The rest of his stars were “earned” in hide and seek – and for each one, Nam-Gyu was by his side, stabbing their victims in tandem. Players 235 and 411  bled out afraid on the projection. 

“Isn’t that more like half a star for each?” Argued player 100, but his words, previously heeded by all, had dimmed in strength due to his lack of his stars. 

Of course Hyun-Ju had known that Myung-Gi killed more than one person during hide and seek, more than was necessary for his survival, but watching it from the outside was a different thing entirely. She thought there had been more — but clearly the games were strict about what counted as “eliminating by your own hands.” 

“Greedy bastard, that’s why there weren’t any left at the end?” Player 203 spat… Myung-Gi at least had enough shame to stay silent. 

Hyun-Ju felt a thought creep in: if things had gone different, all her life would have boiled down to would’ve been a fourth star on his chest. 

The clips kept coming, every player forced to relive the lives they’d taken, each with different levels of detail and chase. 

“S-she was threatening me!” Gasped player 435 when his own stars got revealed, pointing to the screen, showing him strangling a woman during lights out. “I swear, I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t. But she was going to… t-to– I have a kid damn it! I’m not some monster or nothin’.”

“She was half your size, dude.”

No one’s reaction was the same as another’s. Some, like 203, cheered, others looked away in shame, some prayed, others cried and tried to explain themselves. 

Almost everyone still alive had been seekers, Hyun-Ju realized. They all had an excuse, killing for necessity. She didn’t have a red vest to hide behind. 

She glanced over at Gi-Hun again, who still looked at her with that empty, disbelieving expression. 

That’s how he got his star, she guessed, out of pure need for survival. Probably the shaman woman who’d given them all such grief, persuading her followers to keep playing the game. They’d forced even a man who came to save them all to fight like an animal— 

Then the PA spoke the number. 

“Player 456: one star.”

After the flurry of action and blood that had been the sordid compilation thus far, Gi-Hun’s reel felt almost too calm. The cameras showed him walking, back straight, face unreadable, not as much as flinching at the sound of screams around him. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry either, striding through the alleyways. 

“Dae-Ho…” Jun-Hee breathed, and Hyun-Ju gasped. There in the background of one of the camera feeds, she saw a familiar hair bun and the number 388. 

The last time she’d seen him, truly seen him, was when he was rocking back and forth on his bunk, covering his ears; repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” again and again. Unadulterated terror, unable to give Hyun-Ju the magazines. 

On the projector, Dae-Ho was running, before disappearing from view as the cameras focused on Gi-Hun. Hyun-Ju bowed her head, selfishly thankful that she wouldn’t have to know in what sordid way they’d lost him in there. 

A sweet man, overexcited, a bit unreliable, but gone too soon. 

The feed buffered, and Gi-Hun stood on a staircase – player 044, Seon-Nyeo in her blue vest looking at him from below. 

I was right, Hyun-Ju frowned, looking towards Gi-Hun in the dining hall again…

… finding him pale as a sheet, gripping the tablecloth. 

“You piece of shit, you think you can harm me?” Seon-Nyeo spat through the speakers, watching Gi-Hun come towards her. His face remained emotionless, not a word left his lips. 

“Don’t do this, I’ll clear all your bad karma.” The woman on the screen pleaded. “You..!” Her back hit the wall. “You’re looking for him, aren’t you? Player 388. The one who betrayed you.”

What?

“I saw him.” Continued the shaman, voice echoing through the speakers. “He was right outside just now. He injured his leg. He went that way, leaving a trail of blood.” She pointed. 

And Gi-Hun looked.

“Go kill him.” Seon-Nyeo whispered. “Go kill him. If you kill him, all your bad karma will be cleared.”

Hyun-Ju swore she would wake up any second now.

Because Gi-Hun walked in the direction he’d been pointed.

“No.” It sounded like Jun-Hee, but she couldn’t turn from the screen to confirm. 

It couldn’t be, her ears were playing tricks on her. 

10 minutes, the time stamp hopped forward, Gi-Hun still prowling about, following blood splatters on the ground. He trudged up another staircase, before turning around, walking towards the open green door. Behind it, Dae-Ho huddled, hands clasped over his mouth. 

Hyun-Ju kept waiting for the twist, the gotcha, the moment her fears would be proven wrong. It didn’t come. 

“Brother, I…” Dae-Ho spluttered. “I really wanted to do well.”

Gi-Hun raised his knife, and the other man jumped backwards. “I was never a marine, okay? I didn’t do military service, I-I was social service personnel, I’ve never held a gun. Even my tatto is fake, I lied so I could be with you guys!”

There it was again, the terror. 

“I thought if I were one of you, even a pathetic loser like me…” he sobbed, “could do anything.”

Gi-Hun breathed heavily, impassive mask warping into a snarl. “It’s your fault.” He said. 

“Brother!” Begged Dae-Ho. “I was going to bring back the magazines, I swear. I had gathered them and I was going to come back but I… suddenly, I got so scared–”

“It was your fault!”

Chaos erupted. A scuffle, screaming, falling and clambering. Dae-Ho fought his way out from under Gi-Hun, cursing and spitting, fleeing. But Gi-Hun gave chase.

“It’s my fault? My fault? What about you?!” Dae-Ho cried. “How come you were the only one to come back alive? It was you, wasn’t it. You tricked us all so you could win the game.”

The only one to come back alive…

The only one to come back alive…

How was he still alive? Why? Dae-Ho’s words sent Hyun-Ju into a spiral. She rose to her feet as if in a trance, eyes still on the video. 

Another skip ahead, and Dae-Ho was on his back, Gi-Hun straddling him, bloody hands around the younger man’s neck. 

A whispered: “It was all your fault.” 

And then.

“No!” Jun-Hee shouted, causing Mi-Rae to fuss. 

“Player 388 eliminated.”

Silence. Not just in the speakers, but the entire dorm turned dining hall. Just a final shot of Dae-Ho’s arms going slack, face white and frozen in time – screen fading to black, going on to the next player like nothing had happened. 

Hyun-Ju stood still, every breath laced with smog and disbelief. She looked across the table – Gi-Hun could not meet her gaze. 

His hands trembled around the linen tablecloth, and his lips quivered. Jun-Hee had begun to hiccup and shake, tears threatening to spill. 

“You..?” Hyun-Ju gulped, voice cracking. 

“Hyun-Ju,” Geum-Ja murmured, trying to reach her from her seat, “don’t–”

But it was too late; she lunged across the table with a scream, sending wine glasses and porcelain crashing to the ground. Gi-Hun flinched back, chair scraping across the tiles – but before she could reach the man, four pink guards grabbed her arms and legs. 

“Let me go!” She roared, thrashing and snarling. “You bastard! You hunted him down like an animal. You murdered him!”

“Why him, why him?” Jun-Hee whimpered. 

Gi-Hun didn’t speak, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out.

“LOOK AT ME! Look at me and tell me what you did.” Hyun-Ju demanded, struggling against the guards’ grip. “Was what Dae-Ho said true, is that why? ARE YOU ONE OF THEM?! You lied to all of us didn’t you. They brought you back alive in a box– we didn’t even question it. Why did they let you live?”

Jun-Hee cried openly, rocking Mi-Rae as if rocking herself. Geum-Ja covered her mouth, trying to get the guards off Hyun-Ju to no avail. 

“Player 120,” a gun cocked by her ear and the square leader spoke in his mechanical voice, “cease or you will be restrained for yours and the other’s safety–”

“His safety, you mean?” Hyun-Ju spat. “Because he’s one of you?! You keep protecting him. You went on about people watching us for entertainment, is that what this is to you?”

“I had to do it.” Gi-Hun said, not looking convinced by his own words, one tear hanging still in his stubble. “Hyun-Ju. I’m nothing like them.”

That’s all he had to offer?

Before Hyun-Ju could really give him a piece of her mind, her arms were pinned behind her back and someone pressed her into the chair, handcuffing her to the wood. Not torturously tight, but enough that she couldn’t move.

Or choke Gi-Hun until he told them the truth. 

“You pretended to be better,” she panted, “to be broken, to be human. He was scared, he trusted you. We trusted you.” 

“You’ve killed four people.” Gi-Hun shot back, forcing further tears down. “Four human beings–”his voice wavered. 

“Don’t.” Hyun-Ju said. “Don’t compare this.” 

“I didn’t want to!”

“Bullshit! You chased him specifically, blamed him.” 

“I’m not like them, I’m not one of… I want this to end. I swear. That’s why I helped Jun-Hee. That’s why I came back!”

“Don’t look at them.” Hyun-Ju growled, twisting in her restraints. “You don’t have the right.”

“What gives you the right to decide that?!” 

“Sweetheart,” Geum-Ja sniffled, “shhhh, don’t give them a reason to hurt you.” 

A hush fell over the tables. 

In the background of her fury, the stars continued to be counted on the projector screen. The square guard stepped onto the dais, holding the remote aloft. “The time for reflection is over. It’s time for decisions.” 

The projector clicked off, leaving the room in darkness, before the heavy piggyback blinked alive with gold light. 

“You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not. But before we begin, you will be reminded of the rules. The stars you carry are worth 50 million won each, but if the majority vote is X, they won’t be eligible. The stars only go into effect after the final game. Voting to stop now, means they are worthless.”

“And you said it’s possible to earn more stars?” Player 100 asked. 

“That is correct.”

“And they’re transferable?”

“Correct. Stars can be transferred by choice, or if a player is eliminated. If a player is personally eliminated, the stars are inherited by the eliminator.”

Hyun-Ju hung her head, metal digging into her wrists. The game makers dangled the stars before them like dog treats. And her four stars must’ve smelled especially good to those around her. 

“It’d be a waste not to continue.” Player 203 shrugged. 

“No, nonono,” Geum-Ja pleaded, “you can’t mean that.”

“The vote will now begin. Player 456, cast your vote.” Ordered the square. 

Gi-Hun rose and walked to the podium, pressing the red button without any hesitation. Hand still on the X button, he gazed at Hyun-Ju – eyes so full of emotion they looked black. 

456: X

She couldn’t comprehend what sort of scheme he was playing at, but her mind was recontextualizing everything he’d ever said. 

Then came player 435, scratching at the two embroidered badges he carried. He looked at the piggybank, Mi-Rae, then the stars. Whispering a prayer, he pressed blue. 

435: O

“It’s for them,” he said, squirming under Geum-Ja’s glare, “otherwise their deaths won’t mean anything, you know…”

349: X

Ae-Cha nodded at Jun-Hee, keeping her red X patch.

Myung-Gi stood at the podium for half an age, ripping the three stars off his suit, bowing his head–

333: O

He switched, putting two of the stars on Jun-Hee’s table. 

In her disillusion and confused rage, Hyun-Ju couldn't find it in herself to curse him. 

“What do you expect me to do with these?” Jun-Hee spat, tossing the stars to the floor. 

“Take care of the baby. I’m trying to make amends.” Myung-Gi whispered. “Please, let me do this for you.”

“Make me a target, is that what you want?”

“No, no, Jun-Hee, I know you don’t want me, but at least let me–”

“You’re either a devil or the biggest fool ever born.”

“Player 312.” The guards called. 

312: O

“Should’ve just given me the baby when you had the chance." He rasped, grinning at Hyun-Ju. “We’re comin’ for ya.”

When Jun-Hee was called, she put the infant in her crib, dragging herself on that busted ankle, chest racking with sniffles as she did. 

222: X

Player 203 let out a loud belch, fixing his belt and picking up a piece of kimchi, popping it in his mouth. “Lads, if we don’t vote O, we’re basically throwing money away. We’ve come this far,” he slammed the blue button, “let us continue to play fair.”

203: O

The color Geum-Ja had regained had all but left her face, but nothing was stopping her from trying to get them out. 

149: X

Poor, shaky 125 picked at his fingernails so frenetically that it drew blood, grabbing at his own throat.

125: X

There’s still a chance. Part of her whispered.

Another knew there was no way they’d be let out. 

“Player 120.” Called the masked figure.

Hyun-Ju tugged on the shackles, almost falling from the chair. 

“Player 120, cast your vote or it will be seen as an abstention.”

“You want me to walk like this?” Hyun-Ju whispered. The silence answered. Like a prisoner, she stood up and dragged the chair behind herself, handcuffs clattering, wood smacking against her burning legs. With her forehead, she pressed the red button, before making her walk of shame back to the table. A muzzled mutt. 

120: X

Player 100 waddled up, tapping the podium in contemplation. “Gentlemen!” The round man declared, raising his arms on the dais like he was ready to hold a speech. “I have a proposition. I have large debts, I’m not proud of this, but I have no stars, zero. Yet, I’ve survived the same as you.” He looked around the room. “If someone gives me two stars, I’ll vote O. I swear. Two! That’s the deal I’m offering. Give me two stars, and everyone gets to play for something.”

“Come on, man, you can’t be serious.” 203 scoffed. “This is embarrassing.”

“It’s never embarrassing for a man to want to earn his keep and feed his family.” Player 100 said theatrically. “Come now, if I vote X, none of your stars are going to matter anyway. I’m good for it! I’ll help whoever helps me in the next game. Say jump, I’ll jump. Want a meatshield? I’m the meat. Come on, jorobun. No takers, no? How about one then. One star and in return, I’ll vote to continue.”

No one said anything, no one volunteered, until player 312 raised his hand. “One, that’s all I can spare.”

The rotund man chuckled, clapping his hands and bowing. “An excellent choice, sir! Let’s make it all the way together and cash in these stars.”

He smacked the O button, proudly pinning the star to his chest. 

100: O

Player 039, the quietest of them all, had red, wet eyes, sniffling up to the voting machine. He crumpled the suit in his hands, holding onto the embroidered star. His hand hovered over X, before he sobbed. 

“I don’t know if I can–”

“Yes, you can.” Player 100 encouraged. “Come on, do it for the person you killed, for the rest of us. One last game, and we can leave with honor and integrity. Stick with us. You don’t want to be responsible for everyone’s deaths going to waste, do you?”

Closing his eyes, player 039 pressed blue.

039: O

X: 6

O: 7

Mi-Rae, player 001, was falling asleep in the cradle, tummy full of milk. Hyun-Ju knew what they were going to say already.

“Player 001 will be considered to have abstained due to an inability to make decisions.”

“She’s an autonomous player responsible for being here when it suits you,” Geum-Ja hissed through gritted teeth, “and an invalid when it doesn’t.”

Had there ever been a chance?

A mechanical chime echoed, polite and perverse, signaling the end of the voting. 

The games would continue. 

Hyun-Ju let her face drop onto the table, cuffs chafing her wrists raw, and she cried. Silently, tears dripped onto the empty plate. Tears of frustration, sorrow, betrayal… tears for those she’d lost and those she might lose. 

And Gi-Hun? He sat there with the X on his chest, like anyone else. 

But Dae-Ho’s words echoed through her. One of them. 

Hyun-Ju– once the symbol of protection, defiance, the shield of strength – stood at the center of the circus. Marked, feared, hunted. The four stars stinging like open wounds, attracting flies and scavengers alike. 

So close.

So goddamn close. 

***

In-Ho sat unmoving behind his black mask, the polite gasps and champagne fueled laughter of the VIPs filtering like static in his ears. He offered nods, accepted back-pats, even indulged a few congratulatory murmurs with minimal resistance.

But his eyes never left the screen.

In his years as front man, he’d never had to change the functional rules of the game before. The VIPs saw it as an exciting twist to celebrate a record breaking game — but the wasn’t the whole of it. Player 120 was a factor he hadn’t added to his equation, an incredible, unpredictable force. 

So watching 120’s outburst, that restrained, fiercely loyal violence turned on its head, forced inward in their little group, filled him with a sense of triumph. The baby lay wailing in the cradle, and he gripped the armrest. He watched the balance of power shifting with every flash of that projector…playing out exactly as designed — and yet still managing to surprise him

Gi-Hun’s voice echoed in his memory, broadcast over the room like a confession: “I’m not like them.”

Poor fool still believed it. 

He’d made his choice. Killed with intent, not instinct, and now everybody knew. The difference was important to some. To In-ho, less so.

The VIP to In-ho’s left chuckled. “Seems like our host was right after all.”

In-ho didn’t respond.

He simply turned his gaze back to the monitor, expression unreadable, watching the players.

The real game was beginning. He had to win. 

Chapter Text

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

열셋

CHAPTER XIII
Through Newton's eyes

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

2 DAYS BEFORE THE FINAL GAME – Hide and seek

The lounge reeked of whiskey, cigars and the musty scent of wealth. There were no windows in the circular room, for every wall was covered with screens – some broadcasting the ongoing game, some showing the reactions of the VIPs who were watching from the comfort of their homes. Or in a few cases, travelling to the island in the midst of it. 

In an armchair on a raised dais behind them, draped in a grey hood, face obscured by an angular, expressionless mask – sat In-Ho, observing. 

The front man, they called him – or just “the host.” Unlike the late Oh Il-Nam, none of the VIPs knew his real name. 

One of the hundreds of cameras showed a room, decorated like a daycare with an ocean theme. Inside lay player 222 with her newborn baby, player 149 on her knees – and player 120 on her back, 124 standing with a foot on her chest. As well as 007 cowering behind. 

“I love him, he’s disgusting, look! Look at that grin, he reminds me of a feral pomeranian I once had.” Clapped one of the VIP’s, popping an horderve into his mouth. 

“Who, 007?” Asked another one, words already slurred. 

“Are you even watching the game, idiot, I’m talking about 124! He’s got 120 pinned down at the perfect angle for the camera. The theatrics with that guy – bellisimo.” Said a man in a satin robe and a gilded, buffalo mask. 

“Of course you’d like that one.” Scoffed a lithe woman behind her panther mask. “No elegance whatsoever, brutish and overconfident.”

“Bruteish but effective.” Buffalo VIP chuckled. “I bet a whole bunch on him to make the top six.”

“These your first games? His kind never make it past stage five,” came a voice lilted with British snobbyness from a speaker, “they’re fireworks before the end game. Flashy but burn out quick. The whole player pool in India was made up of them a few years ago, so unbelievably dull.”

“Can you stop hogging the cameras, I wanted to watch 456!” Another man whined. 

“You’d rather watch that lunatic stalk around with no emotion on his face than this oscar worthy scene between mother and son?” The VIP in a lion mask scoffed. “Figures, the Scandinavians have no taste.”

“But he’s a previous winner! He’s catching up to 388.” 

“Just look at camera 48, dude.”

“I didn’t bet money on any of them, why’s it matter?”

“Shhhhh, who do you think 007 is going to kill, 120 or the chick who gave birth?” Buffalo asked. 

“Well, that’s a dilemma, isn’t it,” lion VIP  philosophized, “both equally helpless, both wounded… but I still see a strategic option in this.”

“Kill his own mother?”

“Heavens no, he hasn’t got the stones for that. Besides, then he’d lose a valuable ally. They have a massive advantage over the others by playing together, it’s only fair because she’s so old. No. But if he eliminated the baby–”

“That doesn’t count, surely?”

“Well, let’s ask our host–”

A warbled gasp came through the speakers, startling the room. 

120 crossed her legs and swept 124 to the ground, resulting in an onslaught of profanities. 

“That scream?” Reindeer sighed wistfully. “Cinema. Restrained fury.”

“WHAT?! She flipped him like a damn bear trap, how is she still up?” Buffalo spluttered. “First she kills two men unarmed, now she’s fighting with a dislocated shoulder and a fucked up leg. That’s cheating, what are they feeding these people?”

“You know, I respect that,” hummed lion, “there’s something about a woman who fights dirty and dies pretty.”

“Yeah well she’s not dying, that’s the problem. Did anyone have her in their bracket? No? Oy! Host, front man, whatever, how’s 120 doing that?”

In-Ho tapped on a data pad by his side, gloved hands gliding on the screen until he found the folder with player information. He’d never given much thought to player 120 before that moment, but maybe he should have. 

The first time he noticed her was during the six legged race, when he’d hidden among the players as Young-Il. Her tall, crooked presence, shunned by all and forced to couple up with the leftovers. But by some miracle, her encouragement had led them across the finish line. 

“Player 120, Cho Hyun-Ju,” he read aloud for the buffalo VIP, “ex military, dishonorably discharged due to gender transition scandal. Sergeant first class in the ROK-SWC.”

Ah. 

Military. He should have noticed sooner. For a moment, he found himself something akin to curious. 

“What’s that mean?” Slurred buffalo. “Sounds like a whole bunch of letters. Everything is letter combinations these days…”

“It means,” In-Ho replied in his distorted voice, “player 120 was a special forces sergeant. SWC is Korea's most elite special warfare unit. That explains her physical capabilities.”

A murmur went through the screens broadcasting the spectators from abroad. 

“Mmm, choreographed violence, that’s how she’s playing this. Seems we have ourselves a dark horse.” 

“C’mon, man,” whined a man in a helicopter, wearing a wonky eagle mask, “that’s like… like putting a pitbull in a fight between like – poodles, or some shit. She should be eliminated.”

“I don’t mind at all, this is exciting.” Panther grinned. 

“But—“ 

“Shut up, you’re just pissy because she’s fighting your player.” Lion chortled. 

149 lunged at 124, burying something sharp in his shoulder, silver glinting on the high resolution screen. 

“No, come on!” Buffalo cried, jolting to his feet, while the others in the lounge whooped. “That’s brought his value way down!”

“Granny’s got claws! Look at that, absolute savage, she was biding her time, playing helpless and then, boom.”

“No, no, foolish sentimentality.” Tutted a woman in a reindeer mask on another screen. “It messes with the maths, just drags everything out longer than necessary.” 

The buffalo VIP made a rude hand gesture to the screen. “124 you dumbass, focus on the tran–”

“Language, man.” 

“What? She looks fine, just a shame about the plumbing.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” The panther woman purred. 

“Shh-shh-shh – look! 007 is moving!” Called a voice from the far corner, a youngster behind a panda mask. He leaned forward, like a giddy child listening to a bedtime story. 

On screen, player 007 stumbled forward, knife raised. 

“Here it comes,” panther yawned, sipping from a glass, “finally.”

But the curly haired man stepped over 120’s prone form, past clammy 222 – before ramming his blade into the side of his own teammate. 

In-Ho’s hand hovered over his glass of whiskey, silence ensnared the lounge, broken only by the sound of player 124 wheezing like a popped balloon. 

“What the fuck?” Eagle slurred. “Did he…?”

“YES!” Cheered lion, knocking something expensive onto the floor in his glee. 

“You bet on 007, seriously?” Scoffed buffalo. 

“What can I say, I like James Bond.” 

The female VIP behind her panther mask exhaled, sitting up. “He stabbed a red, that stupid bottom feeder broke the rules.”

“No, why?” The lion VIP whined. “He had a free pass, goddamnit!”

“Threw it away to save his mother,” hummed a deeply accented male voice, quieter than the others, “fascinating. Suppose blood is thicker than water, as they say.”

“Idiotic is what it is,” said the panda VIP, “sentiment clouded his judgement.”

“Say what you will, I find it very moving.”

In-Ho didn’t join in the inane chatter, gaze trained on player 120, watching her slam player 124 into the ground again and again, a drumbeat of defiance, bloodied hands finding something around his neck. 

Then: “Player 124, eliminated.”

Cho Hyun-Ju,  he thought to himself while watching the body of the lunatic stop struggling; as if tasting the name, rolling it about in his brain to make sense of its shape. Part of her movement gave him a sense of potential, the other– stung. It was the first time he’d truly taken his eyes off Gi-Hun since the games began. 

149’s –  the mother’s – scream broke through the chatters, raw and undiluted as everything was within the confines of the games. 

“Player 007 has broken the rules and will be eliminated.”

“They survived.” Panda whispered. 

“What a waste, he could’ve lived. His mother too, probably…”

In-Ho remained frozen, studying the group, the grainy footage showing Hyun-Ju pulling the others into her arms, shielding them and laying the doomed 007 down. 

Then the gunshot. 

Some VIPs clapped politely, like a scene in an opera had just come to an end, before turning their attention to the others. In-Ho shook himself from his stupor, trying to forget the impossible trio and the infant, instead watching the replay of Gi-Hun strangling 388. A sense of victory wafted over him, of familiarity, seeing player 456 roll around in the mud with the other pigs. 

The instructor, in his black jumpsuit and square mask, entered the room with a bow. He’d come to escort the present VIPs to the game room, where they themselves would get to take part in the elimination of players who hadn’t passed. 

But even minutes after they were gone, In-Ho remained, using his remote to watch back Gi-Hun’s struggle against their former teammate… and 120. 

She both deeply intrigued and unsettled him, standing defiant and straight backed – bleeding but woefully unbroken. 

How could a woman shunned by the very world they lived in, hold such foolish compassion? He wondered. Gi-Hun, for all his cleverness and morals, had become predictable, growing easier to play with and position with each passing day as his conviction gave way to fatigue. The woman though, the soldier– was she deadly? Mayhaps. 

But above all else: unpredictable. 

“She should not have made it this far.” He whispered to the empty room. 

Electrical buzzing accompanied his thoughts, images of 222 and her baby, Gi-Hun’s eyes emptying when he shot Jung-Bae, and Hyun-Ju’s injured leg… until he pulled a walkie talkie from his suit pocket. Giving a simple order, an order he knew would bring disorder and separation. And thoroughly entertain his guests. 

He would give the lab rats a little puzzle. 

“Place one small ration of medical supplies in the men's and women's restrooms. Make sure it’s not enough to be shared.”

Make them look inwards instead… make them enemies before– no.. It won’t.

It never has.

His gloves crinkled under the pressure of his fist. 

***

1 DAY BEFORE THE FINAL GAME- Jump rope

“Have there ever been this many players left after the fifth game?” Asked the lion masked VIP, sounding not overly pleased at the prospect. 

“No.” In-Ho’s modulated  voice came behind the front man mask. “You are witnessing a record breaking rendition.”

“Oh I like that.” Grinned panther. “The final game will be very interesting, I’m sure.”

“If it even takes place,” grumbled Buffalo. “2.8 million euros is a lot of money for those hobos. And with this many X-players left? They’re not gonna vote to continue.”

“Have some faith in our host,” said eagle, “he hasn’t disappointed us yet. I mean, making the baby a player? Chills, man.” 

“Of course.” In-Ho bowed, rising to go to his personal lounge. “The remaining players are high on their own perceived immortality, and the baby’s inclusion is going to confuse things further. Believe me, the final game will definitely take place.”

As the doors to his private lounge hissed closed behind him, In-Ho tore off the mask and tossed it onto a marble stand, before dropping down into the leather armchair before the flat screen. Scratching at the armrests. 

When player 120 collapsed unconscious on the ground after her feat of strength, In-Ho couldn’t decide whether he wanted her to survive – or succumb to her wounds right  there by the doll statue’s feet. 

The flutter of relief that rose in his chest unbidden when she crossed the finish line with the infant had been fleeting. Because instead of stopping there—instead of collapsing into the arms of victory—Cho Hyun-Ju had thrown herself back into the chaos to save an old woman. Literally and figuratively dangling on the edge of  death. 

Not only that, but while the VIPs began to wax poetically about the dramatic performance before them, making uneducated references to romeo and juliet; two players stepped up to help. 

125 and 349. Nobodies, cannon fodder. Spurred on by 120 like her pentathlon team.

The soldier had become something the games were never designed to account for: a symbol. Not one of sacrifice and sympathy, he had seen plenty of those, the VIPs enjoyed them immensely. No, something sharper, a blade without a hilt. A symbol of encouragement and interruption.

Not a figure meant for tears or monetary bets.

A symbol that inspired actions. And the X side held the majority before the final vote. 

An outlier so at odds with the emotional and statistical logic the game relied on, that she stood poised to unravel the entire structure from the inside out.

Despite everything, he could not grasp her.

He had tried.

Manipulating the scarcity mindset, using the unfairness of the medical supplies, placing her in proximity to weaker, injured players to trigger natural eliminations—none of it had worked. 120 had adapted, bonded, saved people. Worse, she made others believe they could do the same.

In-Ho adjusted the cuff of his jacket. 

His fingers were steady, his mind wasn’t.

Across the bridge, Seong Gi-Hun had moved, moved, after days of dissociation and despair. He had stepped forward not for the money, nor survival, but to carry another across the divide. A purpose clinging to his back.

That In-Ho had not been predicted either.

Was he slipping?

The answer landed on his tongue like cigarette ash, but he gulped it down. 

Gi-Hun had succeeded where In-Ho had failed, even after winning the games himself. He had saved a mother and her baby. Player 120 carried the infant across the jump rope bridge, Gi-Hun risked his own life for 222. 

He knocked back the whisky. It burned like punishment.

The VIPs were entertained, ecstatic, even; but confused.  They were still trying to make sense of it, stuffing meaning into what they called “drama”. They didn’t see what in-Ho did, not realizing the very foundations were cracking beneath their feet.

In-Ho’s mask lay discarded on the marble stand beside his armchair, its hollow eyes staring up at him.

A lone, treacherous bead of sweat trickled down his neck.

He didn’t wipe it away.

Cho Hyun-Ju. A rather unassuming name. Written 현주. Virtuous pearl, it meant. And pearls belonged on a necklace. On a string, restrained, decorative. 

He could still control this.

He had to.

In-Ho knew what these people were like, what all humans were like. What made them tick, what made them bend and twist and crackle. People always revealed their true selves when finery and possessions got stripped away, naked and indebted like everyone else. They became creatures of greed and selfish survival — all of them the same. 

And yet, Cho Hyun-Ju had given everything while having nothing, letting herself trust and be trusted. That should not have worked. That could not be allowed to work. Because if Gi-Hun rediscovered meaning beyond pain…If the players remembered their humanity before the debt…

If Gi-Hun chose differently… Then everything—Il-Nam’s vision, the structure, the justification In-Ho clung to for what he’d done to his own brother—would shatter.

He drank again.

Not yet.

He turned back to the monitors, where Gi-Hun and Player 125 were carrying the unconscious soldier now—refusing to leave their biggest competition behind.

In-Ho took a breath, tapping at his screen, scrolling through the statistics and information of every remaining player. Their votes, their vitals; but the thing he searched for were the number of kills. Variables, that was where he thrived. 

Clicking the walkie talkie to life, he let the corner of his mouth curl upwards ever so delicately. 

"Initiate star encouragement program for the banquet.” In-Ho said. “Take it out of my personal funds. Come to my office and you will be given further instructions regarding. Have the workers assemble a video reel.”

If he couldn’t break them. 

He’d make them break each other. 

“The baby will henceforth be documented as player 001.” 

***

0 DAYS BEFORE THE FINAL GAME- The night

Before him glinted an opulent owl mask, shining with golden fractals, catching every color of the light. Each feather made of a delicate crystal, sparkling even behind the protective glass. 

It stood in stark contrast to the thin neck of the mannequin it sat on – and the wax figure beside it, carrying a teal tracksuit with the number 001. 

Oh Il-Nam, carved out of clay and hair, stood alive in front of In-Ho behind that glass. On one side, the mask, the chairman and host of the games. On the other, the gleeful, happy, frail old man who’d participated in the games himself. In Gi-Hun’s game. 

In-Ho’s masked figure reflected in the middle of them.

Would it be his likeness that stood on display like that one day? Would he be remembered as fondly?

…fondness. 

Did he have fondness for Il-Nam? He couldn’t say. 

“Sir.” The voice of a pink square guard said, bowing as he approached the front man, holding a box in his hand. “Here are the items you requested.”

“Both of them?” In-Ho asked coldly, hands twitching in anticipation. 

“Yes, sir.” Said the guard, taking a cloth bundle from his trousers pocket. 

“Good. Have you located your captain?” 

“He is… overseeing a situation, sir.” The guard rasped, clasping hands behind his back. 

“I want him in my study, in no less than ten minutes. Whatever situation he is overseeing is trivial.” In-Ho snapped. “I require his assistance before tomorrow’s game.” 

“Aye.” Bowed the pink manager again, picking up his walkie talkie and jogging down the hall. 

With the items in hand, In-Ho strode back to his study, stalking down the narrow corridor of lights and shelves, until he reached the table and armchairs which had been prepared according to his instructions. As if by muscle memory, he sat down in the one with its back to the door, before correcting himself. 

Oh Il-Nam was dead. 

Hwang In-Ho was in charge. 

On the table, he dropped the cloth and box non-too carefully. Within the box, lay a knife; its handle and scabbard polished black, with intricate details of gold along the top and bottom. His knife. 

The savior. 

The one way out.

The only choice. 

He was reluctant to touch the stained fabric beside it, unwrapping it with two fingers like it contained something foul. Such a small, insignificant thing, requiring an obscene amount of covering and delicacy made him sneer behind the mask. 

Next to the dagger, placed on white fabric stained red, lay an unassuming piece of metal. Only the length of his hand from fingertip to wrist, the grey, matted steel barely stood out against its surroundings. On one end sat a cube with an engraving of a flower, before it tapered down into a sharp, knife-like point. 

As he requested, it hadn’t been cleaned. Taken after jump rope at his behest.

Player 124 and 096’s blood still clung to it. 

A binyeo, an old one, crafted during the Korean war for women and girls to protect themselves against invading forces. Taken from player 120 after the fifth game. 

“Let it begin.” In-Ho whispered. 

Chapter Text

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조현주

CHAPTER XIV
Judge of character

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Gi-Hun hadn’t said a word after dinner, she hadn’t even seen him blink. The quiet of the dorms came like the aftershock of an explosion – hollow, ringing in her ears.

Hyun-Ju didn’t know who she hated more in that moment – Gi-Hun, the game-makers, the other players or herself. But as it always did, everything turned inward, tearing at her ribs like shrapnel and cracking through the armor which was so effective at keeping the world out. 

How could she have been such a fool? 

They’d played her, he had played her; and Dae-Ho had died at the hands of someone he called brother. 

With her stomach empty and body battered, she couldn’t muster the strength to fight when the guards carried her from the dining table. 

“She’s not an animal,” Geum-Ja’s voice cut through the silence, cracking and desperate, “she doesn’t need to be chained up. Please, I swear, I swear on my life I’ll make sure she doesn’t get in any trouble.” The old woman dropped to her knees, bowing. 

The guards didn’t as much as twitch. They shackled Hyun-Ju’s left wrist to the metal frame of her bed, leaving the other free. It felt more taunting than if they’d restrained her completely. 

As if saying: there’s nothing you can do anyway. 

Her head lolled against the wall, there was no resistance, no defiance, just bone-deep exhaustion and resignation. But even in that state— limp, raw, weak and shaken— Geum-Ja stayed close. As if to her, Hyun-Ju was still something worth protecting. 

Jun-Hee also remained by her side, face no longer pale from hunger, but shock. 

“You don’t have to stay with me.” Hyun-Ju rasped, lips cracked and voice raw. “I’m the target, you should pretend you never knew me. Save yourselves.”

Geum-Ja said nothing, then slowly climbed onto the bed beside her – and began running her fingers through the taller woman’s tangled hair. “If I could take your pain into my own body I would.” She whispered. “Sweetheart.”

That nearly broke her. Something uncoiled in Hyun-Ju’s throat, but she couldn’t cry, her body had no water left to spare. All she could offer was a shuddering breath, a small hiccup.

Jun-Hee sat with her knees drawn up, arms around Mi-Rae like the infant might vanish if held too loosely. The bundle stirred now and then, oblivious to the fact that the world was collapsing around her.

It felt like an age until her eyes met Hyun-Ju’s, and the soldier braced for what she’d see in them. 

But there was no fear, not even pity – just grief.

“Please don’t give up, not you.” Jun-Hee said, unfiltered desperation. 

“I’m not walking out of here tomorrow,” Hyun-Ju said with half lidded eyes, “they’ve made sure of it. The others are terrified of me.”

She wasn’t sure what the others saw when they looked at her anymore. A protector, trans woman, human – a monster? 

Or what she saw when she looked at him either. At Gi-Hun. 

It didn’t matter, not when she had 200 million won pinned to her chest. 

The only thing standing between the rest of them and that money… was her, a woman none of them had any respect or love for in the first place. Would they look her in the eye when they came for her? Would they call it mercy? Or would they taunt her?

“You can take them on.” Jun-Hee tried. “No one in here can fight like you.”

Hyun-Ju smiled hollowly, “I’m not a superhero, Jun-Hee-ah. But I’ll do everything to make sure you three can get out.” She sniffled. “I swear. You just make it through.  Show Mi-Rae how beautiful the world can be.”

“We don’t know what the game is,” Geum-Ja tried, “maybe it’s… it’s something that doesn’t require strength, like a puzzle. We can win at puzzles–”

“It won’t matter,” Hyun-Ju sighed, “it won’t matter what the game is.”

“Because of the stars?” Jun-Hee finished. 

Because of the goddamn stars. 

“The people who voted to continue will go for the ones with the most stars, no matter what the game is.” Hyun-Ju said, swallowing and leaning into Geum-Ja. “You two might be alright. Take care of Mi-Rae, someone might try to take her again.”

Geum-Ja shifted closer, stroking Hyun-Ju’s greasy hair like she could pour comfort into her bones. Her grip tightened, bruising, but Hyun-Ju didn’t pull away.

Just as Jun-Hee enveloped her daughter, Geum-Ja clung to Hyun-Ju. 

“It’s okay.” Hyun-Ju whispered.

What did that even mean?

“It’s okay.” She repeated, voice wobbling. Because under the fury and disbelief, something older began to awaken. 

“It… it’s… it is–” Why couldn’t she complete the sentence?

Hyun-Ju couldn’t bear lying, couldn’t bear speaking the truth. Because beneath it all, something primal had begun to stir. 

She didn’t want to die. 

Jun-Hee remained silent, leaning into Hyun-Ju’s other side, resting her head on the tall woman’s shoulder, Mi-Rae nestled between them. 

They were a tangle of broken bodies and rattled souls, shipwreck survivors clinging to each other in the dark waters. Drifting, waiting, at the mercy of the tide. 

“You’re allowed to want to live.” Geum-Ja whispered. “You’re allowed to be afraid.”

“Why can’t I stop shaking?” Hyun-Ju choked, the words tasted like sin. 

She’d voted ‘O’ without hesitation in the first games. The money and her dream of Thailand — that had been all that mattered. But that wasn’t what she was afraid of losing anymore.

“Because you’re alive.” Jun-Hee said firmly between sniffles. “You’re shaking because you’re not dead, you’re not. Don’t crawl into a grave because they want you to.”

“I–”

“We’re getting out together,” Jun-Hee whispered. “Remember? You said you wouldn’t let me be abandoned.”

Hyun-Ju should’ve been planning, strategizing, and plotting an escape. But her thoughts were leaden, too heavy to pick up and handle. All she wanted to do was listen to the baby breathe, feel Geum-Ja’s fingers in her hair and Jun-Hee’s weight at her side.

Let me be selfish, just this once. 

“Player 100 bartered for a star, maybe we can do the same thing. Give them to people so they’ll let us be.” Jun-Hee pulled two loose, embroidered patches from her pocket, holding them out. 

The two stars Myung-Gi gave her. 

“Maybe.” Geum-Ja echoed, Hyun-Ju kept still. 

She knew better. None of the remaining players could be trusted. 

She saw Dae-Ho’s empty eyes staring up at the camera–

Yong-Sik begging for forgiveness– 

Young-Mi banging on the door–

Congratulations, and celebrations–

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She finally managed. “Just hold me. Let me… remember what it feels like to be loved.”

Her companions looked so startled by her admittance that it almost broke her heart. 

“Okay.” Whispered Geum-Ja. “We can do that. Look at Mi-Rae, Hyun-Ju. Look at her sleeping sweetly, because of you. Because you kept us safe.“

So Hyun-Ju looked. And all she wanted in that moment — more than the money, more than revenge — was to see that little girl grow up.

***

Sleep came to her quickly and ended just as fast. 

The dormitory was steeped in darkness and snoring. Every fibre of her being felt stiff and crooked, and breathing burned like a chore. 

Hyun-Ju’s fingers twitched in the handcuff that anchored her to the bed, the metal cuff around her wrist had grown warm with the heat stolen from her skin. The bone beneath throbbed from where it had chafed.

To her left, Geum-Ja slept with her face nuzzled  in a pillow, still holding Hyun-Ju’s free hand. Even in unconsciousness, she wouldn’t let go.

Jun-Hee looked dead to the world on her right, infant nestled in the crook of her arm. Even when Mi-Rae squirmed and fussed… neither Geum-Ja nor Jun-Hee stirred. 

Odd, she thought. But maybe they needed the rest. 

So did she, truth be told,  but something had pulled her to the surface of consciousness. There was an itch deep beneath her skin, pulsing like an alarm only she could hear; signals her brain hadn’t interpreted yet. Hyun-Ju shifted slowly, careful not to yank Geum-Ja's hand. 

Everything ached, protesting at each movement – but Hyun-Ju didn’t mind it then. It grounded her, reminding her that she could still feel and breathe. 

Adrenaline withdrawal, she tried to tell herself – to brush off the unease as anything other than a threat from outside. 

She scanned the room. Most players were sprawled on their mattresses, dead to the world — bellies full of food, minds lost to nightmares. Her gaze drifted past them, toward the ‘X’ side of the dorm…

That’s when she realized something, or rather someone, was missing. 

Him. Gi-Hun. 

Their beds stood in neat rows along the walls like coffins. The bed where Gi-Hun had laid, only a few down from her own, was empty. No lump, no blanket pulled over a body, just rumpled sheets and silence.

She blinked, convinced everything was an illusion brought forth by paranoia and exhaustion. 

No, he wasn’t there.

Her head snapped side to side, panic blooming cold beneath her ribs.

The man who’d hunted down a comrade, who couldn’t look Hyun-Ju in the eye without seeing the four stars on her suit and the blood they’d been earned with. The man who hadn’t blinked or said a word in hours, who could switch from rousing rebel to calculating killer in an instant…

Was not in the room. 

“Jun-Hee, Jun-Hee, wake up.” She hushed. But the young mother didn’t move. Hyun-Ju reached over to shake her by the shoulder, still nothing. 

She was breathing, clear as day – a deep, rhythmic sort of breath, far away in some dream land. So did Geum-Ja, so did everybody else. 

“Miss Jang.” Hyun-Ju tried again. “Jun-Hee!”

The food. She realized. I was the only one who didn’t eat the food. 

The sleep, too heavy for their unease. Had they been drugged?

Hyun-Ju’s lips parted, a whisper of horror clogging her throat. Gi-Hun wasn’t there, and wasn't sleeping like the rest. He’d been allowed to leave, and the others were drunk and drugged. 

Dae-Ho’s words echoed with renewed strength: Gi-Hun wasn’t one of them. Had never been one of them. 

And with everyone unconscious, he could do whatever he wanted. He could be anywhere, doing anything. Was he watching them now, on some TV screen?

The icy feeling of betrayal sliced through her ribs with surgical precision. Laying in the arms of people who loved her, begging to be held she could believe that maybe she was still part of something human. But all the while, he had slipped through some hidden door. 

Because Hyun-Ju let her guard down for just a moment, he’d gotten out of their sight . Useless, she felt useless. 

She stared at the space where his body should’ve been, breaths growing shallower, before turning to the baby. 

Mi-Rae lay content in Jun-Hee’s arms, safe and warm. For the moment. 

But how long would that safety last, with someone like him in the shadows?

Footsteps clicked outside in the corridor, Hyun-Ju braced against the wall, looking for anything at all to defend herself with. She yanked at the handcuff, trying to get loose in her delirium. 

A pink guard stepped in, outlined by the light in the doorway – but behind stood another shape. Clad in all black with pink accents, and a mask with a square like that of the managers. 

And he was heading straight towards her. 

***

At the same time…

“Player 456, he wants to see you.” That was all the pink guard had told him in the darkness of the dorms, but Gi-Hun knew where he was heading. 

They’d led him through the silent corridors, as everyone slept on around him.

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Gi-Hun in the quiet, velvety suffocation of the room. It stank of expensive liquor and bleach, every surface of black and gold polished clean within an inch of its life, reflecting the light of numerous chandeliers. He saw no guards nor players, just plush carpeting, a narrow corridor – and then, there he sat. Waiting leisurely in an armchair by a mini-bar, the man – or beast – who had taken Jung-Bae from him. 

The front man. 

Before Gi-Hun stood a thin, wooden chair. No words were spoken, but the message was clear. 

Sit.

Instead Gi-Hun stood, staring at the matte mask. Part of him wanted to throttle the bastard – but he was so tired. He felt much older than his 50 years, like the star on his suit added an extra decade to his bones. 

“What is this?” He whispered, stance tense and hostile. 

“The games are coming to an end. Tomorrow will be the finale.” Said that garbled, modified voice. “I thought we could sit and talk for a moment.”

“Some test, is that what it is?” Gi-Hun hissed. “Some other way to amuse yourself?”

“No test, just talk. I want conversation, player 456, nothing more. Sit, let us speak like equals.”

“I’m not like you.”

A pause. 

“Does it make it feel more real, repeating it?” The voice was calm, measured, needling. “Who is it you're trying to convince? Yourself? Your fellow players? Me?” Then, more firmly,  “Sit, mister Seong, I insist.”

Teeth clenched so hard his ears rang. Gi-Hun sank down on the chair, heavy, like the act cost him something. 

“When you told me you wanted to play again,” The frontman said with a cock of his head, “you said that I manipulated people who felt like they were at a dead end, to join the games. Do you still believe that?”

“Of course I do.” Gi-Hun spat. “That’s why you put a newborn in the game, you want to watch people tear each other apart in the little world you’ve created.”

“Really? I gave them five chances, five chances to leave with money. Yet even when there was a newborn babe, the group still chose to continue. What is that, if not a choice?”

“They were going to vote to leave this time,” Gi-Hun insisted, “but then –”, he tugged at the star patch, “this, this is manipulation. You promised more money, you played on our guilt. Did you and the people above you make bets while it was happening? Were you ever going to let us win the vote to begin with?”

“If all it took was gold stars, can it even be called coercion?” The frontman leaned forward. “Did you enjoy it, watching the games back? Even this far in, you still think you’re above everyone. That star says otherwise. When given permission, you killed, just like the rest.”

Gi-Hun said nothing, knuckles crackling under the pressure of his fists. 

“I did what I had to do.”

“You say that, as though survival is a virtue when you do it and ugly for others. You didn’t just do what you had to, you hunted. And now everyone knows it.” He leaned back, letting the words fester. 

“If it hadn’t been for me, player 120 would have done the same to you.”

Hyun-Ju… the way she lunged at him across the tables, the accusations, the animalistic snarl on her face.

The blood on her hands on the projector. 

“The cameras showed what you’d all hidden from each other, the last veil of humanity’s decorum stripped away. It showed her, you know what she is now.”

“She was afraid.” Gi-Hun murmured. 

“Does that matter, when you know you’ve allied yourself with a murderer?” Something about how the front man said the word murderer felt like victory. “You’ll tell yourself anything to keep the facade going, won’t you?”

“Tell me,” the Front Man continued, “if the cameras hadn’t captured what you did to player 388… would it haunt you?”

“I still see him when I close my eyes.” Gi-Hun whispered, refusing to look away. 

“Yet you’re still here. Still playing.”

“You think that makes me like you?” he growled. “You think not giving up means I agree with you?”

“No,” the Front Man said. “I think you still believe there’s a version of this where you walk out clean. Where you’re the hero. Do you still believe humanity is worth saving, after everything you’ve seen? After watching the players yank an infant from its mothers arms?”

Gi-Hun’s hands trembled. Dae-Ho’s throat under his fingers, Jun-Hee’s arms around his neck. Jung-Bae’s slack face, staring up from the floor.

“I came here to stop the games,” he growled. “To protect the people you prey on!”

The Front Man didn’t move. “Then do it.”

Gi-Hun blinked. “What?”

The masked man rose slowly, stepped to a cabinet by the bar, and pulled out a small black case. He opened it carefully and withdrew a long, dark strip of velvet. He unfurled it onto the table between them.

Revealing a knife inlaid with black and gold, resting in a scabbard. 

“What the hell is this?” Gi-Hun gulped. 

“A gift.” The Front Man said with a nonchalant hand gesture. “A chance to be the protector you claim to be.”

Gi-Hun chuckled hollowly, face twisting as he stared at the blade. “A gift?”

“I’m trying to help you. Help you, the baby, and her defenseless mother.” 

“Help us?” He scoffed. “You’re trying to help us. Why, how?”

“Take this knife back to your quarters. Kill the wolves before they tear your herd to pieces. They’re sleeping, full of food and drink, they won’t see you coming. But when they wake up… player 120 will end you like you did 388. Then what will you do? Who will stop the slaughter then?”

Gi-Hun didn’t touch the knife, but his gaze never wavered. It called to something deep, a whisper in his blood. But his hands stayed clenched in his lap. One twitch, one movement, and he might never find his way back. 

“Do you remember the last time you hesitated?” The Front man whispered. “What it cost you?”

He did, every day. Sang-Woo, standing above Sae-Byeok’s bed, his white shirt stained red. Minutes after the young woman had begged him to take care of her family. Sang-Woo, the man he’d trusted with his life. 

“Hyun-Ju isn’t like that.” Gi-Hun said – but even before the words left his mouth they weighed heavy with doubt. 

“Player 120 carries four stars, more than any other player,” the front man continued as if he’d never been interrupted, “you know as well as I do, that she can and will murder anyone who gets in her way. You saw it. Killing without remorse.”

“She wouldn’t do that.” Gi-Hun gulped, leaning forward in the chair. “She wants to leave, same as I do. To protect—“

“If my guards hadn’t stopped her, she would have killed you already. With you gone, only scum remains.”

“You think they’ll protect each other? You think the mother, grandmother and blood soaked vigilante will hold hands at the end of it all? No. They’ll turn on each other. The stars, survival is value. You think you’re a shepherd, player 456, what use is a shepherd that takes pity on wolves?” 

Silence. 

“She won’t hurt the mother and her baby.” Gi-Hun reaffirmed. 

“Are you willing to bet everything on that?” In-Ho asked, cocking his head – watching the other man like a dealer at a craps table. “Are you willing to bet your life and everyone else’s on a… gut feeling, about a person you’ve known for less than a week?”

Was he?

Gi-Hun gripped the fabric of his suit trousers so hard that the fabric wrinkled and seams strained, looking anywhere but the masked face before him.

“You’ve always been a gambler, haven’t you, even before the games.” It wasn’t a question. “Are you that confident, player 456, in your ability to judge people?”

“I’m not like you.” Gi-Hun whispered. “I don’t look at a person and see statistics.”

“No? What do you see then, when you look at a human?” The front man let the question hang between them, leaning back in the plush armchair. 

“The actions they take, their words—”

“Words are wind, they mean nothing. The flesh, the bones? You’ve tested it yourself, the flesh is fragile. So weak that men can squeeze the life from each other’s lungs with their bare hands. You said you didn’t want to kill, that no one did. But you did it, and so did they.”

“You forced us.”

“No. We provided incentive, and you chose. No matter how much you force or threaten a dog, it’ll never fly.” The front man said. “You cannot make a creature do something that’s outside its nature.”

He paused.

“If all it takes for humanity to resort to violence and depravity is the promise of reward, permission – can you claim it's not part of human nature?”

“You talk like a philosopher, but I know what you really are.” Gi-Hun hissed. “I’m not letting you do this.”

He moved to turn away, but then he saw the front man’s hands creep towards his mask. Gloved fingers pulled back the gray hood, revealing a mop of dark hair –  before removing the fastenings that kept the mask in place. 

Gi-Hun could feel every heartbeat of anticipation in his ears. 

The black shell landed on the table between them, and under it was skin. Warm toned, pale skin, dark eyes, a sharp jawline and neatly cropped hair. 

No. 

No… 

“Mister Seong Gi-Hun,” a familiar, human, chillingly normal voice came from those lips, “do you still think you know people?”

Young-Il. Young-Il sat before him in that armchair. 

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

He reached for the knife. 

Chapter Text

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열다섯

CHAPTER XV
Today me, tomorrow you

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He shot to his feet with force that toppled the chair sideways, its legs screeching against the polished floor. Before Gi-Hun’s mind could catch up to his body, his hand was on the hilt of the dagger – pulling it from its scabbard. The blade caught the light, cold and sharp, shining orange under the chandeliers above. 

It sat weightless and unbearably heavy against his palm. 

“Do you still think you know people?”

The words bounced through his head like bullets. A blur of rage and disbelief fogged his vision, breaths came out shallow and wheezing. Only one thing managed to leave his lips: 

“Young-Il?”

“You look surprised.” The front man said, in a tone so calm he may as well have been discussing the weather. He didn’t flinch under the tip of the knife. 

Gi-Hun’s pulse throbbed so hard in his throat he wondered if all the blood would burst his skin. His eyes flitted over the front man’s bare face, but no matter how many times he blinked– it was still Young-Il staring back at him. 

Though his eyes were devoid of spark, almost matte in the dim lights. 

“What were you expecting me to be, player 456?” 

He wanted to scream, weep, to drive the knife between those treacherous eyes – or into his own throat. 

It was a test, a game of some sort, it had to be. 

“You…” His voice came out raw and rasping. “You were one of us, I grieved you. I called you friend!”

The man wearing Young-Il’s face didn’t so much as twitch, raising an eyebrow. “Like Oh Il-Nam?” He said with something akin to softness, pitying. “You’re still clinging to illusions.”

Oh Il-Nam, the old, kindly man with the tumor in his head, his “gganbu”. 

… who had orchestrated the games from the beginning. 

He remembered Young-Il’s arm in his during the six legged race, his excited laugh when they crossed the finish line…

“You spoke of your wife, your child, you said you needed money for them–” Gi-Hun huffed, unable to tear his eyes away. “Who are you, what are you?”

“No one.” The Front man – Young-Il, whoever he was – smiled. A simple crook of the lips, lacking any warmth. “I am whatever your conscience  wants me to be. You want to kill me? Go ahead.I’ll die, but someone else will take my place, the games will continue as planned. And the animals in the dorms will feast as they please.”

“Was any of it real, anything you said to me?” 

The other man leaned forward, eyes twitching. “Why don’t you tell me yourself? I thought you were confident in your ability to judge people. But you looked into my eyes and saw… someone else, something real. What did you see, mister Seong? You were so sure of yourself.” 

“Stop.” Gi-Hun hissed. “Stop talking.” His stomach churned, and a haunting voice whispered in the back of his mind: 

“Gi-Hun. About Young-Il… well when I was in the room with him earlier… I don’t know how to put this–”

Jung-Bae had seen something. Gi-Hun hadn’t listened, and now it was too late. 

“Fool me once, shame on me,” The Front man continued, apathetic mask slipping just so. “You’re running out of people to be fooled by, mister Seong. Running out of chances. Player 120 will be your last.” He let the words settle like venom. “You know nothing; about humanity, about people’s intentions, about these games. How many more people will have to suffer because you refuse to admit it?”

He leaned forward, closing his eyes. When they opened again, they were shining like the bastard was capable of feelings. “I am sorry about Jung-Bae.” He said, unblinking. 

Gi-Hun saw nothing but red.

Jung-Bae’s smile. 

His hand on Gi-Hun’s shoulder. 

The sleepless nights striking together at Dragon Motors. 

The arguments and laughs.

The sound of the trigger.

“Gi-Hun?”

Then blood. 

With a choking sound, Gi-Hun flew across the table separating them, pinning Young-Il to the armchair, pressing the dagger to his cheek and an arm on his throat. He could feel skin trembling beneath the blade – and swore he heard the man bellow him gasp. 

“Don’t you dare say his name.” Gi-Hun snarled, eyes wide and jaw clenched. “You don’t deserve to, you don’t get to mourn him! He was ten times the man you are.”

“I’m not mourning,” The Front man said, “I’m reminding you.” Sweat beaded along his hairline. 

“Reminding me?”

“Yes. Reminding you of the rules of the world. Il-Nam, Sang-Woo, Young-Il… Dae-Ho – you were wrong about them all. Because you trusted, people died. Player 120 is going to kill you, and if you’re wrong again, the mother and her baby will die too.”

“Shut up.” Gi-Hun hissed, knife hand shaking. 

“You want vengeance for your friend?” The Front man whispered, baring his neck. 

“I’m not like you. I’m not like you!”

“You don’t even know who I am, how can you be so sure?” Young-Il leaned up, drawing a thin red line into his skin, looking Gi-Hun dead in the eyes. 

“Three players need to be eliminated in the next game, only three .” He whispered. “And I’m giving you the chance to choose. Take the knife, kill the wolves in their sleep, and choose who makes it out. You are the judge, jury and executioner. You believe in the greater good, don’t you? That’s what you told everyone before your little rebellion game. This is the best choice you can make.”

Gi-Hun’s very being trembled, and he drove the knife into the fabric of the armchair, closing his eyes. 

***

In the dorms. 

Hyun-Ju grabbed the pillow behind her head, holding it out as if it were a shield – as if the down and fabric could stop a bullet if they decided to shoot her. 

Useless, maybe. But by the gods, she refused to die in chains, to let her unconscious companions stay defenceless. 

“You were supposed to be asleep, player 120.” A raspy, lackadaisical voice came from behind the mask, and the officer clad in black shook his head, making a motion with his hand. “But you just love making things harder, don’t you?”

The pink guard by his side stepped over to Geum-Ja’s bed, hand hovering over his holster. 

“Don’t.” Hyun-Ju begged. “Let her be.”

Unlike the monotone of  every other soldier and staff member, the officer talked and moved with a muted arrogance– crouching down until his visor was level with Hyun-Ju’s face.

“That’s all up to you. I was gonna take you somewhere nice, have a chat, but I guess we’re doing it here. Not like the others will wake up no matter how much of a ruckus you make anyway. Behave.”

Like ordering a dog to sit. 

She didn’t lower the pillow, cold sweat trailing down her neck and spine, glaring at the masked officer with hatred so fierce it could send lesser men cowering. 

Mi-Rae whined in her swaddle. 

Geum-Ja snored. 

Jun-Hee lay still. 

They couldn’t die like this… 

“I’ve been watchin’ you, you know. I read your file. I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if we’d made you one of us. You handle a gun better than most of these idiots.” He made a finger gun motion with his hand, pretending to shoot at the camera above the bed. “But you’re one of those people who don’t know when to quit.”

Hyun-Ju was too busy focusing on staying upright to reply, breaths coming out in sharp puffs through her nose. 

What was happening? Was this one of them? One of the people that were watching, controlling behind the scenes?

“Not one for chit-chat, hm? Good, neither am I.”

She couldn’t see the figure’s build in the dim light, body obscured by the black overalls. But a name fell off the tip of her tongue. 

“Gi-Hun?” Hyun-Ju asked, every syllable an accusation. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Silence hung between them for a beat, before the mask produced a wet, humorless chuckle that the modulator turned to cacophony. 

“That fool? Spare me. If you’re going to insult me I might not help you.”

“What is this?” She said with a gulp, growing more uncertain by the moment. “What the hell is this? Where did he go, who are you?” 

“Let me speak to you clearly, soldier to soldier: you’re finished next game.”

Hyun-Ju knew it too, but that didn’t make the reminder less painful. 

“Disciplined, loyal, then thrown away. That’s what you are, you’ve been a shield to the ungrateful all your life. The bastards will spit on you when you fall to your doom.”

Fall? The word choice seemed too specific. 

He reached into his uniform, pulling out a cloth, shaking it. A glint of metal, then a thin pin crusted with dark red. 

A binyeo.

Geum-Ja’s binyeo. 

“Or,” he hummed, “fight your way out, like you did in hide and seek. Look around – we’re surrounded by trash, wastes of good oxygen. Only their organs are worth anything, no one will miss them. But you? You’ve got fire, survival instinct.”

He moved to sit on the foot of her bed. 

Hyun-Ju was about to kick the officer, before remembering the threat to Geum-Ja’s life. Instead she pulled her uninjured leg back, letting the masked bastard loom over her. 

“Relax, I won’t hurt you.” The officer sighed. “There’s no point in that. I’m just returning this, consider it an opportunity. 

“Why would you give me a weapon?” Hyun-Ju asked with heaving breaths. 

“So you can take out the trash.”

The air in her lungs turned cold. 

“You want me to kill them.” She whispered, as if speaking a dark secret. 

“If you want to live and save this little thing,” the officer leaned over towards Jun-Hee’s bed, taking a gloved finger to trace Mi-Rae’s cheek, “yes.”

“Don’t touch her!” Hyun-Ju cried before she could stop it, tugging at the handcuff. 

“It would be a shame if these two don’t make it out, after everything you did to save them.” The masked man hummed, pulling back from the infant. “Cut the other player’s throats while they sleep.” 

He jabbed a finger against her sensitive chest, tapping the stars on her suit. “You’ve done worse. Soldier to soldier, I’m giving you a fighting chance, player 456 has the upper hand. Be ready when he comes back.”

He pressed the binyeo into Hyun-Ju’s hand. “Hodie mihi, cras tibi, Sergeant Cho. Make the right choice. Player 456 comes back any minute.”

He stood, then something else got pressed into her hand. 

A key. 

“You’ll need both hands. It’s your choice. You can free yourself.”

Hyun-Ju held her breath so long that stars danced before her eyes. When she came to, the officer and his comrade were gone, nothing but the echo of their footsteps and the metal in her hand to remind the room of their presence. 

The binyeo. The key. They both felt like traps– 

As well as the way out, the door. 

Congratulations and celebrations

When I tell everyone that you're in love with me

Congratulations and jubilations

I want the world to know I'm happy as can be… 

She stayed still long after the doors shut. 

*** 

Hyun-Ju unlocked the handcuff, but let her wrist stay inside it. She laid down with one hand under the pillow, grasping the hairpin. 

She didn’t know how long she waited…

Long enough to count each breath. 

Long enough to doubt and re-doubt again and again and again. 

Part of her wanted to offer a test, one final grasp in the dark to prove her fears wrong– the other laid in waiting to strike. She pretended to sleep, chest rising slow, shallow. 

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, slow and trudging. The door opened, revealing  a crooked silhouette in its opening. 

Gi-Hun. 

He walked slowly, as if each step aged him ten years, like he was the one with the gash in his leg. His head swept side to side, gazing over the sleeping players. 

When Gi-Hun passed the red X light on the floor, Hyun-Ju saw something in his right hand, a shimmer of steel. Every part of her wanted to believe he wasn’t there to hurt her or her loved ones – but the video from the dinner played on repeat in her mind. 

There was no doubt anymore. 

He knelt beside her cot, quiet but for a hitched breath. She felt it before she saw it, the blade hanging in the air like static. Gi-Hun stood over her, contemplating, she felt the slightest press of sharpness under her chin. 

No.

She yanked her hand free and slashed towards his wrist.

Gi-Hun recoiled just in time, the binyeo’s blade not sharp enough to sever anything, only graze. Blood bloomed, a red ribbon on his skin. He jerked, but didn’t drop the knife. 

Hyun-Ju was already moving, shooting up into a primal crouch despite the way the world spun around her. Her body screamed in protest like so many times before, but the threat to the others made her vicious. 

“Don’t!” She snapped. “Don’t fucking touch them!”

“Hyun-Ju–”

She struck with wild panic, not a trace of her training in the movements. The binyeo swept in an arc, but Gi-Hun ducked and caught her forearm, twisting it until her weapon clattered to the floor.

Hyun-Ju cried out – side ablaze – but kept fighting. 

They grappled, limbs tangled, fingers clawing at the fabric of their suits. Their breaths were ragged, desperate, more bestial than human. Gi-Hun got a knee into her ribs and pinned her to the mattress; one arm locking her hands above her head, the other pressing the dagger to her throat.

Hyun-Ju blinked up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion and disbelief. There was no fear, not really – but something akin to heartbreak. 

One motion, that’s all it would take to undo everything she’d ever been. 

“You bastard.” She whispered. “He was right about you.”

Gi-Hun raised the knife, hovering like a guillotine. 

But then his hands began to shake. The knife trembled in his grip. For a long second he didn’t look at her, but at the ceiling. As if the answer he wanted was stuck up there. 

“Ga-Yeong.” He choked. “Sae-Byeok…”

Two names that meant nothing to Hyun-Ju, but everything to him. 

The mattress creaked, the knife sailed through the air–

And slid to the middle of the room. The weight above her eased, as Gi-Hun got off the bed. 

Hyun-Ju didn’t waste a moment. She rolled over the edge, grabbing the fallen binyeo and staggered upright. Breathing hard, ready to strike

But he wasn’t coming for her.

He wasn’t moving at all. 

She saw Gi-Hun drop to his knees, head bowed, neck exposed arms limp at his sides. The knife lay forgotten.

“What are you doing?” She rasped, one hand at her throat. 

He didn’t respond. 

“Say something, damn it!”

Finally, he said in a low, hoarse voice: “Do what you need to do, Hyun-Ju. You have every right.”

She’d waited for this since dinner. Her muscles knew what to do, it wouldn’t be the first time. Finish off the threat, eliminate the risk, protect those who mattered. But her mind stumbled when she saw his eyes – betrayal twisted into confusion, into something bitter, human and raw. 

His eyes were like hers: tired, heavy, human. 

“I should kill you.” Hyun-Ju said, as if convincing herself.

“I know.” Gi-Hun murmured. 

“The guards let you leave and no one else, you came back in here with a knife. You were ready to murder me.”

“...I was.”

“So why didn’t you?” She held the hairpin against his neck.

“Because I’m not that kind of person.” Tears pearled in the corner of his eyes. 

A silence stretched long and taut between them – no one moved. Hyun-Ju’s grip faltered. No choice in the games had been clear, but one thing permeated it all: strike or be struck down. Protect. 

She didn’t want to die. 

If she killed him now, and then moved on to the sleeping players that had voted O, maybe Geum-Ja, Jun-Hee and Mi-Rae would live. Maybe she herself would have a chance. 

But those eyes… 

She lowered the pin a fraction, not out of mercy, but doubt. 

“If you don’t trust me,” he added, “I won’t stop you. If this is what it takes for you to protect Jun-Hee and the others–” his voice caught. “Then eliminate me.”

“You think I’ll forgive you because you hesitated?”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what are you doing, Gi-Hun?”

Gi-Hun turned around to look at her; his eyes weren’t hard anymore, not cold. “Trying to stop being what they want me to be.”

“Answer me now: are you one of them?”

“No…” it came out, wavering, “No.” He repeated with more conviction. “I just wanted it all to end. So no one would have to see what I saw. For a moment I thought… using the knife was my only choice.”

“Then where did you go, where did you get the knife?” It wasn’t an accusation anymore – Hyun-Ju was begging him to prove her wrong. 

Gi-Hun’s jaw clenched. “The pink guards led me to the upper levels, they said he wanted to see me. They brought me to an office and he was there. The Front man.” He shifted on his knees, turning to face Hyun-Ju. “He said he wanted to help me – that you would kill me if I didn’t strike first. And then you’d… turn on Jun-Hee and the baby.”

Someone spoke to him too. The realization struck like a slap.  

“He gave me the choice. Of who and how many make it to the end and then. He showed me his face.”

A taste of metal spread through the back of her throat, and her limbs began to grow fuzzy. The floor seemed too soft beneath her feet. 

“Why?” Hyun-Ju hushed, hand shaking in earnest. 

“Because… I was wrong about him, and he wanted me to be wrong about you too.” His eyes shone glassy with disbelief. “It’s Young-Il.”

She could’ve vomited. 

“Young-Il died in your rebellion.”

“I wish you were right.”

She tried to summon back the anger to fuel herself, to clear her head and find reason. But the logic slipped between her fingers like silk. 

“I don’t understand.” Hyun-Ju’s hand dropped. 

But in her gut, she did. She’d almost killed, not because of self defense or because it was right – but because someone in a mask told her to. 

“That’s the point. I think they want us confused. The videos, the stars…”

An image of the masked officer crawled to the front of her mind – who had given her Geum-Ja’s binyeo and spoke of choices and wastes of oxygen. Hyun-Ju could see it, the seeds he’d planted, the orders masquerading as moral choice. Just hinting at what the others might do. 

And in her fear, Hyun-Ju listened. 

Would she have done it, if she had the chance? End Gi-Hun and everyone who voted O?

The lack of a clear answer made her skin prickle.

“What would that give them?” She took a step back. 

“They’d be proven right.” 

The words seemed to hang in the air between them, as heavy as the blade in her hand. Hyun‑Ju’s knuckles whitened around the binyeo,  Gi‑Hun’s shoulders sagged;  a marionette with its strings cut. Neither of them moved.

“Right about what?” she asked, voice low.

“That we’re animals. That all it takes is a push to make us tear each other apart.”

“Someone spoke to me while you were gone.” The confession tumbled from her lips. 

He shook himself, eyes wide. “What?”

“... a man in a black jumpsuit and mask, called himself a soldier.” When the words left her lips, they sounded absurd. She was appointing her actions and justifications to a nameless entity. “He gave this back to me.” She gestured to the hairpin. “They armed us both, so we’d tear each other apart.”

Mi-Rae cried in Jun-Hee’s arms, her drugged mother not stirring – but both Gi-Hun and Hyun-Ju instinctively moved towards the baby. 

There were no knives between them anymore. 

“It means they’re afraid.” Gi-Hun gasped, color creeping back into his cheeks. 

“Of us? Because of what we did in the rebellion?” Absent-mindedly, she stroked Mi-Rae’s little face, letting her flailing fist clasp around her finger. “Then why not kill us themselves? Entertainment?”

“Yes, and no.” Gi-Hun shook his head. “Because of this.” He pointed to the tiny hand clutching hers. “If they killed us, it would mean admitting we were too dangerous to live.” 

“Because we’ve proven them wrong.” She said quietly. “But I almost–”

“It’s not your fault.”

Gi‑Hun reached out without thinking, covering Mi‑Rae’s tiny fist with his own big, clumsy hand. The baby, as if reassured, relaxed. Hyun‑Ju’s fingers touched the infant’s cheek and stilled in the same breath. It was not forgiveness. It was a pact — small, fragile, human.

Hyun-Ju looked at the room; the scattering of bodies still breathing, the silent aftermath of what nearly was. She sank onto her bed, leg throbbing red and hot. Gi-Hun joined her, sat in the middle of it all – not touching, or speaking – just breathing the same broken air. 

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Live?”

“Yeah, live.” How would come later, she was too weary for hows. 

In the silence, they sat vigil over the sleeping bodies. Not quite soldiers, not quite pawns, not quite survivors. Just two human beings holding off the end of the world – for one more night. 

“Promise me something.” Hyun-Ju said, swallowing down bile and blood. 

“Yes?”

“They have to make it. Miss Jang, Mi-Rae, Jun-Hee… no matter what.”

“No matter what.”

Silence. 

Then a whisper:

“Do you think there’s any way we can make it to the end of this as ourselves?”

Next chapter: Sky squid game in the stars

Chapter Text

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

열여섯

CHAPTER XVI
Wish upon the fallen

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

There were so many things left unsaid—endless questions to be asked, spiraling thoughts, made of words they no longer had the strength to form.

So Hyun-Ju and Gi-Hun sat in silence on the floor, two sentinels at the edge of exhaustion, stationed between sleep and survival. They kept watch by Geum-Ja and Jun-Hee’s beds, each too spent for speaking, yet too wired for rest.

Gi-Hun clutched his injured wrist, quiet save for the sharp hiss of pain when he moved. Hyun-Ju tore a strip from the pillowcase on her bed, handing it to him without meeting his gaze. He bowed his head in thanks, accepting it with both hands.

The apology wasn’t spoken, but it was there. 

“You said three people need to be eliminated in the next game?” She asked finally, eyes fixed on the red and blue light on the floor. The X and the O, separated by a thin line. 

If she hadn’t voted O after the first game… would they all have been safe now? Would Young-Mi…?

“That’s what Young-Il told me.” Gi-Hun rested his chin on his knees. “At least three. Which means eleven of us could make it out.”

“We already know who the three are, then.” Hyun-Ju murmured. “Me. Myung-Gi. Player 203.” Her shoulders dropped.

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because we have the most stars. The only three with more than two. No one on that side of the room”—she nodded toward the sleeping O-voters—“would give up that much money.”

She remembered the way four people had been killed—not for what they did, but what others thought they may have done. For supposedly hoarding medical supplies that never existed. For not playing “fair”. The cost of perceived deviation had always been blood.

“Three players with more than two stars…” Gi-Hun’s voice was hoarse, but his thoughts were sharp. “But also three with none.”

Oh.

He was right. 

“And whoever eliminates you will end up with the most stars after that.” He continued. “The balance will change with each elimination.”

“I can’t think about the numbers, it’s giving me a headache.” Hyun-Ju sighed, pressing her palms into her eyes. “The group will have to choose who dies. We choose, or someone chooses for us – how can we possibly do that?”

“It’s going to be difficult for everyone. They’ll find a way to justify it and make it seem right.”

“So the easiest target is the players who have played the hardest–”

“Or weakest. 

“Then we have to act first.” Hyun-Ju fiddled with the binyeo again, tracing the sharp point. 

“Then they win.”

“What?”

“Then they win, the people running the games. That’s exactly what they want – they want us to choose.”

“All that matters is saving as many people as possible.” Hyun-Ju argued. “Protecting Mi-Rae and the others on our side. That’s how we win.”

If player 100 hadn’t bartered his vote to get a star, he would've been on zero too. But now, only Geum-Ja, Mi-Rae and Jun-Hee lacked badges.

… except. 

“Myung-Gi doesn’t have three stars anymore, he only has one.” She remembered the two stars in Jun-Hee’s pocket. “He gave some to Jun-Hee.”

“Right, stars can be transferred.” She could almost see the cogs turning in Gi-Hun’s brain. “Hyun-Ju… give me one of yours.”

Before she could reply, Mi-Rae made a sound of distress as Jun-Hee shuffled in her sleep. By their side, Geum-Ja stirred as well, her face twisting as she drifted from deep sleep into troubled dreaming. 

With a silent nod, Gi-Hun and Hyun-Ju split. Gi-Hun moved to Jun-Hee’s side; Hyun-Ju went to Geum-Ja’s bed. 

She sat on the edge of the mattress, gently smoothing and tucking in the sheets so the old woman wouldn’t roll off.  And just for her own peace of mind, Hyun-Ju leaned down to listen to her heartbeat.

It was there. Steady, fragile, real. 

Hyun-Ju closed her eyes.

Just for a second.

Just to rest them. 

For a little while… 

***

When she opened her eyes, the dorm was gone. 

Instead of a bed, Hyun-Ju found herself kneeling in lukewarm water, soaking her skin. Around her, the walls loomed dark and impossibly high, dripping with sticky condensation. The floor stretched as if endless, littered with squares – some covered in X shapes, others with O. They were the only source of light in the room, pulsing red and blue.

“Jun-Hee?” Hyun-Ju called, standing up, wading through the ankle deep flooding. “Miss-Jang? Gi-Hun?”

Then came a splash– and a sharp sting in her feet, like stepping on a nail. 

She looked down to see blood blooming between her toes, seeping into the water, swirling along the surface into what looked like little Xes. With a start she realized her legs were bare. 

Her blood slithered along the floor, creeping closer and closer to the walls. Soon the entire room was red, and the squares underfoot began to buzz. 

A chessboard. 

Hyun-Ju swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing herself forward. It felt like walking on quicksand, sinking with every step although the ground stayed firm. 

“Jun-Hee!” She cried, trying to cup her hands around her mouth. Only to find her fingers already occupied – the hairpin sitting heavy in her palm. Coated with the same viscous liquid as the walls. “Miss-Ja–”

“Unnie…”

She heard breathing behind her, ragged, familiar. 

Hyun-Ju whipped her head around. There was a heap of silhouettes on the squares behind her, some standing, some sitting down. Right behind her on the opposing square, hands outstretched, was Young-Mi. 

“Young-Mi-A.” Her breath hitched, a smile flickering into her eyes. “Where have you been?”

“I waited for you to come back for me.” Said Young-Mi, but her voice sounded warbled, far away. “I was scared.”

“I’m here now,” Hyun-Ju took a step closer, “come on, I’ll get us out.”

With a flash, a bright light shone from above, so sharp that she had to squint. It started out small, a pinprick, before growing bigger, and bigger. 

It wasn’t a light at all. 

But a golden, metal star, as large as a bike wheel, spinning towards the ground, teeth shining in red. With a thunk, it sunk into Young-Mi’s chest, one of the points piercing her straight through, coming out on the other side, ribs caving in around the blade.

“NO!” Hyun-Ju tried to run, but the pink water rose higher. “YOUNG-MI!”

An empty, wheezing sound left the young woman, before her body crumpled to the ground; and she was gone. 

Hyun-Ju had lost her, again. 

With tears in her eyes, Hyun-Ju forced herself to move. 

The board seemed to stretch on forever, but she could see new shapes in the distance. Pieces, people. 

With a yelp, Hyun-Ju fell, tripping over an outstretched arm. When she got up, she saw who the arm belonged to, next to a pair of cracked glasses. 

Yong-Sik. Brain floating on the ground, his face smashed by another star. 

“Help my e-eomma.” He gurgled. 

She kept walking, this madness had to end. If only she could get to the other side of the board.

Dae-Ho came next, a star in his throat like a shuriken. 

“I was going to bring back the magazines, I was…” His body wheezed. He didn’t deserve his punishment. 

Was this the final game? 

“What are the rules?” She begged – no answers came. 

Next time a light fell, she lunged towards it, slashing with the binyeo. The star shattered into a thousand specks, like a firework over a graveyard. 

“If I reach the other side,” she told herself, “I can fix this. I can make it stop.”

Please.

Oh, please. 

Her feet squelched across the soaked floor, tiles slick with blood, water, and something sticky like tar or oil. Every step felt like two, each movement making her heavy. 

Finally, she could see the end. But there was no body this time, instead, a large pillar loomed at the edge of the board. It stretched upwards into pitch blackness, riddled with cracks, holes and childish drawings

The king, maybe?

She saw a ladder, calling her to climb. Its rungs were made of X and O shapes, like some perverted game of tic-tac-toe. 

“Hyun-Ju, unnie!” A voice came from above. 

Shielding her eyes, she looked up, and froze. 

Two shadows clung to the side of the tower, one large, one small. It was Jun-Hee, dangling from a crack with one arm, the other holding Mi-Rae. 

“Please,” Jun-Hee sobbed, swinging from side to side, “I can’t hold on.”

Hyun-Ju shot to the ladder, climbing each step with the speed of a woman possessed. But instead of upwards, her efforts sent her further down, into the water, into the abyss. As if even gravity itself had turned against her.

Until her entire body got forced under the surface, and the world disappeared. In the murky pit, all became silent. Jun-Hee wasn’t screaming anymore, no bodies fell to the floor. Hyun-Ju simply floated, bloody ropes ghosting across her bare flesh as if taunting her. 

Then came a voice. 

“You see it now, don’t you?” Calm, controlled. Young-Il. “You play, and you still lose.”

A pulse of light flickered through the water. First an O, then an X, before morphing into a star, pointing towards her like a dagger. 

“You can’t save them,” said another voice, warbled and too nonchalant to be cruel, “you’ve already lost. All that’s left is how you die. Lie still, player 120.”

No.

A third voice answered, coming from everywhere around her. “The only way to win is to stop playing.”

Hyun-Ju’s eyes flew open, she tore and tugged at the ribbons binding her. 

Not yet.

She kicked, fought, tore her way through the water. 

Up, up, up, until she broke the surface. 

She was Cho Hyun-Ju. And she was still alive. 

***

“Yong-Sik, you’re getting too big to sleep next to me…” Geum-Ja grumbled, half asleep, and Hyun-Ju jolted back to consciousness. 

She found herself on the little cot beside the old woman, fingers curled around the hairpin in her pocket, forehead pressed against Geum-Ja’s back. 

She hadn't meant to nap, but something about feeling Geum-Ja’s heartbeat and seeing Gi-Hun keep watch over Jun-Hee steadied the dread inside her; lulling her to rest. 

Her eyes stung, the sleep had stolen more energy than it gave, leaving her heavy. But being in their presence gave something more important: the will to keep going. 

“It’s me, miss Jang.” Hyun-Ju said softly, trying not to let the fact that she’d been confused for Yong-Sik again render her mute. “It’s Hyun-Ju.”

“Oh.” Geum-Ja’s voice came out thin and ragged. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I dreamt–” her hands shook.

“You don’t have to explain.” Hyun-Ju tried to tuck the blanket back around the old woman, her nightmare fresh in her mind. “Go back to sleep.”

“No.” Geum-Ja pushed herself upright, trembling like the last leaf of autumn. “I don’t want to close my eyes again until you’re all safe.”

“That could take awhile.”

Geum-Ja huffed. “I’ll keep them open until they fall out if I have to.” She pressed a careful hand to Hyun-Ju’s thigh, kneading as if her touch could imbue the muscles with strength. “Oh!” She gasped. “How did you get out of the handcuff?”

“I have my ways.” She said, suppressing a shudder.

Geum-Ja’s hand found hers, stroking the knuckles. “I knew you hadn’t given up.” Silence, filled only by snoring. 

“What you said about mister Seong–” Geum-Ja cleared her throat, voice lowering to a whisper. “After what he did to poor Dae-Ho, do you really think– he wouldn’t… ”

“I talked to him,” Hyun-Ju sighed, “what Gi-Hun did was mad, vile, but I was wrong. He’s not one of them. You were right, he’s here because he wants to help people.”

Geum-Ja rubbed sleep from her eyes, trying to make sense of it all. “You’re– sure? Did he threaten you?”

Hyun-Ju shook her head. “I’m as sure as I can be. If I had any doubt,” she pulled out the hairpin, “he wouldn’t have made it through the night.” Nodding towards Gi-Hun, who sat on the floor in front of Jun-Hee’s bed. He nodded back. “I should’ve just listened to you. I’m sorry.”

“Doubting means you’re thinking.” Geum-Ja said, daring to meet Gi-Hun’s eyes for the first time since dinner. “If you always listened to me, I’d be in a coffin right now.”

The memory was forever seared into Hyun-Ju’s muscles, hanging over the edge. 

“And if I always listened to you,” the old woman continued, “you would’ve sacrificed yourself ten times over. That’s what caring means.”

“Arguing?” 

“Yes – no, no not arguing, silly girl. Fighting for someone.” Her lips twitched as if to smile but couldn’t remember how.

“Then I’ll keep fighting.”

Gi-Hun straightened from his spot by Jun-Hee’s bed, turning towards them. “You don’t have to forgive me – I won’t forgive myself. But… whatever happens next, you’re not doing it alone.” He looked down at his hands. “We don’t let them turn us into something we’re not.”

Hyun-Ju studied him, dim red light catching on the hollows of his cheeks. For the first time since their confrontation, his voice was filled with something other than guilt. 

A siren blared so loud and sudden that Hyun-Ju nearly fell off the bed. The lights in the dormitory turned on all at once, casting the room in clinical white brightness. That damnable fanfare blasted through the speakers, and a squad of pink guards entered the room through the sliding doors. 

Gods be with them.

This was it.

Jun-Hee stirred in her cot, rubbing her eyes and burying her nose in Mi-Rae’s hair. The little baby gave a startled cry at the lamps coming back on, wriggling in the swaddle. 

“Attention, please.” Said the woman on PA. “The final game will begin momentarily.”

“They won’t even give us a last meal?” Geum-Ja whispered, getting up to check on Jun-Hee and her daughter. 

“Or time to talk.” Noted Hyun-Ju, rising to her feet with a hiss and hobble. She couldn’t go on like this much longer without medical intervention. 

“Please follow the instructions from our staff. Let me repeat…”

Her feet felt cold, her hands clammy – like she was going for evaluation with her superiors in the military. Fear and clarity entwined. 

Ae-Cha rose from her own bed, fiddling with her hands while still looking at Hyun-Ju with skittish eyes. 

Poor player 125 could barely walk straight, shaking and foaming at the mouth in his withdrawal. But if it wasn’t for him, both her and Geum-Ja would be dead. She would not forget. 

“Stay brave.” She said, patting him on the shoulder. 

Gi-Hun walked up behind her, leaning to whisper in her ear as they were herded towards the doors. 

“Remember what I said about the stars…” He looked back at Geum-Ja helping Jun-Hee limp towards them. “I have an idea.”

***

Every other arena they’d been forced into had been bright, childlike in nature, everything pristine until the eliminated players’ blood permeated the ground. With the rainbows of the six legged race, enormous carousel of mingle and flower floor of jump rope. 

But not this one. The doors slid open with a protesting creak, as if they hadn’t been used in decades. Instead of paintings on the floor, the ground was covered entirely in sand. Clustered strobe lights shone from above, light bouncing flat on the tarp covered black walls. 

But the walls themselves seemed to stretch upwards for eternity, just like in her dream – and in the center of the room sat three ginormous pillars. One yellow, one red, one blue.

“All players,” the PA voice buzzed, accompanied by the jangle of another door opening in the yellow pillar, “please proceed to the elevator in front of you.”

They were ushered towards the yellow pillar, onto a cramped platform with a metal rod sticking up in the center. The platform began to rise. Hyun-Ju shifted her weight as the elevator shook, and in the hush of bodies pressed together, she reached into her suit. Without looking, she slid one of her stars into Geum-Ja’s hand.

Another found its way into Jun-Hee’s pocket.

Gi-Hun met her eyes, a silent question — and took the last one without a word.

A fragile trust, a Hail Mary. 

Until finally they reached the top of the platform.

“A warm welcome to all of you for joining the final game.” The speaker voice announced, at the same time as the elevator jolted still. 

Hyun-Ju did all she could not to limp, but it wouldn’t help her anymore, everyone knew she was weakened. 

“The final game is,” she looked to Jun-Hee, who gave her a stiff nod, holding Mi-Rae to her chest,  “Sky Squid Game.”

“Here are the rules of the Game. Players will play on the square, triangle, and circle towers. You will play a pushing game on these three pillars.”

“The bastards will spit on you when you fall to your doom.” The masked officer had told her, and now she knew why. 

“The first round will be played on the square tower you’re currently on. If you push one or more players off the tower while they are still alive, all remaining players will move on to the triangle tower next round.”

The group began to separate, the men who’d voted O clustering together on one side of the square platform. In response, Hyun-Ju and Gi-Hun stepped in front of their three companions, with player 125 and Ae-Cha hovering around the periphery. 

“Likewise, if you eliminate one or more players on the triangle tower in the second round, you will move on to the circle tower. The same applies to the final round on the circle tower. If you push one or more players off, everyone remaining on the tower will be the final winners. Please keep in mind: that if you do not eliminate anyone within the time limit, everyone on the tower will be eliminated…”

“That settles it then.” Declared player 203. “We shove three people off, and the rest of us make out with the cash.”

“He has a point,” player 100 scratched the back of his meaty neck, looking around and counting on his fingers, “that’s the best way to mitigate losses. How much will that leave us with?”

A murmur rose along the O crowd. 

“You, 333,” player 100 urged, taking Myung-Gi by the shoulder, “you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, eh? You helped us with the medical supplies. How much money would we all get if it’s split eleven ways?”

“4.1 billion won.” Myung-Gi responded, staring up at the ceiling. 

Player 203 pulled at his hair and 312 tapped his foot. “I’ve been doing this shit… for a measly 4 billion?!”

Player 100 went dead silent. 

“Plus the stars.” Myung-Gi added, and Hyun-Ju’s heart battered against her ribs. “They’re worth 100 million each to whoever wears them.”

This was it. 

“Please press the button on the ground to start the first round.”

With a creak, a small panel opened up in the center of the pillar, revealing a red, plastic button – which rose out of the ground. 

Hyun-Ju looked at the timer on the wall, and found herself startled by the fact that it wasn’t counting down. That meant, the game makers had decided to make them responsible for the finale taking place. Handed them an illusion of power, to break them down even more.

Unless— 

Before she could finish the thought, a polished shoe stepped on the button, turning it green, and beginning the countdown. 

“The game has started!” Said the cheerful announcer's voice. “You have 15 minutes. Remember, if a player is eliminated by another, singular player, their stars transfer to the person doing the elimination. Stars can be traded, but not otherwise taken by force.”

“Listen up!” Player 100 waved his hands, placing himself by the pole in the center square. “Let’s discuss this rationally. If we start shoving each other around and things get messy, we might all end up dead.”

A score of nods and “ayes” followed. 

“It’s an unfortunate situation,” he continued, “but taking out one person in each round seems like our best option to keep losses to a minimum. What do you think?”

Player 039 raised his hand, eyes darting around. “But how uh– how do we decide which person it’s going to be?”

“I propose,” player 100 said, “that we do this in a way that benefits us all, and raises the prize money as much as possible for those that remain. That way, every unfortunate death will have a greater purpose.”

“What’s that?” Asked 039.

Hyun-Ju knew what was coming, and kept her arms plastered over her chest, Gi-Hun and Geum-Ja did the same. 

“We eliminate the players with the most stars.”

“Excuse me?” Player 203, with his three stars, sneered. 

“Listen. As our young friend here said, the only way to raise the prize money is to gather stars. For some of us, 4 billion isn’t enough. But if they get given the stars, everyone’s happy!”

“This isn’t fucking North Korea!” 203 pushed the rotund man in the chest, knocking him into Myung-Gi. “What is this shit, wealth redistribution? I earned these.”

“Mister Im, I’m simply suggesting–”

“Well I think it’s a shit suggestion.”

“Player 120 should be the first to go, right?” Offered player 039. “She has four stars. S-she killed four people, we all saw it.”

“Agreed!” Player 100 said hurriedly. “We’re running out of time. 120 has the most stars, she dies first.”

Hyun-Ju lowered her arms. 

Revealing the lone star badge on her suit. 

“Not anymore.” She said, taking a step forward. Geum-Ja did the same, her once bare chest now carrying one of Hyun-Ju’s stars. Gi-Hun had taken one as well, bringing him to a total of two. The third now belonged to Jun-Hee.

Dust specks floated around them, and a ticking sound filled the room. 

Silence slammed into the platform like a physical blow. Player 100’s mouth worked around nothing, 039 squeaked. 203’s sneer faltered – before sharpening. 

“You bitch… what did you do?” He stepped towards Hyun-Ju, whose group huddled closer together. 

Her voice came small, yet steady. “I gave them away.”

Deviation was danger, so she’d equaled the playing field. It was Gi-Hun’s idea, to steer everyone away from picking and choosing based on the stars.

Player 100 scrambled forward with frantic politeness. “Gentlemen, we can still compromise. Let’s be practical, listen, if–” 

“Compromise that means I'm dying? Fat chance, old man.” 203 interrupted. 

8 minutes remaining. 

“We should shove 120 off anyway, she’s dangerous and unstable.”

“I have an idea.” Myung-Gi stepped forward, eyes meeting Jun-Hee’s for a heartbeat. “Let’s divide the stars among ourselves to make it fair, and vote for who gets pushed off, like we voted to keep playing.” He pointed to 125, the poor boy kicking at the air and shrieking, unseeing. “I nominate him.”

“The junkie?”

“Player 120 is dangerous, but she’s wounded. It’s better to get rid of him first, he could push anyone at any time.” 

“This genius plan of yours means I need to give up my money.” Hissed 203. 

Myung-Gi didn’t let himself be cowered. “Do you want to live to the next round, you dumbass? Play along.”

“Are you threatening me, with your one hand, huh?” The gaunt man sneered, spitting at Myung-Gi’s feet. 

7 minutes remaining. 

“Let’s draw lots,” Gi-Hun rasped, “that’s the most fair way. We’ll leave the baby and her mother out of it. We can–”

“The baby… why don’t we eliminate the baby?”

“Player 333 has proven himself to be a stand up man!” 100 shouted. “I second the vote for 125, for everyone’s safety.”

“Listen to me.” Gi-Hun waved his hands.

“Stand up?” Ae-Cha said, startling Hyun-Ju and her companions. She hadn’t spoken since dinner. “You think he’s a stand up man?” She pointed in accusation. “I saw him, when the rest of you went to the bathroom. I saw him plant traces of medical supplies in other people’s beds.”

“Don’t,” Hyun-Ju yelped, “Miss Lee–”

“He made the whole thing up!” Ae-Cha continued, eyes wild. “He fooled you all, you’re all s-so stupid.”

Ae‑Cha’s accusation landed — it barely rippled, then the pool turned to tsunami.

Myung‑Gi’s face went white, then red. “I— that’s not true,” he stammered, voice swallowed by the rise of voices. 203’s sneer folded into a snarl. 100 fidgeted, trying to sound reasonable even as his pupils flicked to the stars on people’s chests. 

“Stop.” Gi-Hun had gone pale by her side. 

This wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

“You son of a whore.” 203 kicked hard at Myung-Gi’s ankle, toppling him to the ground. The young man was still weak from blood loss. 

“Gentlemen! Let’s stay democratic and fair.”

“Fair? We’re on a death tower and you want fair?” Ae-Cha was frantic, and nothing Hyun-Ju did could stop her. 

“Now, right now.” Player 100’s voice dripped with calculation and desperation. “We pick one, quick, efficient, and fair.”

Myung-Gi elbowed player 203 in the crotch. 

Mi-Rae sobbed. 

Jun-Hee looked away. 

Gi-Hun shot forward, and what remained of civilization crumbled in an instant. Cameras blinked from the corners of the platform, their red lights pulsing like heartbeats. Somewhere, someone was watching — eating, betting, cheering.

Someone shoved Hyun-Ju in the side – a push meant to steer and not kill. She looked up to see Myung-Gi and player 203 locked in a grapple, Myung-Gi at a severe disadvantage with his injured hand. Ae-Cha moved unseen along the edge, watching. 

Poor 125 covered his ears, rambling. Before lunging into the fray. 

5 minutes remaining. 

She tried to make them stop, ears ringing and jaw aching. This is what they wanted, what their captors and spectators wanted. Chaos, animals, trash feeding on trash.

In a moment of horror, Hyun-Ju saw the gaunt 203 push away from Myung-Gi, and aimed for her.

She reached for her binyeo, keeping an arms length to Jun-Hee and Geum-Ja to keep them safe. 

No one saw the moment it happened — only a blur of limbs, a rush of air.

Player 125 had slipped through the crowd like a ghost, arms wide, his scream more sob than sound.

Then a thud.

Two bodies tumbled over the edge, locked together. Silence — then screams.

“Player 125, player 203, eliminated.”

Hyun-Ju blinked, heart in her throat. He’d saved her, again.

But now 203 and 125 were gone. And with them, the last illusion of decorum. 

There were still four minutes remaining of the first round.