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It wasn’t a man, Gi-hun believed. There were too many things about the Recruiter that seemed too perfect to be a person. Even now, bloodied and disheveled, the man sat across held a presence of composure as though each fleck of blood on his face had been curated with purpose. When he first met the Recruiter at the subway station, he was in a state of finality. There was no escape for him then, his daughter leaving and loan sharks swarming him, he was living in limbo knowing he would drown in his debts soon enough. In the subway station, Gi-hun presumed the Recruiter to be another in a long line of perverted individuals who saw him for what he was: a desperate fool willing to do anything for that chance moment of escape his life. He gambled that even if the promise of money was false, there was a chance that it might just be real. It had been and the man before him almost seemed like an angel- an annoying, pretentious, bastardisation of an angel, but an angel nonetheless when he crumpled that money in his hand and gave him a card that promised more. There was salvation offered to him on a golden card, and he weighed his odds and gambled that he could reach it.
It’s easy to say that he was a fool to believe that such a promise would be given without sacrifice. Maybe he had been a fool, but the truth was that he knew he couldn’t do any better than he was. Some part of himself recognised that if he called that number and was left robbed and dead, it would mean nothing. His daughter was leaving South Korea and he couldn’t change that, his mother... His mother had said it in frustration that he would end up dead one day in a gutter. He had already been mourned by the people that mattered most to him and all he could do was gamble with his fate to change that.
He left those games, 45.6 billion won richer, and it was too late to change anything. His daughter was in America and his mother had died mourning his death. He was left emptied and spent and nothing felt real for the dead man he had become. He wallowed in that guilt and self-loathing for years until he realised that he was only dead to himself. He wanted to change, wanted that money to have a better meaning than what games made it. If all it meant was blood money rewarded by the death of over four hundred people, what kind of person did that make him? He had to justify their deaths by doing some good in the world, at the very least. He would help Sae-byeok's family like he promised. He would be there for his daughter like he always should have been.
But then he saw the Recruiter again and a delayed anger sparked inside him. It was the same smirk on the man’s face as he saw Gi-hun, the same animated features that mocked him as he waved. He wasn’t an angel, or a saviour, but a devil dressed in fine clothing. All those idealisations and deifications of the man from their first meeting had been stripped away entirely.
Gi-hun saw something different in the man sitting across from him in this love hotel room. Something in the way the Recruiter’s eyes widened just a fraction as he pulled the trigger of the revolver and their game of Russian Roulette had decided its winner and loser. There was only one round left now and he wondered how that made the Recruiter feel; he wondered if that something was fear in the man’s eyes, wondered if that meant he was human.
Gi-hun hadn’t thought of any of those involved in creating the games as humans. They were monsters, they were devils, and that made it easier. Perhaps, it shouldn’t be that easy though. He had the belief that only something inhuman could craft that kind of cruelty. But they were humans, just like him; just like his friends and everyone else in those games. They weren’t tokens in a game to crush and push recklessly. Gi-hun had made that reality easier for himself by pretending it had been monsters who had done that to them. Now, however, he realised that lessened the horror of it.
So lost in thought, he still had the gun in his hand, stalling the last move of their game. The Recruiter seemed to notice that too.
“Do you want to do it yourself?” The Recruiter asked, one eyebrow cocked in curiosity as he tilted his head. He tried to maintain that image of indifference, but every movement from the man was far too strained to make it believable. He was forcing himself to continue wearing that mask, even when his bosses weren’t watching him. “Would it make you feel good to be the one to pull the trigger?”
Yes, he answered silently, he was human after all. He thought about pointing the gun and pulling the trigger, about how good it would feel to get some form of retribution from them. But that wasn’t what stayed his hand. There was that something from before that he couldn’t quite name, a strangeness when he looked at the Recruiter. He wondered if he would find the word for it as he handed the gun over to the Recruiter.
Maybe it was the enjoyment he felt as he saw the hesitation in the man. Maybe it was the guilt he couldn’t quite smother knowing he enjoyed that.
“What’s wrong? Feeling your mind start to race?” The Recruiter traced fingers over the gun, feather-like and unsure. Gi-hun enjoyed watching that realisation settled in and wanted to pry it open some more. “That’s right. Who cares about the rules? The only thing you have to do now is pull that trigger once...”
It was in the eyes, Gi-hun discovered as he stared at the Recruiter. A glim of something real as though he was seeing the other for the first time; a hairline fracture threatening to break with every push he gave. If he kept pressing, he might just see it shatter and break before the end.
“And you could kill me right here. But...” A faint twitch at the corner of his eyes, at least, Gi-hun thought there might have been, but it was too small to tell. “You have to admit one thing to me.”
“All you do is put your little mask on...” A beat, another twitch that might not have been real. “And do whatever Master tells you to.”
“You roll over, heel...” The hairline fracture cracked further, something muddy underneath it.
“And wag your tail...” The once faint twitch turned into a tremble that broke the man’s face in two. It broke apart that mask as he struggled to maintain it. Gi-hun wanted to see it shatter entirely.
It made him human and Gi-hun needed to see that; wanted to make them see it too.
“ ’cause you’re their fucking dog.”
The fracture broke; the mask chipped away until it fell from one-half of the Recruiter’s face. It was like watching two armies battle for control then; one half unwilling to appear human and the other begging for it. There was a last flicker of defiance in the Recruiter’s eyes that scrambled for control. It gloated at him, mocked him, as the man leaned back. The nozzle of the gun was rammed under his chin, all his strength seemed to be in that movement to follow through with the game.
Gi-hun realised he hated that look more than he wanted to see the other dead. It made it feel as though he had still lost the game regardless of whether he was the one breathing after. The feeling he couldn’t place before screamed at him then and before he could think about what he was doing, he lunged forward. Curiosity, mixed with resentment, was enough of a reason to find out what that feeling was. His hand gripped the gun, snapping it to the side with little struggle. He didn’t know what he expected or wanted when he did. The Recruiter pulled the trigger, and the crack and bellow of the gunshot rang in his ears until it whined and sucked out all other sounds. In that moment after, Gi-hun wondered if, in a cruel sense of irony, he had blown his brains out. That would have been stupidly pathetic; worsened by the image of the Recruiter laughing over his corpse. He’d be smug about it, as he was with everything, as he stared down at Gi-hun's body, brain matter, and skull fragments painting the floor and wall.
The moment after drew out, and he noticed his own breathing. Felt his chest heave and pant long enough to believe that it wasn’t a trick. Then he heard another breathing, measured in even breaths, but punched out as though the person had to remember to do so.
Tentatively, Gi-hun pushed himself upright from where he had awkwardly landed after throwing himself over the man. If he hadn’t noticed the breathing, he might have believed the Recruiter dead. Slowly, he pulled the gun from the other’s hand, expecting that to trigger life back into him.
But it didn’t.
The Recruiter’s body remained limp, his eyes stared listlessly at the ceiling, wide and lacking recognition. Was the dog playing dead? Was it a ruse? He couldn’t say. His brows furrowed at the sight as a nervous energy crept in him steadily. He hadn’t thought about what he would do after—probably run. But with the Recruiter left in such a state, he couldn’t help but feel like an animal cornered by a predator. One small movement and the Recruiter would leap up and attack.
He flinched when the man finally sat up, a perplexed look on his face that Gi-hun couldn’t place meaning for a man like the Recruiter.
“You broke the rules.”
Gi-hun's eyes widened before a cackling laughter erupted from him at the credulous statement. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that the man wasn’t grateful. His laugh died down when he noticed the serious look on the man’s face, not angry or gloating as he had grown to expect, but something close to curious perhaps.
“Because this isn’t a game,” Gi-hun answered honestly.
“It’s always a game,” the Recruiter responded. There was a strain to it, like a hope or a wish for it to be true. Gi-hun thought maybe it had to be true for him; that if it wasn’t, he would be broken entirely by it otherwise.
“How long did it take to tell yourself that before you believed it?”
The mask was gone and Gi-hun almost wanted it back. He didn’t know how to handle the man now in front of him. The Recruiter reached into his pocket, pulling out a card- a black envelope with a pink ribbon tied neatly. He held it out to Gi-hun, who took it cautiously, still staring at the now seemingly broken man. He turned his back, walking to the front door before the Recruiter’s voice stopped him.
“Tell me, Seong Gi-hun,” he said. “What will you be telling yourself when you realise people would rather play the games than face a life polluting the streets?”
“I won’t be telling myself that I am different to them,” Gi-hun answered. “These people who run the games... They tell you those people you recruit from the streets are trash and worthless. It makes you believe you’re just like them- that you’re different… better. But you’re just trash all the same to them, just one they’ve dressed in a suit.”
He got no response, and he didn’t stay to wait for one. Gi-hun left the Recruiter in that room with a word for that something he felt before.
Sadness.
He was saddened by the Recruiter; and by what he represented. There was horror in that sadness, but he couldn’t deny it. How much more could there be? How many lives had those games twisted? It was one more reason, he told himself. One more reason for him to end the games.
He had to make all those deaths and sacrifices mean something in the end.