Chapter Text
The room smells of sweat, fear and panic. On the floor tiles lies the green tracksuit, with its legs covered in sand, and white shirt stained with blood. The running water covers the muffled sobs.
In front of one of the sinks stands a woman, wearing only a black sports bra and black panties. Her knees are scraped up and her face bruised. Her slender frame wails and she holds onto the sink for support. The brunette lifts her gaze and in the mirror she sees a horrified young woman staring back at her. The green eyes are wide and the mascara has been smudged.
She closes her eyes and the memories come flashing by. The screams, the panic and gunshots taking them down. Bodies everywhere. Blood and chaos.
June forces the nausea down and turns the running water off. She grabs the tracksuit from off the floor and gets dressed. She moves as in slow-motion and every movement is a reminder of what just happened.
Green light - and the mass of people wearing green tracksuits moved in union, closer to the finish line.
Red light - and those who were dumb - or unlucky - enough to move were shot down. Their blood - red and thick - covered the sand.
More than hundreds of people were bleeding out under the gazing sun.
At one point, June had fallen, too. She lied there quietly, so quietly.
Not moving a muscle, she stayed there until she had the courage to stand up.
She still remembers the man stumbling over her legs. The man who fell to the sand. In his last moment, he stared at her wide-eyed, with an expression she’ll never forget: This is your fault. His blood had stained her clothes and face. Someone else's blood, as a reminder of how cruel and unfair life can be.
The bathroom door opens and she recoils when seeing the pink uniform and mask. One of the sick people behind this shit.
This person is about her height, and has their face hidden underneath a triangle mask.
“What do you want?” June hisses. She grabs the jacket and holds it protectively over her bare upper body.
The body language of the guard is somewhat uncomfortable and hesitant. Like they are contemplating something.
“Player 083. Are you alright?”
“Get out! GET OUT!” She shouts. She grabs the white slip-on shoe from the floor, holding it up. It must look comical. A young half-naked woman, using a shoe as a weapon against a weaponed person. Weapon. She feels stupid. The pink uniformed person wears a gun.
“Don’t hurt me.” She whispers.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” She hears the sad tone of the masked person. Something about the voice feels so familiar and safe, but June can’t for the life of her know why. It looks like they’re about to say something else, like they want to approach the terrified player. But they don’t.
Not yet - not now - anyways.
“You need to head back.” The triangle guard turns to the door again. “Now.”
June throws the clothes back on. She puts her hair up in a high ponytail and adjusts the bangs, before leaving the bathroom.
She can’t help but stare. All of them are as fascinated, with their gazes glued to the giant piggy-bank lowered from the ceiling. More than millions won is dropped in the transparent piggy-bank. The cash prize from the first game.
“Each player is worth ₩100 millions.” The square guard explains.
June looks at the board, showing the amount of players left. 176 players dead after the first game, meaning it’s ₩17.6 million so far. 280 players, and five games to go. She swallows hard.
“So if we win all games, we get… All that money?” A player - numbered 192 - asks. His voice is shaky.
“Correct.” The square guard says. A mumble goes through the crowd.
“You guys can’t be serious!” A woman steps forward. She has a desperate expression on her face, and her eyes are tear-streaked. “It’s not worth it!”
“For you, maybe! I have debts!” 192 shouts.
“We all do, scumbag!” Another player replies. Chaos breaks out and the shouting - and pleading from horrified players - continues.
Everyone screams as a gunshot echoes in the room. June covers her ears and stares at the guards.
Are they trying to kill everyone?
No, it was just a warning shot against the ceiling. With the gun lowered, the square guard speaks in a calm but firm tone.
“You’re all here because you consented to it. We gave you a choice before the first game. One to stop playing.”
“We didn’t know you’d kill us all!” A player hisses.
“We’re allowed to vote.” The pleading woman from before calls. She wears the number 345. “Isn’t that right?” Everyone holds their breath, waiting for a reply.
“That is correct.” The guard signals for the other pink uniforms behind, and they move in union. “A vote to end the games will be held.”
“Player 455, please cast your vote.”
In front of them are two buttons, one red X, and a blue circle. An old lady steps forward. She stands before the buttons for what feels like hours.
“Hurry up you old hag!” Player 111 - a guy with a buzzcut and piercings - shouts.
She surprises everyone by pressing the circle.
Everyone has different opinions. It differs from circle to X. When 100 players have casted their votes it's 50-50.
“Player 180.” A young woman with her hair in a braid walks forward. Her hand trembles as she presses the red button.
It continues in what feels like hours, and keeps being even.
“Player 083.”
June's legs feel like jelly as she walks up to the two buttons. Her hand stops before above the X. She comes to think of life as it is now. What does she have waiting for her at home, if she chooses to go back?
Misery. Misery, crimes, alcohol and broken relationships. Poverty. And the risk of becoming homeless.
If she wins… She can come home with billions of won, for herself - and her family.
She can give her grandparents a place to grow old.
She can help her sister, maybe even fund the upcoming wedding. She deserves something good, after everything she’s done for her growing up.
She remembers the fight they had some days ago and her heart clenches.
For you, Mina. For us.
“Hurry up, bitch!” 111 once again shouts.
“Piss off, baldie.” She hisses back, before pressing the circle.
Everyone holds their breath as 010 step forward. There's only two players left, and the moment of truth is near. He picks a circle and the circle-players shouts in happiness.
“Please, let us go home!” Player 180 cries. A mumble of agreement comes from the X-players.
“Player 002.” The square guard says.
It’s the X-players who will cry tonight. The second he chooses blue, the room echoes with shouts of relief, and cries of despair.
The game will continue.
June flushes the toilet and leaves the stall. It’s almost lights out, before another day with a new game. They were given eggs, rice and chicken. She feels full and this is the most she’s eaten in days.
A real meal, and not fast food or quick-noodles from the back of her pantry at home. There's some other players in the room, but everyone is quiet, and there is an anxious tension in the air.
She looks into the mirror, looking less broken and scared than earlier now.
As she adjusts her eyebrow piercing and the big gold hoops in her ears, she can’t help but wonder if she made a mistake, wanting to stay.
Can she really win? And if she dies, what then? What will her family think? That she abandoned them? A wave of nausea washes over her.
No, she needs to win. She’s alone in the bathroom now. So she thinks. The door opens, and a triangle guard enters. Could it be the same one from before? She tenses up and stares their direction, trying to keep some composure.
“You idiot.” The person behind the mask growls.
“Excuse me?!” June hisses. Her anxiety lessens momentarily, anger taking over at the guards words.
Still, she steps back when the guard comes closer.
“Who are you?” She demands.
“Someone that cares.”
“Oh yea. Like I’d believe you!” June scoffs.
“June. Please listen to me.”
She freezes. This person - with the oddly familiar voice - knows her name. Her heart races and she tries finding an escape.
“How do you…”
But before she can ask how they know her name, the mask and hood is off. A woman her age, with a freckled face, short black hair and bangs stares at her. June can’t believe it. It’s not possible. In front of her stands the woman that once broke her heart. The woman she’s spent the last year trying to forget.
How they both ended up in this situation, together - that’s a mystery.
Her voice is barely a whisper as she pronounces the name of the woman in front of her.
“No-eul?”