Chapter Text
"Take that airplane, player 132."
It's not an order per se, more a very warm suggestion.
The airport is buzzing with its daily activities, the perfect place to hide in plain sight. Gihun looks at player 132's position on his tablet, the small dot still at the entrance of the airplane for the United States.
On the phone, player 132 says nothing.
"Get on the plane," he repeats, keeping his voice kind. He doesn't know why he cares. Player 132 could be a pain in the ass, an ex cop with connections in the underground that he can pay plenty to annoy the branches of the organization, who knows when and how to move to remain invisible from society.
Player 132 should want to start anew, after the death of his wife and their child and having cut contact with his remaining family. Why is he hesitating then? Why is he making the same mistake Gihun did years ago? But no, that would be an unfair comparison: Gihun didn't get on the plane because he was too scared of what his daughter would have seen after he survived the Games. Player 132 is not getting on the plane because he is seriously considering-
"How did you get this number?"
"That's not important."
"You are never going to leave me alone, are you?"
"Get on that plane, player 132."
It's his last warning. He can't save him if he doesn't do what he is told. But why should he even want to save the most problematic winner in recent history?
The dot in the tablet starts moving, going away from the plane.
Gihun sighs in disappointment: "What are you doing?"
"Where are you?"
"You can have a good life, why throw it away like this?"
"I can't go away knowing what you do!"
"Dozens have go on with their lives knowing what we did. Don't be stupid, get in that plane."
The call ends. Gihun curses and sees the dot on the tablet get out of airport. He can imagine him, player 132, looking around himself like a madman in search of spies, being careful of where he is walking and who is he meeting on his way. It won't be long before he realizes that there's a tag behind his ear to keep track of his location.
Gihun pinches the bridge of his nose, closes the tablet and walks away.
Three years pass and yes: Hwang Inho has been a pain in the ass ever since. His training and knowledge as police officer allowed him to go undercover seamlessly, helped by the underground he used to throw in jail in exchange for big sums of money - and, he dares to say, even respect. He looked for their recruiters everywhere, all days of the year without any pause.
After three year, Gihun had felt generous, and had allowed their best recruiter to leave crumbs Hwang Inho could follow.
And so here they are, the night of Halloween, inside the same limousine that brought player 132 home to a dead wife and a destroyed life no amount of money could repair.
Coincidentally, it's also Gihun's birthday. Inho gave hima nice gift, by willingly falling into the trap he set for him.
"I sincerely wished for you a good life," he tells Inho from the passenger seat, a black, bulletproof glass dividing them, moving the bottle of soju in his hand in circular motion, "I never wanted for you to come back to this."
"How generous of you," Inho replies, looking straight into the camera installed behind the eyes of the little pink pig in front of him.
"You should have gotten on that plane."
"I told you that I would have found you."
He did: "What do you want to tell me?"
A pause. In the camera, he sees Inho bite his lips, the fury in his eyes incendiary: "Stop the Games," he orders, hands close into tight fists on his knees.
"That won't be possible."
"You are the one behind them, you can do that!"
How naive. Surely ex-detective Hwang Inho is not that stupid to truly think that something like the games begins and ends with the Frontman, no?
No, no, there is more to that, like the mercenaries he has brought with him and his little brother that is currently following the limousine at the adequate distance: he has a plan, but what could it be?
Gihun drinks some of the soju, and waves at the guard next to him to stop driving in circle and go straight at the crossroad, towards the harbor. On his lap the white mask reflects the lights of the streets - normally, he wouldn't show his face to any guard but then again, Jungbae is not any guard.
"What are you going to do if I don't stop the games?"
"I will find a way."
"Find a way?" he can't help but laugh, "Find a way like your plan to kidnap me?"
Sounds of shooting follow. Inho seems to focus on something said to him in the earpiece, then he takes out a gun from his jacket and shoots once against the glass. It doesn't do anything, if course. He sees him curse, but not loose his cool.
Inho goes back to the seat, remaining surprisingly stoic despite his main plan having just failed.
"Have you ever watched the Matrix?"
Uh?"
"No," Gihun replies.
"In the film, the protagonist has to choose between living in a comfortable lie or in the harsh reality of the truth. Once he was exposed to even a fragment of what was actually going on, he was not able to chose the lie."
Gihun hums, confused. He can feel Jungbae's eyes on him through the mask.
"Is this a way to tell me that you will never stop looking for me?"
Inho remains silent for a few beats, then leans forward: "Let me play the game again."
Jungbae gasps. Gihun forwns: "What are you talking about?"
"Let me play again. Let me show you that you are wrong."
"Wrong?"
"The Games operate on the basis that human life is unimportant and transactional, that despair can be made a spectacle, right? I can show you, no, prove to you that there is way more to humanity than what you and your masters are convinced of."
Masters, uh?
"You think of me as some kind of dog?"
"Is there some other way to describe you?"
Touche.
Gihun smiles, drinks down the last of the soju and wears his mask again. Next to him, Jungbae presses the button for the sleeping gas that fills the inside of the car where Inho is.
"I still think this is the worst idea you have ever had, player 132," he says before Inho falls unconscious, "But I won't pass the opportunity for a good show."
"Are you really doing this Gihun-ah?"
"It will be fun," Gihun says as he and Jungbae walk into the Frontman's quarters, leaving behind the noises of the first game. There, on the large bed, is his green tracksuit, the number 456 stamped on it. Gihun can't help but shiver when he takes the jacket and his fingers brush on the number, invested by the memories of his Games.
"It's risky."
"It won't be, I will be careful."
"Just because the old man did it once-"
"Ilnam had his bit share of fun, he would approve," he argues before removing his mask and the heavy white coat.
Jungbae sighs: "If this is about the bet-"
Ah, the bet, the one they made last night before this whole thing started, half drunk on cheap soju.
"It's not about that," he lies as he undresses.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm just a bit bored," he says. He puts on the pants and the white shirt, hiving to take a deep breath as he remembers the night of his victory, when Sangwoo...
"Gihun-ah be careful."
Gihun wears the jacket and looks at himself in the mirror. Ten years have passed since his games, and his face shows every sign of it.
Though he must admit it: green suits him.
"I will be," he promises to Jungbae, patting his shoulder, "Now, let me join the players before the first round of votes begins."