Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Restricted. Gi-hun lies unconscious, enclosed by the box around him. 

Restricted. Masked guards cuff him to the edge of a bed, allowing everyone to stare and make assumptions.

Restricted. He envisions the rebellion, haunted by the faces of men who never returned. 

Restricted. His tongue catches itself before he can reply to Hyun-ju’s question about Jung-bae.

They’re all gone. All of them except himself, Hyun-ju, and—

“I’d say it’s Dae-ho’s fault,” Young-sik declares. Gi-hun looks up. For once, he isn’t staring at the floor. “He was leaving with the magazines when he just dropped them. He hasn’t left his bed since.”

The sentence prompts Gi-hun to turn his head to the right. There, Dae-ho sits in the corner where they launched this plan. A failure. A traitor.

Ridden with grief, Gi-hun doesn’t mind the isolation as he sits alone. The screams of fallen rebels shake him, but he’d rather sit with them than the people he failed—the people he promised to save.

Seon-nyeo barges into his view of the world, making her presence known with sharp words. He can’t take it—her mockery or her followers behind her, holding up their hands in prayer.

Hand wraps around throat, squeezing to hear worn grunts. Dae-ho whines against Gi-hun’s palm, lungs instinctively begging for air. Eyes wide, he looks upward to the sky.

Restricted. Seon-nyeo’s followers pull her away, and her hand protectively flies to her neck. Shaken, Gi-hun’s outburst is enough to shoo her away—and everyone else mocking him and his failure.

How dare that man line up with everyone for measly potatoes? Behind a shorter man who hides with a timid stance, eyebrows expressive of his fear. Min-su finds himself similarly distracted, staring at the one who killed his goals.

Unaware of Min-su’s watchful eyes, Nam-gyu fidgets with the cross in his shaky hands. He eventually pries it open, eyes lighting up as colorful tablets appear. Finally.

His fingers work quickly to pry one out and sit it on his tongue. Crunch. The tablet snaps between his teeth. Delighted with the easy supply, he finds himself no longer dwelling on Thanos’ demise. He’d pick these pills over lame raps any day. Namgyu’s grip on the closed pendant tightens. After all, the man didn’t even have the respect to remember Nam-gyu’s name. Nam-su this; Nam-su that. 

Relief settles onto Nam-gyu’s shoulders. He no longer has to tuck his hair behind his ears, trying to look pretty in hopes of scoring a treat from the cross. It’s his now. His. Thanos isn’t here to restrict him anymore. He chuckles to himself as he indulges in another piece.

Thoroughly buzzed, Nam-gyu plants himself on his feet, feeling light as he finds himself wandering towards the line of remaining players. His free hair frames his face as he eyes up a shaken X, dried blood speckling his cheeks. As he awaits his food, a woman leaves with hers.

Jun-hee stares at her two sweet potatoes, her feet aching as she approaches her bed. Suddenly, two turns into three. Looking to her right, Myung-gi stands before her.

“You like sweet potatoes,” he recalls, a man’s blood still staining his jacket. His eyes wander down to her pronounced belly. She is too physically worn to wonder about it. Before she can reply, the back of Myung-gi’s jacket is facing her as he walks away, clutching his singular potato. 

As she approaches her own spot, she walks past a timid man staring down someone still in line. She ignores it. Another man is refusing to take even a bite of food, staring down at the floor. She ignores it. Her entire body aches with each step, a lingering dread absorbing every fiber of her energy. Looking to move past it, her hand supports the underside of her stomach. It grows stronger.

She bites into her first of three potatoes. So does Dae-ho. Hands shaking, he forces down pieces of food. He can’t rid his head of the gunshots, the screams. What would his father say? Strands of hair sticking out everywhere, he doesn’t notice Gi-hun staring him down, a hatred creeping into his eyes. The next day arrives, and Dae-ho isn’t oblivious anymore, unsettled by Gi-hun’s dark gaze. 

The O's won the vote by a landslide, meaning every player has to shuffle onto worn, vibrant staircases in order to proceed to the next game. Bullet holes remind Gi-hun of the failure. 

The remaining players are faced with the fallout of Dae-ho’s betrayal, bodies strung up with their fronts facing out. Dae-ho dares to look away, coughing as he grapples with what he’s done. Gi-hun doesn’t rip his eyes away from Dae-ho—partly because he can’t bear that Dae-ho gets to walk instead of those men, partly because he can’t bring himself to look at the outcome. 

Warriors. Strung up by the arms. Humiliated. Defeated. A chandelier of humans, once so desperate to live. Gi-hun can’t look.

As players enter the next game hall, chatter fills the room along with them. The door behind them is a knife, while another takes on the shape of a keyhole. In the middle of the room is a jar full of blue and red balls. Players file into a line, each spinning the knob for a ball—one at a time. Gi-hun is last, left with one ball. He gets no choice. In reality, none of them do. Half of them didn’t even choose to be here.

Clutching a red ball in his hand, Gi-hun takes his place on the red team’s designated side of the room. He looks at the familiar faces, but the familiar faces don’t look back at him. They haven’t. Not since Dae-ho’s failure.

Geum-ja stares at her son, who is positioned on the other side of the room. Her usually kind face is contorted into confusion. The two are usually stuck together, a pair that never splits. Her trademark care returns to her eyes as she hears a mumble behind her. 

“Ms. Jang?”

She takes it upon herself to evaluate Jun-hee’s well-being, patting her arms. “How are you feeling? Any pain?” The shake of Jun-hee’s head allows Geum-ja to exhale in somewhat relief, though his shoulders are still tense. 

In the sea of blue vests, Gi-hun notices that ponytail. Dae-ho.

A guard explains the rules of the game: seekers, those in red, must eliminate at least one hider, those in blue, while hiders must avoid death or find an exit. The time limit is thirty minutes. Seekers get knives, and hiders are armed with keys. The hiders will be released into the maze first, allocated a two-minute head start. Then, the seekers are let loose. Seekers are not allowed to attack each other.

“Players will first be given a chance to switch teams so long as both parties agree. You have ten minutes.”

Gi-hun doesn’t bother with the stalling, opting to keep a watch on Dae-ho. The man fruitlessly attempts to persuade seekers, begging to switch vests. Moving on, Dae-ho frantically searches the room for someone else to bother. He walks past a pair—one seeker, one hider.

“Switch with me,” Myung-gi orders. “You can’t hurt anyone, let alone kill them. I’ll quickly find someone and do it, and then, I’ll find you.” Eyes earnest, he holds his key in his hand. “I’ll protect you and the baby.”

Jun-hee scoffs. “Is it that easy for you?” she asks, recalling his blood-stained jacket. The front of his uniform was basically soaked. “Killing someone?”

Stressed, Myung-gi blows out air, lips making an ‘o’ shape. “Jun-hee,” he starts again. “You’re pregnant. Any hider will easily overpower you. You won’t be able to kill anyone.”

As much as Jun-hee's fiery side wants to bite back, she is overly aware of her inability to move as fast as other people. Her feet still hurt, and her back could barely take walking up all those stairs. “I’ll do anything for my baby,” she manages to spit back. 

“Then, kill me.”

Jun-hee stares at him.

“It’ll be too hard for you to fight someone. I won’t put up a fight. I want you to live.”

The sincere declaration is interrupted by a loud exclamation. “You can do it, my boy, Min-su!” 

Nam-gyu backs away from the seeker he was intimidating, voice contorted to mimic Thanos’. “Min-su,” he continues with a laugh. His body is tense, full of energy. Giddy, he can already imagine pushing his blade into someone’s gut. The knife sits in his hand, heavy with the possibilities. That chandelier had really inspired him.

Finally, the two-minute head start begins. Hiders shuffle into the maze, one by one. Myung-gi, dressed in blue, nods at Jun-hee before making his way through the keyhole. Geum-ja follows him, her red vest on her son’s shoulders.

Gi-hun listens to every tick, waiting patiently for each second to pass. Finally, he could soon avenge the fallen men—unrestricted.

Chapter Text

He can hear his heart beating in his ears, trudging through starry corridors. Clutching his key, Dae-ho wanders frantically as a little girl’s distorted voice sings. 1:33 . Time is going down fast, and judging by the eyes that stared him down earlier, Gi-hun was already ready for him. He speeds past a much calmer-looking man.

Myung-gi observes the shape of his key as he approaches a door. A triangle. Eyebrows growing closer, he bends at the knee to get level with the lock. Its shape is a circle. Exhaling, he glances at the timer. 1:21 .

His search quickens as he looks for a triangle-shaped lock. At the next door, his key slips in easily, and the knob twists. Eyes scanning the room, he closes the door, dissatisfied. Being around two entrances is too dangerous. He continues on his way, passing a stairwell—Jun-hee won’t go up there, so it’s best to remain on the current floor. Besides, two hiders are already climbing it.

Hyun-ju, hair tied back in a short ponytail, holds onto Geum-ja’s wrist as they ascend the flight of stairs. 

“We need to find a room,” Hyun-ju declares. “It’d be too risky to keep moving. We’d run into seekers that way.” 

Re-securing her hairpin, Geum-ja nods. 1:05. She allows Hyun-ju to lead her, preoccupied by worry for her son. He’s never hurt a fly, not even the kids who would kick him after school. While her belief in his ability to kill waivers, the two scurry past a stressed man. His updo is a mess, with strands lying everywhere.

Dae-ho feels a heavy lump in his throat as he continues to move. Conflicted, he debates his next move. Should he hide? He’d be a sitting duck—easy prey. Should he keep moving? He might run into a rampant seeker. His jaw trembles as he climbs another flight of stairs.

0:45 .

Still in the first room, Nam-gyu fantasizes about the things he is going to do. He can already hear the ripping flesh, the desperate pleas. They’re going to see the power he has. Not as eager, the timid man stays in the back.

The knife feels foreign in Min-su’s hand, his wrist unable to properly support it. Stomach twisted, Nam-gyu’s bouncy stance leaves him ill at ease. He twirls the knife in his hand, hair unrestricted by his ears. Somehow, there’s a man even farther back than Min-su. He stands up only when the clock hits 0:30 .

Gi-hin clutches the knife in his hand, approaching the rest of the seekers. Face set like stone, he watches the clock tick closer and closer to zero. Finally, after years have passed, the seekers are let in, no longer held back by a head start.

“Let’s get it!”

The blue lights and intricate wall designs don’t distract Gi-hun as he maps out the first floor, feet moving on autopilot. Completely focused on finding the traitor, he ignores the slow woman next to him.

Jun-hee, clutching her knife in one hand and supporting her stomach with the other, debates her path. The stairs are a no-go, her knees already threatening to buckle. Limping, she decides to wander the first floor. The man behind her takes a different route, opting for the stairs.

Yong-sik moves cautiously, knife held near his chest. He just needs to find one person in thirty minutes. He should be fine. He can do this. Lips forming an ‘o’ shape, he lets out a shaky breath. Just one person. He hears a click behind him before he can fully climb up the stairs. 

A man is hunched over his necklace, sneaking something into his mouth. Repulsed, Yong-sik focuses on getting to the next floor. His mom always told him not to affiliate with people like that.

Nam-gyu slips another tablet into his mouth, reveling in the taste before closing the cross. Time to find his first victim. 

Min-su takes a different approach—no skipping or laughing. His feet are slow, his mind still working out how he can kill someone. He walks past a closed door. Behind it, Myung-gi pushes his weight against the wood. He keeps his breathing steady, his muscles prepared to push in case of an intruder. It’s the only entrance to the room, meaning Myung-gi should be able to hold off any seekers until Jun-hee finds him.

Sprinting, Nam-gyu chases after the first blue vest he sees, legs moving faster due to the supply of strength he had ingested earlier. The hider has no chance. Nam-gyu’s body relaxes as soon as he hears the squelch, feeling a high he never has before. He pulls his knife out and stabs wherever he can, ears twitching as they hear the victim’s grunts. 

Captivated, his hands rush to hold the deepest wound, letting blood drip between his fingers. 

Player 231, eliminated. Player 124, pass . Nam-gyu’s lips break into a grin as he hears the voice over a loudspeaker, unaware that his victory would be broadcasted. He was the first to win. It is then that an idea pops into his head, and he digs into 231 ’s wound. Drag. Dip. Drag again.

Hands completely bloodied now, Nam-gyu observes his work and how his knife glints underneath the lights. A man walks past him quickly, eyes set forward. He didn’t even give the scene a glance.

Gi-hun tunes out the loudspeaker as he walks past the first winner and the newly decorated walls. He has cleared the first floor, meaning his mind is now set on the second. He will find him. Breathing heavily, the chandelier remains in his head. Those men. Left to an unfortunate fate due to the cowardness of another. 

Player 172, eliminated. Player 203, pass.

The similar halls don’t mix up in Gi-hun’s head, remaining organized as he searches for the stairs. He walks past that woman again, still not paying any heed to her. He has to avenge them.

Jun-hee scans the area nervously. Where could he be? Did he really mean it? She nearly gags when she sees 231 . The man’s blood is smeared on the wall like a declaration of the killer’s violence. Inhumane. Inferior.

Rounding the corner, she spots her first hider. An older man, face contorted with fear. The number 100 stands out on his chest. 

When he first arrived at the fork in the road, Jeong-dae debated turning left or continuing straight. At a sight of red in front of him, his muscles tense. But it’s just her—just the pregnant lady who had struggled to get up to the game hall. “Give me the knife,” he mutters. “Or I’ll take it from you.”

Myung-gi hears the words from his safe haven. “Give it to me!” He doesn’t hesitate to push the door open. At the end of the hallway, a man is struggling with Jun-hee, grabbing at her wrists as she tries to push him off. Myung-gi sees how her legs shake, barely holding her body up as she tries to keep hold of the knife. She fails. The man smiles as she falls to the ground, the weapon yielded in his hand. 

Acting fast, Myung-gi runs as fast as he can, but it’s like the corridor keeps getting longer and longer, and he is drifting farther. Jeong-dae raises the knife, ruthless as he tightens his grip. He doesn’t get to swing, though. 

Instead, his eyes widen as he groans. A knife plunges in and out of his stomach, the tip of the blade peeking out towards Jun-hee. Blood flying, her face is speckled with the foul liquid. Jeong-dae’s body falls to the floor.

Player 100, eliminated .

No one passes.

The killer doesn’t stop when Jeong-dae hits the ground. He continues with the mutilation, unrestricted hair falling in front of his face. Once he has dug his hand into Jeong-dae’s gut and smeared blood on the wall beside him, the killer lifts his head. 

Myung-gi has arrived by now, pulling Jun-hee up by her arm. The fear in both of their eyes earns a chuckle from the long-haired seeker. 

Holding out Jun-hee’s knife, Nam-gyu grins. “Calm down,” he orders, though he revels in their frightened stances. Jun-hee takes the blade. “Aw, lovebirds,” he comments, seeing how Myung-gi holds the girl’s wrist. Much to the two’s surprise, he begins to sing. “We were in love. We met in a memory that can’t be erased.”

Full of judgement, Myung-gi’s eyes scan over Nam-gyu’s bloodied clothes and hands as the smiling man continues singing. He can’t comprehend why Nam-gyu isn’t lunging at them too.

“Let’s go,” Myung-gi whispers, leading Jun-hee back down the hallway to his room. 

“ MG ,” Nam-gyu calls out, halting the song. Turning around, Myung-gi allows him to finish. “You were fucking awesome in the bathroom,” he chuckles before kicking Jeong-dae’s limp corpse. “That prick took me as an idiot.”

Myung-gi nods before leading Jun-hee into the room. Footsteps run fast above them.

Finally, Gi-hun’s eyes are on the fast-moving traitor. It’s his fault. Dae-ho runs quickly, feet hitting the ground hard. Gi-hun runs quicker. 

Desperately looking for an escape from his doom, Dae-ho tries to escape through a door, fumbling with his key. Finally, he twists the knob, pushes the door open, and—he pauses in front of an open floor, met with a bottomless pit. Gi-hun catches up. 

His stomach feels empty, blood escaping his wound. The liquid pools onto the ground. “It’s your fault,” he hears a whisper, ear twitching. Somehow, the knife’s exit hurt more than its entrance. Dae-ho drops. Pulled out of the flow of the river; pulled away from his life.

Player 197, eliminated. Player 456, pass.

Gi-hun freezes, standing above the body. The victim’s head lolls over the edge of the floor.

197 ?

Bending at the knees, Gi-hun reaches for the victim’s shoulder, flipping the body over. He’s met with unfamiliar features—apart from the hair. Innocent. Undeserving of violence. Dead.

Gi-hun’s heart stops in its tracks, the absence of its beats leaving the rest of his body cold. He stands, breathing—guilty, deserving of violence, alive. 

But the game isn’t over yet. Not until he finds Dae-ho.

Below, Myung-gi positions himself in front of the door. “Are you okay?” he asks, observing Jun-hee’s exhausted stance.

She nods, catching her breath. 

Silence fills the space between them. Their plan is working out like they thought: they meet up, find an isolated room, then—

“Well,” Myung-gi starts, gaze switching between Jun-hee and the knife in her hand. “Okay.” He had been so calm before, so calculated. What was different now? 

The air leaves his lungs in quick, ragged breaths. If he had known it would come to this, would he have forced himself into that room? Would he have helped that girl up? Would he have pushed her in instead of himself? Would he have voted to stay after the first game? Would he have even signed the contract to join the games in the first place?

Hands trembling, his thoughts are a mess. He doesn’t mean to cry—to show Jun-hee his fear. Would he have disappeared for six months? Would he have promoted that coin? His palms grow cold, sticky with cool sweat. Parched, his throat cries for water. He wants to swim. To drift along with its flow. He doesn’t like this flow—the one that has led him to this room, decorated with fish and painted waves. She is going to pull him out of the river—lay him down on the dry rocks and swing his knife down.

There’s a lust for life in his eyes. Jun-hee can see it. 

“I can’t.”

“You have to,” Myung-gi forces out the words, each letter scraping against his dry, flaky throat. She has to pull him out of the water.

Jun-hee shakes her head. “I can’t.”

Overtaxed by her refusal, Myung-gi searches for a momentary distraction. There’s got to be something—something in the air, in the water. 

It tickles his nose: a faintly sweet odor. Jun-hee feels it—the contractions, the pressure. At first, the water-like liquid comes out in a slow trickle, dropping down her leg. Then, the gush comes, and Jun-hee reaches for the wall to support herself as she winces. 

Myung-gi watches, frozen. “Jun-hee,” he calls out to her. He sees the water by her feet.

Running his hands through his hair, he mutters a curse. “Okay, lie down,” he guides. He jumps at her loud moan—pained and desperate. Instinctively, he watches to see if the door opens. “Wait here for a moment. I’ll be back.”

Jun-hee exhales, trying to hold back any and all noises. She watches, heart sinking, as Myung-gi leaves. She’s alone. Again, he is disappearing right before her eyes, escaping fatherhood.

But he comes back. His pants are bloody, but he’s back. She is barely lucid as he slumps a familiar, blue-vested figure against the door, sticking a head underneath the round door handle. When the door is barricaded and the sleeve of Myung-gi’s jacket is stuffed in her mouth, she finally cries—muffled and anguished.

Geum-ja recognizes the sound; many a time did she hear it when helping countless women. Blood cold, she listens for it again.

“We have to find Jun-hee,” she declares, turning to face Hyun-ju.

In a defensive stance, Hyun-ju takes a moment to look back. “Was that her?”

Geum-ja nods.

“Positive?”

She nods again. “We have to help her. The baby. It’s coming. I know it.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t try to refuse. Instead, she leaves first, making sure the coast is clear before motioning Geum-ja to follow. The first minute of their search proves uneventful. That is until they round the corner to find a man, torso decorated in a red vest. He holds up his knife.

“Just step aside,” he orders. “You can go. I’ll take the old woman.”

Eyes narrowing, Hyun-ju watches his trembling body. His spine is bent in distress, shrinking his stance. She tucks her key into her shirt.

The man is easy to disarm, not nearly as experienced as the woman he picked a fight with. Hyun-ju easily grabs his arm, squeezing it to force his hand to relax. The knife clatters to the ground. She doesn’t stop until the blade is stuck in the man’s chest. 

Player 226, eliminated .

“Go,” Hyun-ju orders, not dwelling on the fight. As they descend a staircase, they can hear the slicing of another player’s torso from just a hall over.

Player 411 , eliminated.

Nam-gyu watches as the body twitches, mesmerized by the deceased’s doll-like eyes. Thanos, standing beside him, is just as excited by the look. The dark-haired seeker is too distracted with making his mark on the wall to notice two hiders sneaking downstairs. Continuing to search the second floor, his eyes land on a familiar figure and his timid stance.

Player 077, eliminated. Player 039, pass.

“Min-su,” he calls out. “Didn’t hear you pass yet.” 

Thanos adds on, “Get to it, my boy!” Fed up, Min-su gives Nam-gyu a judgmental look before scurrying away, stirring up a laugh from the two seekers. 

“Before there aren’t any blues left for you!” Nam-gyu continues. He’s happy to follow Thanos down the hall, ignoring the blood spurting from the rapper’s neck.

On the first floor, Geum-ja and Hyun-ju follow the cries, Hyun-ju keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. They turn left after passing a lone pool of blood, and Geum-ja stops.

“In there,” she raises a finger to point at the door. “She’s in there.” The woman runs to knock on the door. “Jun-hee?” she calls. “Let us in.”

Inside the room, Myung-gi stares at the door, only registering the pounding on the door. Blue vest on his shoulders, he is aware of his vulnerability—how easily he could be ripped from the lake. But Jun-hee nods at him, a relief in her eyes.

Cautious in his movements, Myung-gi pulls the body out from under the handle, cracking open the door only slightly.

“Ms. Jang,” Jun-hee sighs, allowing the woman to enter and kneel beside her. 

Myung-gi observes in confusion. “Who are you guys?” he asks, re-barricading the door. Geum-ja can’t watch as he maneuvers the corpse. 

“Hyun-ju,” one lady introduces herself. “And that’s Geum-ja.”

“They’re my friends,” Jun-hee explains weakly.

Geum-ja shushes her. “Quiet. Save your energy. You need to focus on getting this baby out.”

He feels like he isn’t there—as if he’s simply observing and not actually standing with everyone. He’s too in his head to say anything as the two women support Jun-hee, leaving him out of it. 

Above them, Gi-hun continues his search. He won’t rest until he avenges those men. Passing doesn’t matter to him. Chasing the hiders that run away doesn’t either. Dae-ho has to be here somewhere. 

A hider runs past him quickly, a deranged seeker soon following. Behind him, he hears the woman squealing as a knife digs into her. Nam-gyu stabs anywhere he can, each squelch echoing a cha-ching as he increases the amount of money in the piggy bank. Thanos gets his knife in her head, twisting the blade.

Player 006, eliminated .

The poor lady had been abandoned by her group, left to be Nam-gyu’s next ragdoll.

Continuing with his pattern, Nam-gyu leaves his knife in the body as he smears a streak of blood on the starry walls. He pulls his soaked hand off the wall and wraps it around the handle of his knife. Ready for the next victim, he yanks his knife out of the deceased’s head and skips down the hall.

Meanwhile, Gi-hun continues to maneuver around the maze in search of the traitor. He hears footsteps slow behind him. They quickly resume their previous pattern, but Gi-hun can feel who it is.

Turning around, he chases after him—after Dae-ho. His steps are steady yet quick, and he almost breaks into a sprint when he sees Dae-ho’s frightened expression. Still, he remains calm, suppressing the urge to plunge his knife into that traitor’s eye.

Dae-ho enters a stairwell. Gi-hun follows. It’s empty. The door at the top isn’t open.

Gi-hun pauses, standing on the stairs. He turns around, starry walls sparkling around him. The entrance is wide open, pressed close to the wall—not close enough. He steps down slowly, listening to the timer ticking down. He has no idea how much time is left, focused solely on the unmoving door in front of him. Fingers on the handle, Gi-hun pulls. Behind it sits Dae-ho, hands over his mouth as to muffle his breathing. His eyes are wide, arms trembling as he looks up.

Focused. Angry. Gi-hun stares at the shaking man, a rage flaming in his belly. 

“Please,” Dae-ho mutters—guilty, deserving of violence, alive. He wants to stay in the water. But those men are laid on the rocks, dry as water beads off of their bodies.

They’re hung up in the stairwell, forming a circle—a chandelier. 

Dae-ho watches the contemplation flash across Gi-hun, and his eyes are too familiar, too angry. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. Suddenly, it’s his dad in front of him, holding a belt in his hand. His mother is pleading from behind, and his sisters are hidden in their rooms. 

Hand wraps around throat, squeezing to hear worn grunts. Dae-ho whines against Gi-hun’s palm, lungs instinctively begging for air. Eyes wide, he looks upward to the sky.

Dae-ho doesn’t fight. Fighting always made things worse. Gi-hun stops.

Shaking, Dae-ho looks up, confused. Gi-hun looks at his eyes, lost and frightened. It’s not his fault. It’s their fault—the people who created this environment in the first place. 

Gi-hun extends his hand out. “Get up,” he orders, keeping his tone steady. “It’s not your fault.”

Dae-ho has to comply. Complying made things easier for everyone; at least, that’s what his mom would say. He takes Gi-hun’s hand, keeping his gaze averted. “Thank you, sir,” he mutters, hoping his quiet voice doesn’t set Gi-hun off again—something about ‘lacking respect’.

“Stay hidden behind that door,” Gi-hun instructs. “Or find a room with only one entrance that you can keep shut.”

Grateful to be spared, Dae-ho nods fast. “Yes, sir,” he bows.

In another stairwell, Nam-gyu follows Thanos upwards, a trail of blood leaking from four holes in Thanos’ neck.

“This is definitely my favorite game so far,” Nam-gyu remarks, giddy as he twirls around his knife.

Thanos holds the next door open for him. “Mine too, Nam-gyu.”

The long-haired man turns around, caught off guard. “What?”

“What?”

Lips curling into a smile, Nam-gyu admires the blood splatter on Thanos’ face. “Nothing.”

The two walk past the same timid man from earlier. “Min-su!” Nam-gyu yells. “Clock’s ticking!”

That’s all Min-su hears. That stupid voice, all high-pitched from that doped loser. “Shut up,” he yells, pointing his knife at Nam-gyu.

Chuckling, Nam-gyu dramatically puts his hands up. “Oh, no! Min-su, don’t hurt us!”

Min-su ignores the fact that he doesn’t know who ‘us’ is. All he can focus on is that agonizing voice— ’Clock’s ticking!’

Nam-gyu feels his back hit the wall, earning a cough from his lungs. “Chill, Min-su,” he exclaims.

Thanos pitches in. “Yeah, get off.” Min-su’s eyes narrow at the deepening of Nam-gyu’s voice.

“Get off of me, Min-su,” Nam-gyu struggles as Min-su raises his knife. He brings up his knee, using the distraction to get himself free. “You’re fucking crazy.”

Noticing the focused look in Min-su’s eyes, a chill crawls up Nam-gyu’s back. Min-su lunges at him before he can get out another snarky remark. Room spinning, Nam-gyu’s head hits the floor. He doesn’t know where his knife is anymore. Still, he manages to catch Min-su’s wrist before he can plunge his own blade into Nam-gyu’s neck. 

Struggle. Back and forth. Thanos watches, kneeling beside Min-su. He’s smiling. Why isn’t he helping?

“Thanos, help,” he mumbles, pushing against Min-su’s wrists to stall the knife. Min-su looks beside him at the empty space, easing up due to his confusion. Distracted. Off edge.

Nam-gyu smacks the knife out of his hand, watching as the blade skids away. Clatter. 

Alerted by the clinking, Min-su rehones his attention. His hands grab Nam-gyu’s neck, squeezing. The look in those eyes—the struggle, the descent into a doll. 

Cool metal presses on the side of Min-su’s head. “ Violence between seekers is prohibited ,” the robotic voice of a guard reminds him. Min-su doesn’t stop. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t end this junkie right here—this fiend who thinks he’s superior just because he can get his hands dirty.

“ Violence between seekers is prohibited .”

He squeezes tighter, teeth escaping through a smile. Nam-gyu’s sweaty hair sticks to his forehead, face red. He can feel each as Min-su pushes his thumbs into the skin, shutting off as much of Nam-gyu’s airway as he can. He can’t stop. Nam-gyu’s struggle is too additive—too satisfactory. The tiny gasps as he fruitlessly struggles; the twitch of his eyes.

“ Player 125, violence between seekers is prohibited .”

Squeeze. Struggle. Shoot.

Neck released, Nam-gyu gulps down air like water, immersing himself in the river he was almost taken from. Blood decorates Thanos, Minsu’s limp head in his lap.

Player 125, eliminated .

Nam-gyu, pushing himself up with his arms, gasps for air as Min-su’s lower half weighs him down. He watches as the guard marches away, bowing his head. Instinctively, his hand leaps to his neck, caressing the red skin.

Eventually, Nam-gyu locates his knife and digs in to give Min-su a taste of his own medicine. 

Thanos watches as Nam-gyu enforces his superiority over the timid man, slicing through already-dead flesh and smearing blood on the wall.

Downstairs, Jun-hee holds onto Hyun-ju’s hand as Guem-ja walks her through the birthing process. Sitting away from them, Myung-gi glances up at the timer— 6:42 . 

“She still needs to pass,” he informs. Geum-ja keeps her attention on the baby—ignoring the game. She hasn’t even thought about her son in a while.

Hyun-ju stands up. “How is she supposed to kill someone?” she gestures to Jun-hee. “She can’t get up.”

Myung-gi, exhaling, rubs his eyes. He pauses. “I have an idea.” He gives it some more thought, feeling eyes on him. “Yeah. It’ll work. Hyun-ju, I need you to come with me.”

The two leave the room, Myung-gi holding open the door for her. He peeks his head in. “Prop the guy underneath the doorknob. Take him down when we come back,” he orders. “Quickly.”

He jogs down the hall, frantically searching. “What’s your idea?” Hyun-ju asks him, keeping up with his pace. 

“We need to find a hider,” he explains while keeping alert. “We can knock them out and bring them back to the room.”

“Then?”

“Then, we have Jun-hee hold the knife. We throw the body onto it. It should count.”

The two run down corridors, leading Hyun-ju to question his passion.

“Do you know Jun-hee from before the games?” she asks. “You seem to care for her a lot.”

Myung-gi sucks in a breath. “Yeah, I did,” he nods, vague in his answer. It’s not the time for that.

Back in the room, Geum-ja winces as she pushes the body, wiping her hands after. “Okay, you need to push just a little bit more.”

Jun-hee digs her nails into her palm, biting down on the sleeve of fabric as she groans. Her thoughts are too messy to give any thought to Myung-gi’s plan or the game.

Wandering around the first floor, Hyun-ju rounds a corner. Seon-nyeo stops in front of her, wearing a blue vest with the number 044 stuck on it. Relieved, Seon-nyeo sighs as she realizes she had only bumped into a hider.

“The gods led us to each other,” she begins. “We are meant to find the exit.” Her eyes wander to an arrow on the floor. Suddenly, she raises her hand. “There. That way. They’re leading us to the—”

She hits the floor, groaning. Myung-gi grabs her by her ponytail and slams her head down for good measure. “We need to move fast,” he mutters.

Hyun-ju, a bit taken back from the lack of hesitation, picks Seon-nyeo up by her upper half, burdening most of the weight as Myung-gi carries the legs.

They move too quickly for a seeker ten yards behind them. The man huffs, feeling the timer creep closer to zero. 4:03 . Yong-sik continues to search frantically, peeking his head out of corners to try and catch a glimpse of a clever hider. Why hadn’t he taken his first opportunity? Did he have to hesitate? Cursing himself, he ascends another flight of stairs in desperation.

By the time Hyun-ju and Myung-gi return, the timer has reached 3:35 .

“Quickly, give her the knife,” Myung-gi orders, kicking the door closed.

Allowing Myung-gi to drag the hider closer to Jun-hee, Hyun-ju kneels beside Jun-hee. “Hold this, okay? Tightly.”

Grunting, Myung-gi brings the unconscious player closer. He shoves her down, a squelch echoing as the blade enters her stomach. His aim was a little off, the body landing too low on the knife. 3:02 . Legs shaking, he picks her up off the knife, muttering out of struggle. He drops her again. The knife lands in her chest.

Straightening his back, Myung-gi catches his breath. Player 044, eliminated. Player 222, pass .

Hyun-ju can’t help but smile as the words echo. Even Guem-ja lets out a relieved chuckle. Exhausted, Jun-hee lets go of the knife, closing her eyes in ease. She doesn’t get too long of a break before returning to pushing out her child—their child? Myung-gi still questions what she wants his role to be, but that worry can wait. 

He kneels beside her. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” he tries, wanting to make himself helpful and involved. She nods, squeezing the hand he offered. Hyun-ju repositions the man underneath the handle.

The timer ticks down, and eventually, Jun-hee lays her head down with an air of finality. Notified, Myung-gi’s head snaps up. The baby. Geum-ja wraps the infant in a discarded coat. Her face is contorted, holding a weird expression.

“Is everything okay?”

Myung-gi’s question alerts Jun-hee. “What?” she asks, still weak. “What’s wrong?” Geum-ja shakes her head. “Ms. Jang,” Jun-hee tries again. “Please. Is she okay?”

Geum-ja remains quiet.

“No,” Jun-hee shakes her head. “Give her to me,” she orders. “Give me my baby!”

Shakily, Guem-ja hands the infant over. Still. Quiet. Not even one cry. “I’m sorry,” she mutters.

Myung-gi feels his body grow cold as Jun-hee trembles, cheeks wet with tears. Water beads out from the corners of his eyes, never reaching her daughter.

He can’t move—can’t say anything to comfort her. Can’t bring their baby back to the river and make it drink.

0:01.

“ The following seekers have been eliminated due to failure to complete their task: 041, 281, 329, and 007 .”

Geum-ja’s body stills, mirroring Jun-hee’s expression. She doesn’t cry outwardly, wailing for her own son. She just listens to the gunshots, imagining his face as his body grows limp, far away from his mother.

“The game is over. All remaining players can now return to the Dormitory.”