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“The next game will be played in pairs of two. Please find a partner, and stand together. I will repeat: the next game will be played in pairs of two. Please find a partner, and stand together. You have five minutes.”
Hyun-ju heaved a sigh of relief. Admittedly, another team-up of five would have been better: after their pathetic attempt at a rebellion, it was all that remained of their group. But at least it wasn’t another free for all. Hyun-ju knew she wouldn’t be able to keep them all in sight, keep them all safe. Images rushed up to try and drown her in panic: Young-mi, begging her through a slotted door. 246, seeking cover against a pink wall, pleading. Jun-bae returned to them in a coffin like a present—
She violently shook her head. Grappled the images, the guilt, the people, and pushed them all deep down. They’d have to wait to come haunt her in her dreams. After the way she had failed them all, she deserved it. But not now. Not here. She still had people here. People she needed safe. Her nightmares were crowded enough as is.
She pulled her shoulders back, relaxed her stance. “This is good. Teams of two means a lot less chaos. And we’ll be working together with someone we know.”
Geum-ja and Yon-sik had already linked arms, Yon-sik looking determined, Geum-ja smiling at the rest of the group in encouragement. “That’s right. We can do this. Only… ah…” she looked hesitantly between the leftover three.
Five of them had remained. Which meant two pairs, and one leftover.
Dae-ho had come out of his PTSD episode... eventually. Another thing Hyun-ju blamed herself for, for not recognising the signs, for sending him back for the ammo. Then they’d brought in Jun-bae’s body, and something had broken in the young man. He hadn’t spoken a word since. Kept staring off into the distance, as if his mind had run away. They had even almost failed in getting him to come along to the next game, until Jun-hee had taken hold of his hand. If she’d had let him go halfway up the staircase, he probably would still be standing there.
So that made one catatonic husk, one pregnant woman, and one… well, one Hyun-ju. Not the easiest of persons to find a teammate for. She glanced at the clock. They’d been given 5 minutes. Perhaps she could snap Dae-ho out of it, convince him to team up with Jun-hee: She was the only one so far who had gotten even a little bit of a reaction out of him. Keeping her safe might be enough to get him through. And then with whatever time there was left, Hyun-ju could go and find someone else. Or, worst case, find herself in the dregs. There was an even number of players left. Someone would have to settle.
She turned to Jun-hee to make the suggestion, and froze. 333 was walking towards them. He stepped right in between the group, as if he actually belonged with them, and the sheer audacity of it, of him pushing in a space that hadn’t been meant for him… She had him by his shirt and up on his toes before he could counter it.
“I didn’t come here to fight!” he snapped. He grabbed Hyun-ju’s wrists, but she was strong, and angry, and under all that Young-mi was weeping, weeping…
Her head went suddenly quiet. Hyun-ju blinked. Jun-hee had put a hand on her arm.
“Let him go.”
Startled, she listened.
333 righted his jacket. “Jun-heeya. Team up with me.”
The entire group gaped at him.
Jun-hee’s face set in angry determination. “No.”
“You are one person short to form teams,” he insisted. “I kept you safe in the last one, I can do it again.”
The last one. Anger threatened to overcome reason again, but Hyun-ju didn’t let it. They simply didn’t have the time. “Why would you willingly team up with a pregnant woman?”
333 opened his mouth, then hesitated. Glanced at Jun-hee.
Hyun-ju put it together about a second before Hun-jee admitted it.
“He’s my ex.”
More staring. Most of it at 333, who at least had the wherewithal to look ashamed.
Geum-ja turned her fury on him. “And you let her join the games?”
“I didn’t know she would be here! I didn’t even now…” he fell silent again, flustered, and obviously annoyed. But there was determination there as well.
Hyun-ju didn’t like it. But just because she didn’t like it, didn’t mean it was up to her. She glanced at the clock, then back at Jun-hee. “Do you trust him?”
“Not entirely.” Jun-hee looked at 333. “But enough.”
He let out a sigh of relief. Then, to Hyun-ju’s astonishment, he looked to her. As if for approval.
Young-mi died and this isn’t fair, she thought. But hating you won’t bring her back. “You get her through alive. You hear?”
He nodded solemnly. Held out a hand for Jun-hee. After some hesitation, she took it.
That left Hyun-ju with Dae-ho, then. Another glance at the clock told her she still had a solid 3 minutes to try and shake him out of it. Taking hold of his shoulders, she steered him to a quiet corner of the room.
“Dae-hoya.”
His eyes didn’t see her. She shook him a little. Not too hard: if it was up to her, she’d never want to see him flinch again. If it was up to her, she’d send him straight into therapy. But she’d have to get him out first. She tried to lock on to something, anything, in those vacant eyes. “Dae-hoya. You need to snap out of it. We have to play another game.”
It was that last word that did it. He resurfaced suddenly, locking up in panic, eyes flitting around the room. She kept a firm hold of him. “It’s alright, you’re not alone. Look at me. Look at me. Good. We can do this. We’re pairing up, alright? I will be with you the entire time.”
Dae-ho looked at her. Then at the room. Back to her, back to the room… “Gi-hun-shi?”
“No, Dae-hoya… Gi-hun didn’t… he didn’t come back.” She braced herself, ready for Dae-ho to slip right back into despair and out the other end, no longer within reach.
Instead, his eyes became more focused, his shoulders growing tense. “Gi-hun said…” He took in the room again, where people were pairing up. Looked up at the clock, ticking away the time. One minute and a half to go. “He said…” He suddenly grabbed her, completely focused, completely serious. “He said there would come a game where we would have to kill each other.”
Hyun-ju felt herself go cold.
Out in the room, Jun-hee gasped in sudden pain.
***
Geum-ja rushed to Jun-hee’s side. “Ay no, your baby must be coming! Where does it hurt? Low in your back? Is your belly hard? Here, lean on me!”
Geum-ja was distantly aware Hyun-ju had stepped in to drag Yon-sik away. She was grateful for the intervention: she didn’t need his nervous hovering for this. “You’re having a contraction. Let me know when it’s over, and we’ll time how long it takes until the next one.” She glanced at her wrist out of habit. Glanced up at the only ticking thing in the room.
One minute left.
333 barged straight up to the guards. “You can’t let her play like this!”
The square guard was immovable. “Players that refuse to play will be eliminated.”
“She’s having a baby!” he screamed, kept screaming even when guards pointed their rifles at him.
“Myung-giya, don’t,” Jun-hee groaned, leaning on Geum-ja. “I’ll manage.”
“Of course you won’t!” he yelled, in complete panic.
“Well I’m going to have to!” she snapped, doubling over as the next contraction hit.
Geum-ja made soothing noises, taking note of the time. 9 seconds apart.
51 seconds left.
Dae-ho had rushed up to 333, Myung-gi, and dragged him away from the guards. Myung-gi struggled, trying to break free, until Dae-ho whispered something urgent in his ear. Geum-ja couldn’t hear it, but whatever it was, it was very effective; the boy went rigid.
“Omma!” Yon-sik appeared back at her side, and hugged her. It was so sudden, his voice so emotional, that for a moment Geum-ja could do nothing but hug him back. “Ah… it’s ok, Jun-hee is going to be ok. She still has time, first babies always take a while—”
“I love you.”
Geum-ja froze, confused. Patted Yon-sik awkwardly on the back. “Where is this coming from? We’ll be ok. We’ve survived three already, yes? We just have to stick together.”
“I love you,” he repeated. His hands brushed up against her hair as he pulled away. “I really, really mean it.” There was a wet shine to his eyes.
She grasped his face worriedly. “Let’s focus, yes? It’s almost time, look.” She turned to check the seconds. Twenty left. Her eyes fell back on Jun-hee. Myung-gi had returned to her side, taken her hand. He looked shellshocked, and pale. Determined.
Geum-ja smiled encouragingly at Jun-hee. “You still have a lot of time before the baby comes. Breathe through the contractions, and don’t be afraid to make noise if it helps. Focus on getting through this, and I’ll be right there to help you after, yes?” She stayed at Jun-hee’s side as long as she could, showing her the best way to breathe.
It was only when the timer was down to three seconds, that Geum-ja suddenly became aware of certain things. First, that her hair felt suspiciously light, as if something had been slid from its knot. Second, that it wasn’t Yon-sik, standing by her side.
Geum-ja looked up. Hyun-ju smiled down at her, in a brittle way that did not reach her eyes, and locked her arm in hers.
And then their time was up.
***
The game room they were led into had patterns on the floor. Circles, triangles, squares. They were about 3 meters across, and three meters apart.
“Please choose one of the patterns, and with your partner, step within the lines.”
Hyun-ju slowed her walking a little, letting other players choose first. Shape would matter little, after all. She ignored Geum-ja, who had pulled herself loose, and who was absolutely furious.
“Why did you have to go and split us up? Was this my son’s idea? Was he worried I would hold him back? Answer me! I may be old but I can still hold my own!”
Hyun-hu didn’t answer. She was watching Yon-sik from the corner of her eye. Him and his last-second partner were stepping into a circle. Two shapes removed from them, Hyun-ju stepped into a triangle. “This one,” she told Geum-ja.
“Oh, so you’re deciding everything for us now,” Geum-ja snapped. “What if I want a square, huh?”
Hyun-ju steeled her voice. Her heart. “Geum-ja-shi. This one.”
She harrumphed, and stomped into the triangle. “When this is over, we are talking about this.”
No, Hyun-ju though, suddenly tired. We won’t.
The panic was welling back up, and with it came their faces. She let them. Looked them in the eyes, one by one. It was only fair. There would be no more nightmares for them to hunt.
She’d join them soon enough.
A timer blinked to life. Hyun-ju looked up at the very last minutes of her life.
“In this game, you will be playing against each other. The first person with both feet out of the pattern, loses. If at the end of the game, both remain in the pattern, then both will lose. I will repeat—"
Throughout the room, cries of dismay were going up. Hyun-ju scanned the room and found Dae-ho, off to the side in a square, looking for all the world like he’d slipped back into his catatonic state. His partner, someone she didn’t know, seemed absolutely delighted. She looked over at Yon-sik, who had put himself in the very centre of their circle. Wide stanced, like she’d told him.
“Please get ready for the start of the game.”
“You knew.”
Hyun-ju turned to Geum-ja. A gunshot jumpstarted the very last of her life. Five minutes. Probably less.
“You knew,” Geum-ja repeated. Scoffed. “How did you know?”
“Dae-ho figured it out. Something Gi-hun had said.”
Geum-ja fell silent. Her face crumpled into betrayal, into pain. Then, slowly, it settled into resignation. “Thank you for saving my son from having to make this decision.”
She was looking at Hyun-ju so earnestly, Hyun-ju couldn’t bear it. She closed her eyes, turned away. Out in the room, she could hear some of the pairings start fighting. Something touched Hyun-ju then, and she jumped. Looked down. Small, old hands had clamped onto hers.
“It’s ok, Hyun-juna,” Geum-ja sadly said. “I know I am old. You’re young, and you have dreams. A future.” She glanced at the clock. “We still have a little time. Let’s sit down until it runs out.”
Hyun-ju knew that if she sat down now she might never get up again. Instead, she raised her eyes to meet Geum-ja’s. Squeezed her hands. “Thank you.”
“Ah,” Geum-ja smiled nervously. “It’s not…”
“For accepting me,” Hyun-ju clarified. “For being… motherly.” She chuckled sadly. “I didn’t know how much I needed that. We all do.” She was distantly proud at how well she was keeping things together. How she was able to track the guards movements throughout the room without it being obvious. Most of them were patrolling around the patterns, focusing on those where fights had broken out. There was one particular guard however that was simply standing there, between their triangle and the next square.
Geum-ja smiled. Patted her hands with clear affection. “You’ll make a great mother too, one day.”
And oh, that just wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all. She’d been doing so well… Hyun-ju let out a choked sob. “I won’t.” She let go. Took a step back.
Geum-ja saw it in her eyes before she started moving. Grabbed for her as she dashed past. But Hyun-ju was younger, and stronger, and so very determined. Because these were her people. These were her friends. And she was getting them through.
Hyun-ju dashed over the line. That’s one. The guard turned, startled by Geum-ja’s crying out, but he was too slow in raising the rifle. She braced, barrelled into him shoulder first, knocking him down. Swirved around the square in three great leaps.
At the center of his circle, Yon-sik was keeping his ground. In his outstretched hand, warding off his opponent, was Geum-ja’s knife. His eyes flitted to Hyun-ju, and his opponent tensed, started to turn around, but Hyun-ju was at full speed, already crossing into the circle. She caught him low on the chest, putting all her momentum and weight behind it, and they cross over the line, and down.
Yon-sik instantly lowered the knife in sheer relief. That’s two.
“That’s cheating! That’s fucking cheating!” The O player scrambled up, screaming at her, screaming at the guards as they closed in. Then the realisation hit him that they do not care, and he set off running.
Hyun-ju stayed. She wasn’t going to run. Not in a room without cover, with the odds of them shooting at her and hitting anyone else. Instead she frantically searched for Dae-ho, finding him still standing in his shape. Fully present and aware. Alone. That’s three.
Their eyes lock across the chaos of the room, and he wordlessly mouths at her. “Jun-heeya’s safe.” Hyun-ju sagged in relief. And that’s four.
She turned to face the guard. Most of them had set off in pursuit of the runaway. Only one remained. Going by the scuffs on his tracksuit, it’s the one she’d tackled to the ground. There are no eyes to meet in that triangle, but it’s the principle of the thing. She won’t die looking away. Whoever it is, perhaps they’ll find it in themselves to be haunted by her too.
The shot rang out across the room.
“Player 120. Eliminated.”
***
Hyun-ju had done her best in life. She knew she hadn’t been perfect. Far from. But she had tried, and she hadn’t given up, and most important of all, she had found her own truth and stuck to it. And she knew the games weren’t fair, that their entire essence was one of unfairness. Still, she had hoped that her sacrifice would have at least earned her a clean and painless end.
So why wasn’t she dead?
The shot had hit her low in her leg. It had floored her, and it hurt like hell, but she had enough combat experience to know it wasn’t lethal. There was blood, but not enough to have hit a major artery. Nothing a good doctor couldn’t fix leaving only minor aesthetical damage. Hyun-ju had plenty of scars, and she wouldn’t have minded one more. Knew that this one wouldn’t be allowed to heal into one. So why hadn’t they killed her outright?
Closed off in the coffin, blind to the world and its reason, her body and mind rattled on, and on, and on. The coffin slowed, halted. Moved. Halted again. Something heavy and metal closed nearby. The world went silent.
And then she fell away from the world.
***
“This one? Really?”
Hyun-ju squinted at the sudden light. Dim as it was, the confines of the coffin had been utterly dark.
“Yes. This one.”
Two shapes were hovering over her. Pink bodysuits. Guards. Adrenalin spiked. She was still alive, they weren’t armed, they weren’t even masked, she could be out and at them before… before… she blinked, her mind roiling to make sense of what she saw. Stared at a face that had haunted her dreams.
Maybe she was dead after all. Maybe death was just one never-ending nightmare.
“…246?”
It couldn’t be a nightmare. In her nightmares, he never smiled. “Hi.” He reached out for her, helped her sit up.
She clung to his arm, in a desperate attempt to verify it was all real. Found that she could touch him. That he felt warm. Alive. She let out a sob of relief, and buried her head into his chest. When his arms came up to hug her close, she almost started bawling.
“I know,” he muttered, gently stroking her hair. “I know. But you’re out now.”
Out. She was out. Really truly out. After a few steadying breaths, she managed to resurface. To sit up, and look at the other person in the room. But she didn’t let go of his arm.
“Hyun-ju-shi, meet No-eul. She’s ex-military too.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” the woman in guard outfit deadpanned.
Hyun-ju’s eyebrows rose at the clear North-Korean accent.
“If it was up to me, I’d simply fix up that leg, hide both of you until the game ends. But this one,” No-eul pointed at him, “convinced me you could help me take it all down.” She gave Hyun-ju a calculated stare. “Can you?”
Hyun-ju clung to refound hope. “Tell me what you know.”