Chapter Text
"Goddamnit!" The sound of glass shattering could be heard, followed by more frustrated cursing.
A server quietly scurries over to sweep up the shards and replace the broken glass; rushing both to please the wealthy man and to get back to the wall away from him.
"Oh, wouldn't you look at that!" A different voice singsonged, stretching out the vowels. "Seems like your little bet died by the hands of.. my perfect 132!"
And sure enough, the screen they were watching from displayed the stabbed player slumped over a bed while another tries and fails to stop the bleeding. The perpetrator pushed to the side, still clutching the steak knife.
"Talk about kicking someone while they're down," a different man chuckled; waving over a second server by the wall to refill his drink.
"It's fucking cheap, I'm telling ya! If the bridge didn't explode and lodge a stupid shard in his stomach, 128 would've won!"
Laughter echoes throughout the room, the kind not born out of genuine joy, but alcohol and a twisted sense of amusement. Completely different from the horror projected on screen.
"Uh huh, yeah, sure!" A voice lounging on the opposite end of the room agrees sarcastically. "But let's get another angle on this! I didn't bet on 456 not to see some ass as it practically bends over!"
Another snorts into his drink, "You dog!"
"Oh, don't give me that! I know we all want to see it!"
And several cheers-maybe even a whistle-were let out as the screen switched cameras, showcasing the scene from behind, providing a clear view.
"Now that's it.." The masked man leans back and languidly stretches out his feet on the human footstool. "Shame he'll surely die at the very last game; he was some mighty fine eye candy."
A beat of silence passes through the room before a new voice breaks it while swirling his drink. "Can't we crown both as winners? We already know who'll emerge victorious, and we have grown quite fond of.." he grins, "Mr. Cheeks over here."
Another round of laughter and drink clinking were heard.
"Honestly, why not? The finale wouldn't be as entertaining now since 218's down for the count."
"Wish loverboy over here could understand that, he's just dirtying himself in blood now." He takes a sip while staring at the screen. "But I'd be lying if he doesn't even look even more delectable.."
"You freak!" Someone cackles out.
"Aren't we all?"
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He feels like he's been in a haze these past few days, but each memory still remains sickenly clear in his mind. It felt like his body wasn't his own--that he was just a mere spectator only able to watch--yet he's perfectly aware of every single action, movement, and twitch his body made.
He can almost feel the weight of the knife still in his hand; blood staining his fingertips to his sleeves.
His bones feel too heavy for his body, one of the several dozen physical reminders what his body has gone through these past few days; what he has gone through.
But he needs to move, he needs to go back. He can't let his wife suffer alone any longer. In-ho can't let her think he abandoned her and their child. He won't forgive himself if that happened.
Sitting up hurts, but he keeps moving, he can't stop.
He wants to scream, couldn't they have at least loosened the ropes just a bit before dropping him off? Doesn't he deserve that slightest smidge of thought after everything he has gone through?
Finally, after several agonizing seconds of frustrated squirming, he's free.
He doesn't have the time to relax, bask in the cold breeze of the wind after days of stuffy heat.
The man looks around the busy street for the first time since he was ungraciously dropped here. And spots two cards on the floor near him, along with someone else.
His fellow player and ex-teammate, Seong Gi-hun.
Why did he spare him, he's not sure.
Lies.
But he did, and that's that. This'll be the last time they'll be in such close proximity. In-ho doubts the other will want to see him, especially not after..
He was doing it to survive, to get back home, to his wife. God knows they need the money.
Gi-hun was too hopeful, it was almost sickening.
But maybe that's why In-ho let him be roped into his misfit team.
Always believing in the best of people, despite being proven wrong over and over again; like the idiot he is. He has to have millions of four leaf clovers shoved up his ass to have survived this far with that mindset.
His stubborn faith in others remindd him of a certain someone; someone he holds very dear: his wife.
Which he needs to get back to now. He grabs one of the cards with his name on it; it's light yet he almost drops it by the weight of it.
Hundreds died fighting for this flimsy peice of laminated plastic.
In-ho shakes his head, he's earned this; it doesn't matter how he did.
He stands up, letting out a groan as he does; his body yelling at him to just lay down for a bit longer.
He starts to walk away, but he stops. They aren't in the games anymore, he can show some mercy and help his ex-teammate out. It's the least he can do.
He unties the ropes off Gi-hun, making sure his hands don't even linger on the man's body for a second longer. Why should he touch him after all the hurt he's caused?
As In-ho unties the last knot, he wishes someone bothered to do the same for him. Not one bystander walked up to question why two unconscious men were shoved out a van.
In-ho reaches for his card next, he can't leave it on the floor where it can be easily grabbed. He isn't sure how much longer the other will be unconscious for. Gi-hun's outfit seems to have no pockets either.
So, in his currently non-sane mind, In-ho shoves the card into the others mouth.
No one would be grabbing that now.
In-ho stands back up, feeling weaker, and walks away. Away from Gi-hun, away from the street, away from the only other person who witnessed how quickly cruel and depraved humanity can become when faced with the chance to win a huge amount of life changing money.
A crow perches overhead, as if taking the place of the man who left.