Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"P-please, " the young boy begged, teary puffed up eyes yearning for the leniency he was aware he would never be granted. "I promise I'll try-no I WILL be the son you wanted. I'll be brave, a-and I'll do everything you ask! Just please—"

Another slap.

Another punch.

Another kick.

Another pool of blood staining the already red floors.

Daeho could rest assured his father gave worse punishments than Satan himself. His body ached and practically begged to make a run for it, to hide away until the over looming threat was gone, but despite his physical trauma, it was the verbal attacks that truly stuck with him. Comparable to having bullets in the leg instead of the heart, it was miserable long-lasting pain as oppose to a quick and easy way out.

Cowering away like the 'girly son' his father always despised would only enable more vituperation. So his body remained sprawled on the floor, twitching, throbbing, and bleeding out, he also could've sworn bile was arising from his stomach, but the thing is he hadn't tasted anything today other than his own crimson liquid. No more pleading, lest that man interprets it as a gesture of weakness and a lack of masculinity. Ironic how he still could be considered a coward for deciding to choose the less distressing route.

"If you truly were the son I wanted after the failure of your four sisters, then you wouldn't be crying right now. You would suck it up, be a man, and take the beatings without complaint. Agree with me won't you, Daeho?" A sadistic grin overtook the man's expression. "At least you know not to run off like a scaredy-cat anymore."

---

The sound of warped classical music awoke him.

Another one of Daeho's nightmares—memories—plagued his sleep after the failure of the rebellion, he heard the announcements, he heard Jungbae's number listed off. Father was right. He didn't even realize his worthless ass scrambled back to the 'comfort' provided by the cover of bedsides. Skill points for being a miserable bitch who can't handle measly gunshots without flinching as if being charged with a taser. Wiping the gunk from his eyes and shifting his position in bed, the first distinguished figure he could make out from his hazy gaze was Gihun.

Good lord he wished he could just knock himself out again.

All of the magazines were gathered from the guards, he truly was going to escort them back. The staircases were splattered in vermillion and used ammo, a wave of dizziness and nausea overtook him. It was brutal and raw, all of it. From the grayish stain of the impact marks guns left on the pastel walls to the bound to rot bodies hanging from the balconies. A familiar sense of trembling swept over him. Gunshots repeatedly echoed in his mind. Noise, all of that noise was unbearable. Truthfully it had been a blur, carrying the ammo back to a corner where he could take on the fetus position out of public eye. (Everyone still witnessed the pitiful sight). Self-soothing operation, cover your ears and close your eyes.

.

.

.

Why couldn't have he just been brave enough to save Jung-bae?

What if he could've just went to the Marines instead of being assigned to social services for not being 'mentally stable enough?'

What if he was the desired son?

What if he never volunteered for the rebellion at all?

Why was everyone blaming him?

No.

That wasn't a question if he already knew the answer. But another query, the same yet completely different, was practically begging for a reply. Why was everyone blaming him for EVERYTHING? The plan was doomed from the start wasn't it? Daeho couldn't allow himself to drown in guilt and shame for the defeat of the rebellion, it was around five to ten players against seemingly hundreds of trained guards, so even with Hyung-ju's expertise in shooting, they would've never achieved the goal Gihun aimed for. How was the man that only one that survived the whole ordeal anyways?

The fault belonged to Gihun then, didn't it? HIS plan got Young-il, Jung-bae, and the majority of the Xs killed. That would be approximately twenty people wouldn't it? The magazines would have bought more time, but what worth did it bring if the ending was already determined before it even began? Was it better to believe they failed or that they they were damned from the get go? Daeho placed his faith in the latter.

Maybe if he recited it as a mantra to himself every hour, that it wasn't his fault, and that it was in fact Gihun's, eventually, it would become the truth to him.

It wasn't his fault he was scared.

They should've just shot every last one of the O players, then Gihun would've been able to save many more than the amount they lost.

Jung-bae's fate was already sealed, Daeho couldn't have done anything about it.

Worship, hope, and pray to whatever supreme being up there that when he emotionally fumbled, it wasn't the product of fear, but a product of gut feelings that fortunately saved both his own and Hyung-ju's life.

It was funny, hilarious even that his mind conjured words correlating to religion, to God. This place resembled purely human efforts, the instincts, the struggles, the emotions, all of it, despite the inhumane principals it was probably built upon. Divinity was out of the question. Except for that crazy 044 shaman lady, but she was considered a lunatic for a reason. Daeho couldn't comprehend how she gained the number of followers she currently occupies.

On the topic of incomprehensible things, his mind drifted back to the thought of Gihun and the rebellion. How could that man—father—stare at him with such disdain? He was the one that refused to murder the O players to save the rest of them, being the morally superior individual. And yet blood still dripped from the bullets shot through the guards, they were people too, just doing their jobs. (Ignoring how cruel and heartless they seem while stealing the lives of players).

Dare he say player 100 deserved to have his tongue blown out from the back of his cranium more so than the triangle soldiers? But that was a cruel notion. Fuck this game really was messing with his mental state, and it wasn't helping that Gihun had been glaring daggers at him presumably the entirety of the night until present morning. It has been like this ever since Young-sik tattled about his breakdown at the corridor.

Well, he's under the assumption Young-sik tattled, if '...he grabbed the magazines' and '...scrambled to hide behind the beds over there' were anything to go by, the conversation was unmistakably referring to Daeho's pussy move. Call Gihun Superman because he might as well had the same laser beam eyes, it was a burning sensation, a flamethrower to the head. Did Young-sik exaggerate the details? Because Daeho could've sworn that the soul-penetrating glare Gihun gave him wasn't deserved unless he personally murdered every last one of his friends and family members. At least living with his biological father taught him blissful ignorance of the environment, so, he dodged the issue, focusing exclusively on the breakfast served, a sweet potato. His sisters often introduced him as their 'little sweet potato' in the past, so maybe he could dwell on those memories instead.

Goddamnit. Well he certainly couldn't ignore the sensation now. Was it one of pity? Disdain? Disappointment? It didn't matter. All that mattered was the fact he felt like the victim to a social experiment, a cruel one. One where the YouTube's thumbnail says, 'Man Gone Crazy due to a Staring Competition', and it's just some random young adult minding his own business until a strange forty year old man wouldn't take their gaze off of him.

Beneath Gihun's eyes probably contained layers upon layers of hate and resentment he didn't bother to dissect at the moment. Most of it primarily sourced from Jung-bae's and Young-il's death however. That knowledge didn't need any educated guesses, it was plain obvious, and Daeho wasn't a complete idiot to not figure it out on his own. Luckily for him Gihun was cuffed to the bedside, so that hatred could remain dormant without physical action for the remainder of time until the next game.

Is forgiveness truly that hard? He didn't have malicious intent. How could you purposely hate someone for a mistake?

Junhee threw him a couple glances throughout the day, and not the usual smiley ones, but ones concerned for his disheveled appearance.

Jung-bae would have lightly teased him for his unkept look and sweat stained clothes.

His brow twitched in annoyance. The bore of another pair of pitying eyes could be felt from afar. Was it Hyung-ju? Though, she seemed occupied with a conversation between Geum-ja and her son. Scanning the room for the possible peering culprit, three candidates were distinguished from the crowd, that drug addict with greasy hair (Player 124), Mr. ₩10 billion in debt (Player 100), and the crypto scammer (Player 333).

The grandpa was ranting about 'one more game' whilst simultaneously using Daeho's earlier breakdown as leverage and motivation to uphold the people's greed for money. The classic mean girl eyeroll is given in response. Something about 'unless you want to end up like that loser crying for his mommy you should join me to continue these games and live a relaxing life with all the money we'll gain by eliminating pathetic excuses like him!' What truly was pathetic was the amount of debt he was in to require more cash.

How was Daeho able to hear the speech? You'd have to ask the hag why he was yelling so loud in the first place. Daeho was on the opposite side of the room from the old geezer, still half covered by the thin sheets provided on the bed, finishing up his sweet potato and yet still had the ability to tune into the nonsense player 100 was spouting.

Myung-gi probably spared a peek out of curiosity, not genuine concern. Unlike Hyung-ju who just paused her conversation to glimpse at the man.

And the drug addict? Daeho couldn't afford to spare some thought as to why he was staring at him, not in an aloof way of saying 'I don't care', but because he literally couldn't spare any time to think. Immediately they were being ushered out of the lobby, led by the circle guards to head to the next game station. Breakfast ended as quickly as it came.

.

.

.

Why had the person in front of him stop?

"You are witnessing the fate of those who refused the democratic process of voting and instead attempted to stop the game using violent means." He wanted to see Jung-bae again, and his request was fulfilled. Tears piled up in his eyes. Was this the price of his stupidity? His cowardliness? He hated how his lip started to tremble. "We will not tolerate any irrational behavior which attempts to destroy the fair rules of this game, and such actions will be punished in accordance with our strict standards."

Tuning out the intercom, his thoughts focused on the sight above. A chandelier? Except this one wasn't adorned with the stunning gems nor illuminated the room with its light. All of the participants—corpses—of the rebellion besides him, Gihun, and Hyung-ju were tied with what seemed to be nylon, attaching to a circular metal structure, and were hung like decorations. None of them committed the sins necessary to deserve being publicly humiliated. They weren't fellow humans anymore, they were demonstrations, examples of what happened when you disobeyed the system.

His nose felt violated. Daeho now understood why criminal investigators usually demanded the use of hazmat suits whilst analyzing murder scenes. Where was the trashcan when you needed it? The vomit had been subtly rising up his throat, on the verge of escaping.

Blood dripped from Jung-bae's head while beads of sweat rolled down Daeho's. Sheepishly turning his head to face Gihun, he knew instantly who was going to murder him. If the man were to be conveniently situated right behind Daeho at that moment, he probably would've been strangled to death.

.

.

.

Hide and Seek?

Preferring instead to relish in nostalgia, he remembered the instances when he and his sisters used to horse around in the playground next to their house. Simple and pleasant times those were. Now he's participating in a death game, wielding a black box, apparently with a key inside he could use to unlock doors. Deep down, he knew he couldn't hide away this time. Gihun would find him. And slaughter him with the pretty pink fantasy knife. The rules stated how reds couldn't attack each other, so fuck his luck he received a blue ball while Gihun snatched the last red.

They could switch roles?

Maybe he was wrong about divinity not being present. This was heavenly intervention. He always used to beg and grovel at home, this would be no difference. Whatever it takes, he would get a red penny. Gihun's demeaning stare wouldn't be threatening once they were on the same team, though he wouldn't put it past him that Gihun would attack nevertheless. At least the guards would intervene if that were to occur. Someone had been nervously fidgeting with their weapon, player 349. He kept that handy.

Unruly bitchy asshole this woman was. It was practically mandatory for him to get that weapon to ensure his survival. So why wouldn't she comply? He would ensure her survival so they were even!

"PLEASE! Please...j-just give me that knife okay? I swear...I swear...I'll keep my promise to defend you!"

"But you'd have to kill someone too."

And she withdrew from the conversation. Clutching that box like a newborn child.

Screw it all, fuckity, fuck, fuck he was screwed. Wait. Junhee was red wasn't she? Myung-gi seemed to be trying to convince her earlier, but it hadn't been a successful attempt apparently, as she was still wore red attire. They had been teammates beforehand, so he had a decent shot. Even after the events following, she hadn't shared the same look of distain, merely concern. Yes, he still had a chance. Plus she was pregnant, she couldn't kill anyone in that state, it would impair the baby if she engaged in such a brute strength based arena. He was essentially saving all three of them! "The game will begin momentarily. Blue Team, please get ready to enter the arena." So about a minute left on the clock, he could convince her in time. Every second counts, so his footsteps hurriedly followed after the next, trailing down the path towards Junhee. His presence was handled wearily, but accepted nonetheless.

"Junhee, let me redeem myself, I'll keep my promise to you that I'll protect you and that baby. Please, you're in no condition to be wandering the grounds with a baby. Just allow me to have that red penny, I beg you."

"..." Her eyes drifted to another individual nearby, someone she was about to approach herself to offer her vest. "Daeho...you know we all saw what happened. But..." Then her eyes drifted to the clock, ten seconds remained. "I'll trust you. Don't be a let down."

Score.

Chapter Text

Revenge.

Not quite. It was the necessary karma against that bastard.

How could he abandon the mission? It was all 388's fault. All his. Jung-bae was shot, unable to bathe in the sunlight of the world outside one last time, unable to hear his daughter's nor ex-wife's voice when he perished, just the loading of a gun that would put a bullet in his skull.

Another friend he couldn't rescue.

Young-il would never be able to pay off the bills for his wife's surgery, and his child would be endangered. Left without the love of her birth parents. The married couple would perish without seeing each other in their last moments.

Yet another tally mark to the growing collection of bodies.

They had been so, so close to succeeding. Gihun was so, so close to succeeding. Defying the reason why the Squid Games were hosted in the first place, he'd done it before, satisfied that the goodwill of humanity prevailed against Il-nam's sickening philosophy. Regarding the cycle of sinful greed for wealth in a world of morally destroyed and twisted, it's mockery. The frontman would have realized his wrongful judgement on mankind's soul, that humans still contained the spirit of determination, determination to beat the system which held together the Squid Games. The excuse of a marine ruined it all. Accomplishment of that goal would have forever ended the cycle of suffering which these annual events stood for.

All volunteers contributed to the collective ambition, successfully gunning down most of the soldiers sent by upper management in efforts to flee the island, to return to whatever life they had outside confinement. The only issue left unresolved was the lack of magazines, and that's when 388 fumbled, essentially dooming them all. Innocent souls were done injustice.

Karma would be enacted. He had to avenge them all, player 388 HAD to die. That lousy excuse of an army servant hadn't deserved any title nor name to be mentioned as.

And what's to say you aren't the one who deserves to die?

Finally uncuffed from the bedside, traced back to his turbulent desire for suicidal tendencies, he begrudgingly stood to be led up to the staircase. Probably due to a decrease in the clean'up crew, the place was still littered with debris including used ammo, sand, and dried scraps of fleshy skin. Only a faint scent of gunpowder remained, not due to air condition, but due to being covered up by a stench a thousand times more intense.

The scene was all too familiar, the ropes, the hanging corpses, the stench. Except there was a new sense added to the dread already present, grief. Deja vu hit like a truck. Four years ago this demonstration hadn't related to him, though still carried a sense of horror, everlasting and infusing with the nightmares he endured on the account of his trauma.

Occasionally in his night terrors the bodies hung from the chandelier would morph, whether it be his daughter, mother, Sang-woo, Sae-byeok, or even Ali, not once had it transformed into Jung-bae. No. The thought of his gambling buddy who maintained a steady source of income and constantly rambled about his affectionate wife never crossed his mind. Reality truly wounded him with unexpected angst.

388 cost the mission. Furrowing his brows as his gaze settled on the fearful figure across from him, his jaw clenched. That failure deserved no empathy nor compassion.

.

.

.

Conveniently, as if the heavens beckoned him to deliver divine justice, the last ball in the gacha machine was red. He'd be a seeker whilst 388 was a hider.

Player 100 had requested to switch roles, which had been left intentionally disregarded. His attention promptly swapped towards another one's frantic pleas to exchange roles. So the man felt intimidated, good. That's was the dead-beat deserved. Why had he lived? Why did the coward survive instead of the brave?

"You're projecting." Jung-bae dejectedly commented.

"Sir, why do you hold so much hatred?" Sae-byeok murmured.

"Don't you remember? Il-nam? You cheated against an old man with dementia to survive. You're a coward, too." A hypocritical analysis from Sang-woo.

Is forgiveness truly that hard?

That was his own internal monologue.

Were these phantoms? Had his moral compass drifted so far the ghosts of his closest friends came to haunt him? His eyes sunk down to the floor, stiff posture and expression faltering. Lifting his head from the ground reluctantly, he settled for staring at Daeho once again. That same childish joy, a glimpse of a spark in his eye. It was if staring at himself, in the past.

The man's penny converted from blue to red. Inside the rectangular black box lay a knife identical to Gihun's, not the previous necklace based key.

Rules announced by the intercom also dictated that the game forbade him from attacking Daeho.

Perhaps the patronizing voices plaguing him had the essence of truth in them? Had his hate been misplaced?

Learning to acknowledge and understand the meaning behind mistakes was fundamental for comprehending the obscurities humans were, as well as the first step towards forgiveness.

Sympathy came naturally, but empathy was skill Gihun used to master.

Shifting the blame wouldn't do any good.

---

"I'll keep my promise, Junhee."

A red vest replacing his blue, the transaction between him and Junhee had been a success. In his peripheral vision, Gihun had mustered the slightest resemblance to a disappointed frown, and suddenly Daeho had all the joy and whimsy infusing with his soul once more. Giddiness and relief washing over him to this extent hadn't been felt since the dawn of his youth. About twenty years give or take. To tease or not to tease, that was the question. Resisting a smirk felt like Eve trying to resist the apple of knowledge, it was too tempting.

You pain in the ass, you KNOW you deserved being a hider. Being fearful all your life, it wouldn't have changed a thing.

If you're acting this way for avoiding your rightfully deserved fate, then Mr. Seong was entirely correct about you carrying all the blame.

Absolutely pathetic.

Obviously this childish streamlined train of thought had to cease once the round actually began, but just like how he indulged in the self-serving pleasure he gained from relishing in nostalgia, he could briefly appreciate the pride this instilled within himself for now.

.

.

.

Was his brain constructed of purely discombobulated Swiss cheese poorly mashed together?

Reality hit.

Hard.

If he was playing tagger now, that meant he selected the role who HAD to kill. Training in the military obviously readied him for both offensive and defensive skills, but there was a reason as to why he wasn't allowed into the Marines despite his physical prowess. Could he really dive this dagger into a person? Watch as the life drains from their eyes, watch as they bleed out on the floor after pleading and begging to live? No, he could handle the gore and emotional aspects.

He left Jung-bae to die all the same. What would be the difference here?

If he convinced himself that it was all in the spirit of self-defense, it would be. If it was a repeated mantra, he would convince himself. Eventually, it had to work. It's for his survival.

Plus whilst trying to find someone to kill, he would also have to search for Junhee, who hopefully wasn't made a target herself. Everything depended on the amount of time granted for searching for a victim.That was the most stressing factor of it all. Sweat began to build from his forehead again, his hand involuntarily shook. Running a trembling hand through his hair, Gihun's unblinking stare pierced his soul once more.

Daeho's constant flipping between unrelated subjects wasn't working as it usually did. That same fucking feeling of sheer defeat possessed him.

He refused to undergo that sentiment.

Just dodge the issue, think of something else.

The accountability didn't belong to him, repeat that.

If he counted correctly, there was only one blue for each person, which meant if he missed his chance, he'll be leaving this place in a coffin all pretty wrapped in a pink bow. A dehumanizing fate to say the least.

On an optimistic note, Hyung-ju and Geum-ja seemed to have stuck around Junhee in the line up, so he wouldn't have to sweat bullets about her safety the whole time if Hyung-ju was defending them.

---

Pondering for a moment while slightly sober, Namgyu briefly considered a partnership with the ex-marine.

Did he have a severe case of PTSD or was the guy just lying about his upbringing as a soldier in the military?

Honestly the pathetic sobs of the man during the so called 'rebellion' made him want to call Daeho out for being a pussy, but that would damage any possible 'friendship' he wanted to build. Plus the difference in muscular physique honestly intimidated Namgyu, then again the guy seemed pretty damn mentally challenged. Easily manipulable. The tension between him and the 'I've played these games before' hag, could be utilized as leverage as well. So fuck it. Risk it for the biscuit or whatever the saying was in English. Thanos repeated that line constantly in his stupid raps held at Club Pentagon.

"Hey? Mr. Marine? Mr?"

Daeho couldn't pin down what exactly this man aimed to achieve by obnoxiously hovering around him. Was his nervousness that easily detectable? And wasn't this the same druggie from earlier who stared at him? Notably, the opportunity for a QNA session had opened up, so that was a pro to this random pair up.

"What?"

Namgyu chuckled.

"You think the blue team would just let you kill them? That blunder of yours at the corridor made you a target to say the least y'know?"

"Are you hinting at teaming up?"

Namgyu chuckled again, breath reeking of substance.

"Well I'm not asking for a long-term relationship, just a one night stand. How does that sound? I'll even introduce myself as Namgyu."

"Daeho." He supplied in monotone, this cheerless attitude was understandable yet left unanticipated by the former. Daeho was simply tired.

Big tiger? Accurate for his body proportions, but it sounded like a name a furry cosplayer would equip. The sore loser also seemed down, probably thanks to a particular vengeful forty year old in the distance. Irrelevant things that didn't matter for now since the reds couldn't attack one another.

Doesn't matter, now that he had a partner, he could merrily hop around the grounds. Brawns and brains, how was that for a team?

---

His mouth slightly parted in bewilderment, a brow raising in a questioning manor. Seriously? She traded with the same buffoon who literally cowered away during the rebellion he volunteered for? What type of standards was Myung-gi held at compared to random strangers? Was Junhee that bitter from his ghosting? Of the crypto scam? Goddamnit he was doing all that for the purpose of protecting her from the thugs and gangs chasing after him! He swore he would defend her, to find her and fight against anyone who came close to harming the baby! A grimace veiled over his previous expression of confusion.

In a chemistry lab they mixed like bleach and ammonia. Chest pain caused by frustration they often brought down on one another was frequent if not a daily occurrence in their relationship over the course of these past few days. It hadn't been this way in the past.

Following suit, he pursued Junhee through the corridor they were led through, determined to find the reason for being chosen over. However, the setting of the interior had to be inspected first. With branching pathways from the entrance and dozens of twists and turns, this was a maze. Celestial children pranced about in the mural above, illuminating an aura of gold amidst the gray brutalism of the crooked hallways.

The centerpiece of the starting point was a cylinder to which Junhee circulated around, darting her head in search of a route, however her eyes locked onto a bloodied tracksuit instead. Myung-gi.

"Everyone! Let's split up and yell to alert each other when we find the exit!" A haggard voice, distinguishably belonging to player 100, hollered in the background.

Obviously it was a bogus plan no one would actually commit to, whether it be because of selfishness, idiocy, and the dire circumstances of the game.

Greed was infectious, and winning was valuable, plus wouldn't screaming attract the seekers to guard the exit?

Nevertheless, everyone else scattered in varying directions, galloping across the grounds as if horses racing.

"Come on, let's find someplace to hide." Hand extended, Myung-gi's chest tightened in anticipation, breathe shuddering in an erratic pattern of unease. Hopefully she would accept, then he could have a one on one with her.

"We should group up with Hyung-ju and Geum-ja. It's better that way." She took his hand to lead, stumbling to some extent before regaining balance.

He was trusted, not in the desired way, but trusted regardless. It was a second chance. Myung-gi wouldn't screw this up. Eye contact to establish whether he had permission or not, Junhee's nod permitted him to wrap his arm around her waist for more efficient transport.

Hyung-ju ushered them to tag along behind her, hand motioning the two to quicken their pace as the timer ticked down the seconds 'generously' provided to hide before the seekers were discharged into the field. Being the leader of the group, she hopped from wall to wall, throwing occasional glances left and right as to confirm the coast was clear before advancing forward towards the next corridor. One of the doors aforementioned by the guards while explaining the guards materialized to their left, so she carefully maneuvered her key into the lock. No shot. A circular key and triangular keyhole.

"May I have a look?" Examining Junhee's neckpiece, it would've been the perfect fit. "This is the one. Can I borrow it?"

Without hesitance Junhee offered her key.

Twisting the knob it unlocked, a soft click subsequently following. Inside was a childishly decorated space, splattered in pastel fades, rainbows, and hand-made paper crafts of flowers, airplanes, and butterflies. Quite the contradiction to the horrors induced by the games held in this facility. Guem-ja had closed the door behind them while Hyung-ju was approaching the next, it had a square lock.

"Let me have a look." Hyung-ju stated, waving over Guem-ja.

She exhaled an air of delight.

"What is it?"

"Each door has a keyhole in a different shape. I think there are three. Circle, triangle, and square. We have each one of those shapes." Hyung-ju's hands explained alongside her.

"Mine is circle, Junhee's is a triangle, and yours is a square."

Comparing the keys via joining their shapes together in a threesome, Myung-gi was left out to be the third wheel, or rather fourth, standing alone on the sidelines to watch the other three bond. No jealously arouse thankfully.

"Don't we make a great team!" Pleasantly surprised, Hyung-ju exclaimed joyfully.

"Absolutely. I knew the three of us made a great team since we went to the bathroom together." Responded Geum-ja. "Right?" She nudged Junhee softly with her elbow.

"I agree."

"In that case you should hold on to our keys, Hyung-ju. That way, we'll be able to move more efficiently." Both handed over their necklaces to Hyung-ju, allowing her to fully take charge.

"Would that be okay?" To which both nodded eagerly.

Wielding the two other shapes, she wrapped the keys around her neck, unlocking the next door. Myung-gi briskly glanced at his own key, something resembling a bizarre geometric monstrosity. How odd.

.

.

.

Unleased into what felt like a gladiator ring, Daeho anxiously clenched his weapon with clammy palms, witnessing the rest of the seekers beside himself, Gihun, and Namgyu skedaddle off in order to procure their victims. His former teammate hadn't been staring at him anymore, but the unease remained, and Gihun was now closing the distance between them.

Namgyu's interest reached its zenith, sustaining an attentive eyeball on the scene presented in front of him. The intercoms did mention how reds couldn't harm each out, but not that they couldn't harass each other, so 456 was potentially pragmatizing that ambiguity. Was this the confrontation between the two? Where the tension maximized and a brawl would ensue? He genuinely hoped that was the case. Fights always happened back at the club, but only due to petty grievances whilst under the influence of alcohol and drugs. Stakes like these were on rare occasions, furthermore, the chemistry they shared? Yes. It was definitely worth a watch. Although the drugs separated his memory into fragments during mingle, he still recalled when Daeho dragged Gihun into an available room for two.

Shit.

Daeho's so called 'ally' simply loomed in the distance, a sly sneer eclipsing the druggie's former crazed expression. So the asshole formed a partnership just to be a useless bystander when Daeho actually required assistance, he established a mental jot note for that.

"Do you still blame me? GIHUN ANSWER ME! WE—YOU—WE WOULDN'T HAVE WON ANYWAYS! WHY WERE YOU THE ONLY ONE WHO SURVIVED? HUH? It's all your fault." Sputtering out disorderly arguments to defend himself, Daeho backed up against a wall, blade facing Gihun while the latter's knife was facing the floor.

Could he swing?

Would the guards see that as attempted murder and threaten him with guns to remain docile with his fellow reds?

Why wasn't anyone helping out?

"No. Daeho. I know now that...all the blame shouldn't be your burden." With that singular sentence, Gihun ditched the scene, leaving Daeho dumbfounded as he walked away.

His brain scrambled, trying to rack out any plausible explanations for the sudden metamorphosis of attitude. Not even an hour ago had Gihun been basically spelling out who would be responsible for the fake marine's death with his dagger eyes. Was the man experimenting with mind games? Fluttering his eyelids, bafflement was written all over his face. "H-Hey? You going to help me out or what?" Shaky and with a tone of disbelief, Daeho drawled to his associate. Namgyu grumbled in disappointment, but replied to Daeho anyhow.

"Must've been lost in my own thoughts, whoops." Exasperated, Namgyu drew closer to give a firm hand massage against Daeho's shoulders, in hopes to get him to loosen up.

"You're the one who requested to partner up...Couldn't you have at least TRIED to help?"

"Right. Sorry, but it wasn't as if you were in any real danger. Besides, you're an ex-marine aren't you?" Frankly enough, Namgyu started to immensely doubt that 'fact' about Daeho.

"Yeah...of course." Perfect. Another person seemed to possess qualms about Daeho's ranking as a soldier. Was the facade that easily unmasked? Did Gihun see through him? If that was the case it made sense bearing the events of a few minutes ago, though it hadn't exactly comforted Daeho knowing Gihun only spared him out of pity in that scenario.

"Let's just get a move on." Strutting ahead, he glanced back at Namgyu who appeared to be fiddling around with a cross. Swallowing a skittle or two, the greasy haired maniac vacantly peered at the ceiling above.

"A little something to help boost my confidence and strength. Thanos that fucking asshole. After all those free drinks I got him at the club, that bastard treated me like a fucking idiot."

'For fuck's sake he kept calling me "Nam-su," and every time I insisted it was Namgyu he would brush it off! Damn idiot couldn't remember my name."

Was this a trauma dump? Was Daeho supposed to counsel him? Might as well try to gain friendship points with his comrade. "Alright, alright...but isn't Namsu a compliment? Gyu in some contexts means standard while Su means excellent or beautiful, no?"

"What? Forget it...you want one?" Handing out a freebie, Namgyu absent-mindedly ate it anyways, seeing as Daeho pressed his lips together.

"Like I said, come on let's go. We wasted five minutes here already."

---

Slack-jawed, Myung-gi internally contemplated in the act of wool-gathering.

Square.

Circle.

Triangle.

Those were the three symbolic shapes of the pink hosts who ran the operation, so why was his key formatted into something akin to a polyhedral? None of the keyholes in this maze so far required such a shape. He should speak up about this to the others.

"Hey Hyung-ju-"

"RUN!"

A seeker was chasing after their group. Hoisting Junhee partially by the shoulders, all three promptly scurried wherever Hyung-ju's instinct led them, which was up a stairwell. Fucking hell. Junhee's ankle caught onto the cement, causing the pair (herself and Myung-gi) to tumble down.

Pure white clouded his vision, a high pitched ringing overshadowed any other noise at the moment. Never mind that though, he hadn't sustained any major injuries, only a slight headache from rolling down the stairs. It was Junhee's bones that he heard snap, though his focus primarily lingered on her stomach.

Had the baby spun around in her system? To the Gods he pray not.

Groaning and clutching her leg, Myung-gi breathed out a sigh of relief, some tension releasing from his shoulder. He was gladdened at the revelation that Junhee's stomach hadn't sustained any damage. Though his face turned ghostly pale examining her rolled ankle. It was entirely swollen, splotches of blood pooled underneath the surface of the skin. The discoloration from a cherry red into a blueberry violet enveloped the blunt of the fracture at short notice.

"Junhee!" Casting a brief look behind him, player 226 had been closing the distance, frothing at the mouth at the prospect of an easy target. Luckily Hyung-ju came for his and Junhee's protection.

"STAY BACK!" Hyung-ju held a defensive stance, standing between the seeker and his target.

"Move out of the way...you only need to give me that pregnant girl. Or the old hag. Make the smart choices and cut off your weak links! Player 333...you're the gentleman who voted O right? We're on the same side here...Help me convince the guy with the bob!"

During the time the transphobic was distracted in conversation, trying in vain to convince Myung-gi, Hyung-ju shoved herself against the attacker, pinning him to the wall whilst brute forcing her way to weaken the man's grip on the knife.

"FUCK MAN!" Player 226 screeched, unable to wrangle free from Hyung-ju's clutch.

"I'm sorry." She half-heartedly muttered before finally snatching sway his knife, immediately aiming for the neck. From a slight nick to a deep gash, the dead man exhaled his final breath scented in blood, gurgling the crimson liquid before limply leaning against the wall, leaving smears of gore plastered on the brick. Hyung-ju kept the knife handy on her person.

"Come on, someone must've heard the commotion, let's scram."

Carrying Junhee, both the crypto YouTuber and grandma struggled to heave her up the stairs, essentially becoming her crutches.

"Over there!" Geum-ja pointed with her available hand at the first door they spotted.

Utilizing the square, she rushed to unlock it, allowing the other three to settle down and rest in the corner. Pausing before entering the space, Junhee overheard recognizable numbers on the intercoms. Players 388, 456 and 124 pass. Players 235, 044 and 411 eliminated.

"He passed...Daeho did it."

"I won't count on him coming to our rescue, the maze is pretty complex and vast." Despite sharing the same delight Junhee felt for Daeho's success, there still remained unresolved circumstances between the two. Last time she saw Daeho, he was flinching at the tiniest rise of her voice and movements with a thousand yard stare into the abyss.

Now with them seated and out of enemy sights, Hyung-ju began to question the degree of severity for Junhee's sore talus bone. "How bad is it?"

"Completely blackened now. I don't thing she should walk on it." Myung-gi supplied.

"Broken?"

"Fractured."

Bejeweled in an array of sea creatures, including jellyfish, the room by good fortune had only one point of entrance which Hyung-ju could guard whilst Guem-ja and Myung-gi were tendering to Junhee's ruptured ankle. No one had attained the necessary ointments nor appropriate hospital mandated bandages for a wound of this extent, so make-shift pressure appliers created out of fabric slashed off from their shirts by the blade generously given by Hyung-ju were secured around Junhee's foot, as to prevent further twisting of bending of the bone. Quite literally the only method of treatment they could offer, unless the guards suddenly developed the ability to feel pity.

Summarizing the position the team was in, Hyung-ju would be jam-packed of responsibility towards them, an exceedingly worrying amount now, and everyone recognized that.

"We've been a big enough burden on you Hyung-ju. Search for the exit, we can stay here for the remainder of time. Fifteen minutes won't be too hard to survive alone." Offering the weapon back to Hyung-ju, Geum-ja beckoned her to leave.

"Yeah. Thanks for defending us earlier, but you don't have to act so selfless. This time think for yourself." Myung-gi added, motioning her to go.

.

.

.

Water?

"Oh my...I think- I think her water broke." Geum-ja stammered.

"What? I mean what do we do? Do we..." Hyung-ju trailed off, absolutely flabbergasted and caught off guard by the unexpected dilemma.

Junhee's breath busted in and out, uncontrollably whimpering whilst her eyes dampened, a glistening effect present due to the fluorescent light above. In a shrill tone she shriveled, dissolving into tears. Excruciating pain shot from her stomach to her uterus. Everyone in the room completely froze.

It ached.

It cramped.

It stung.

Muttering swears under her breath, she felt her child squirming underneath the layers of skin and meat. This wasn't any hospital, so raw absolutely anguished shrieks emanated from her voice banks. No anesthesia, nothing to ease the pain. But perhaps medicine didn't have to be required.

"Myung-gi..." Her voice faltered, yet still contained the pleading indication.

"I'll stay by your side. Right until the end. Thank you...for giving me a chance." Bolting to her side, he instantly grasped her hand, tightening the grip in a reassuring manner. Junhee was going through labor and there was a mere twenty minutes left on the digital clock above. Lightning crackled through his capillaries, and he could feel the nanoseconds pass by at a leisurely pace. Deep down, he understood this was physically impossible, how could she birth the baby within less than half an hour? Logic also dictated that her pained gasps from the pregnancy would paint a comically large red X on them.

"We need to muffle her, have something to chew down. Geum-ja, you have experience right? Tell us what to do."

"Take her jumpsuit to make a cover up tent on top of her legs, let her take the arm of the jacket to bit down on, preferably a cleanish side without blood stained." Voice steady despite the situation at hand.

"Should I stand guard?" Hyung-ju queried, finally able to break free of the roots securing her in place, overcoming the initial shock of the situation.

"You could hold Junhee's other hand." Geum-ja answered.

Fabric against teeth, she regrettably relied on biting down against the jumpsuit for the release of pain. Squeezing tighter and tighter, her and Myung-gi's hand practically merged together. Saliva sullied her own jacket. Vision slightly hazy as her lungs heaved forwards and back in her chest, Junhee's pinkish lips shifted hues, transforming into a more blue gradient.

"Deep breathe in and out...that's it. One, two, three! Push!"

Another scream unintentionally escaped Junhee's mouth, hushed by the layer of cloth she was chewing.

"Come on so close. Push! One, two three! Push!"

Veins visibly popping across her forehead, the unbearable pricks and twists of the baby worming its way out of her body came to the point of near consciousness loss.

"Junhee!" The two at her side, Hyung-ju and Myung-gi, shouted as to hinder her from fainting.

Straining herself to the maximum, Junhee gave it another try, squeezing out the best she could. Exhausted, her head fell back, slamming onto the ground.

A slimy head poked out, face scrunched, a cheese-like waxy substance highlighting all the wrinkles the baby had. Wobbling about aimlessly like a bobble-head, she let out similar cries to her child-bearer. Like daughter like mother. A sign of healthiness. The rest of the fragile body had to be carefully maneuvered out the hole. Placenta still in contact, she passed on the child to Hyun-ju, taking apart her hair pin in order to split the two apart.

"A beautiful newborn...she resembles you Junhee." Hyung-ju chuckled in an undertone, being the first to carry and admire the delicate infant. She might as well have felt maternal for it, too. Exhaling a huff of awe, the baby was next distributed to Junhee.

"Here, hold her." Mesmerized, genuine grins engulfed the room, amazed by Junhee's strength. A heartwarming scene. Weakly lifting herself from the ground, back laid against the wall for support, her legs held mermaid formation due to the soreness caused by the recent birth of her child. Geum-ja saw herself within Junhee, a brand new mother who pushed out their kid with her own might and willpower. To aid Junhee furthermore, the grandma wrapped the baby in her uniform, providing extra security and warmth to the newborn.

With raised, prominent cheekbones, she caressed her child, eyes sparkling and radiant. Myung-gi couldn't help the joyous tears leaking from his lacrimal glands, forgetting the others hadn't known about them, he murmured softly, "Junhee, I should've never tried to get you to abort. I'm sorry I didn't respect your choice. Please...I'm just so thankful...I get to share a moment like this." Those were the words he settled for to prove his admission of guilt.

"You two were together? Well...I suppose it makes sense. Congratulations!" The cat out of the bag, neither Guem-ja nor Hyung-ju were taken aback by the exposure of that 'secret.'

The slam of a door interrupted the tender moment.

Player 203 loomed over menacingly, not wasting time to promptly strike forth with his blade.

Hyung-ju switched to offensive, hurling herself against the man in an effort to knock him out of the room. Myung-gi ran towards the conflict, swiping the knife of the floor which he'd forgotten to return to the woman. Both had been sprawled onto the floor. No hesitation was spared when attempting to shove the weapon up through Player 203's juggler. Unfortunately, the bastard recovered relatively fast, reacting to Myung-gi's attempt to finish him off. Being an adequate fighter who usually relied on ambushes to kill his targets, Myung-gi was propelled back, right into the sights of Namgyu.

What kind of jinx vexed them now?

Chapter Text

"Namgyu...could I? Could I..." Deaho extended a hesitant hand towards the other, reaching out in a dazed manner.

"I'm sorry to ask. I just...please. I don’t think I can—I need the pills. Just one. You said it helps with calming yourself right? I can't help you in my condition."

Mulling over the thought, Namgyu considered this uneasy alliance had improperly weighed scales that needed to be tipped in his favor. If Daeho was requesting a pill, there were obviously more of those requests to come. Namgyu could make due of that power imbalance, take advantage of the supplier and suppliant dynamic they had going on.

It was control.

Someone to have power over.

"Tell you what I've been somewhat expecting this...With your non-stop episodes and such. I'll be generous and tip you off under one circumstance..."

.

.

.

Miandering across the grounds, Minsu had a specified target, but it wasn't like he could've done anything to harm the other. Namgyu had the protection of drugs clouding over his mind so that death might as well have been a blur of sunshine and rainbows. Plus the rules ensured no one could attack those on the same team. Deciding to skip over comparisons of pure physical strength, his footsteps wondered aimlessly, though his head pondered over a specific bittersweet notion.

Their interactions only spanned over the course of a few days, but in all his years of living she was the pinnacle of it all. The way her dazzling piercings would shimmer underneath the hanging lights of the voting lobby, only to be outmatched by the shine of her grin.

The way her index finger would perch upon her pursed lips in a cunning manner—almost smug—lost in thought whilst the gleam of internal calculation laid underneath the shroads of mystery veiling her eyes.

The way her head tilted in a foxy style, outlining the similarities between her and the animal.

And finally, the way her cheeks upturned—slightly pale yet fair of skin—rising in respnse to the genuine joy she rightfully recieves everytime insulting Namgyu.

His heart might as well have jackhammered its way through all the bone, flesh, and skin withholding it in place, digging a getaway tunnel. Shards of his rightmost chest would've shattered onto the floor like glass, leaving a certain organ from his cardiovascular system missing—a distinguishable shape carved out from his body. Said heart would've been fleeing from the scene, all cartoony and exaggerated, as if bolting away from the cops during a prison escape.

If love was a foreign concept, he would've reported this as a medical condition ought to be sedated, because that description was entirely accurate to how it thumped dramatically against his ribcage, threatening to break free. This reaction was the effect to Semi's cause.

Her smirk was undeniably morphing his usually sulky expression into a flustered mess of beetred cheeks and darting eyes trying to avoid her gaze. His meek appearance wouldn't betray him he hoped, putting faith in that others would believe he was simply shy and fainthearted rather than a grown man-child fawning over a woman he recently met just barely forty eight hours ago all teenager like. Though they probably assumed both or neither. Who would be interested in his crisis anyways? They certainly had better businesses to concern themselves with, like the giant golden piggybank looming over them with the blood money of participants already perished.

Semi. She was apart of the dead now. Her body was transported out of the facility in a gift box of a coffin.

All proof of her existence in the games was now reduced to a mere 100 000₩ portion of the sum earned from lights out.

He should've taken her hand. Should've saved her from Namgyu. Be a man.

Minsu desperately clinged onto the moments they had, yearning for more than just the fleeting times of casual conversation. Love and greed were co-workers, working in unison until either one overtook. His mind tuned into every shift of tone, subtle movement of her gaze, and sign of body language. Replaying those memories until it implemented a permanent image in his head wouldn't be an accurate enough statement for how much he was overanalyzing each flashback. A lowly amount of stimulation like that wouldn't suffice, his brain craved to learn more about how she ended up here, to learn about her hobbies, family, social life, and her past. But that privilege was stripped from him before he even had the chance for exploitation. It was sniezed on away because fearfulness and timidness in a human were apparently too powerful of barriers to overcome.

Semi was gone. And here he was, still beating, or rather groveling over a dead horse.

Dragged back into the predicament he was in, distant outcries reminded Minsu of his coerced participation here. It was a full body flinch before he transitioned into the reality of things. Bulging out of their sockets, his eyes teared open in response to the sheer volume of noise triggered by the commotion in front.

Scrambling at his feet was that shaman lady, who had just viscously body slammed into the cinder block walls before collapsing from exhaustion. Seemingly attempting to escape whoever was chasing her before.

A perfect opportunity.

That knife that had been uselessly dangling from his sweaty palms finally found purpose. But instead of immediately plunging his weapon into the lady—Minsu garbled, choking back a gasp. Or was it a sniffle?

Both couldn't be differentiated at the moment.

Minsu wasn't a weak man by all means, but he was the textbook definition of a wuss. His tense shoulders deflated, a whimper of defeat emitting from his throat.

He could barely defend the woman he was crushing on, hurling that bottle to the floor as if it could miraculously land a fainting spell on Namgyu. To outright murder? An impossible feat he couldn't hope to achieve. Was that drug addict right?

"That bitch liked you y'know?"

Physically speaking, Minsu was standing over the unconcious body of a random middle-aged woman who stupidly rammed head first into a concrete wall. However, the man's thoughts weren't rooted in sturdy soil, and on the contrary were absent-mindedly migrating, drifting back to Semi. The Semi he stumbled upon after Namgyu's demented ass impaled her with a goddamn fork.

Squelching.

A sickening noise that provoked his comfort, not like anything was comforting here. Minsu shakily forced himself to tread in his formerly white sneakers—now sullied in a crimson scheme beyond washing machines— as he approached Semi's carcass. Those doll eyes, forever pointed towards the ceiling above, never again to lock sights with him, it envoked a nauseating surge to sweep through his digestive system. Obscene, disgusting, and vile. All words that marvelously described such a haunting moment.

Children's games for a cash prize? What a misleading opening.

And faltering under peer pressure? Maybe he really did have the mentality of a teenage boy.

Voting X. That was all it would have taken to have her alive.

Another sob was smothered into the back of his throat.

She was a face, just one of the four hundred fifty six here. But to him, she was a personality, someone dimensional. Extending her hand out, placing trust in a jittery loser like him, that was her major mistake. Why her probability of death rose by a tenfold. And those odds of failure were too high to survive.

"Player 044 eliminated. Player 456 pass."

Pause. He needed a second to process this.

Another second.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Unpause.

Withdrawn from his sulking, his supposed fainted target was actually internally suffering? Did her organs fail her? Was he too caught up in the affairs relating to Semi and Namgyu he couldn't notice the blatantly obvious pool of blood gathering round the floor? How hadn't he realize the woman possessed a stab wound gushing out bodily fluids, soaking the ground in scarlet water? Turns out she'd been a ticking timer, and every second he wasted on reminiscing and hesitance, her life would drain in the meanwhile. Prolonged suffering. Perhaps simply shoving the knife into her would've offered a hastened version of her death.

Too late now though he mused.

Strangely enough, Minsu was mildly disappointed at the revelation, but it wasn't as though it was directed towards the woman for dying. That letdown was entirely his fault. Her death merely proved his wimpy personality allowed others to endure agony for the long-run in his care.

On a silver platter, a kill was served to him. Nice, pleasant, and easy. No one would have struggled if he simply committed to the murder. Nevertheless he failed.

Would his body be tallied in the final registry?

Removing his eyes from the shaman, a battle fought between his own iris and pupils, that digital clock was his new target for staring.

6:47 it read.

.

.

.

Wails and yelps from primarily women were audible through the layers of silvery cinderblock walls, signifying the elimination of more hiders. Batting his eyes around in the direction of the female screams, his pacing gradually quickened until he was bolting towards where the sounds originated, saliva turning sour in his mouth paired with the roar of his own blood in his ears. Heart hammering against his chest, Daeho prayed in his mind that the Junhee's ethereal features—features similar to his little sister's—hadn't been brutally mutilated by the rough edges of a blade forcefully thrusting into her flesh.

Hellish flashes of an envisioned torture Junhee could be suffering through drilled additional adrenaline into his bloodstream, enabling increased acceleration. He could imagine the feign of light imprinted on young lady's mellow gaze would've transitioned into the lifeless one of a doll's, stomach penetrated by stab wounds causing waterfalls of blood to come gushing out, and her last words being along the lines of sparing her child as her body collapses to the floor.

Dead.

"Junhee!" He incoherently hollered off.

"Junhee I'm coming!"

Another person he would've let die instead of himself.

Namgyu skipped behind the frantic sprinter in an upbeat manner, intrigued by the middle-aged man's distressed reaction to the shrieks nearby. Grinning ear to ear as he hummed the tune to the mingle game, which was honestly pretty catchy, Namgyu had been fascinated by his partner's innate anxiety. It almost made up for the earlier anticlimax between him and Gihun. Almost. Obviously Daeho strived to the defend the woman he swapped with, extra tension to the already hassling task of murdering. And somehow, whether it be pure gut feelings or true telepathy, he could perfectly pin down what words were circulating around Daeho's head at that moment. In all likelihood his worrisome personality would manifest repeated chants of denial, something similar to:

Please don't be Junhee's.

Please don't be Junhee's.

Please don't be Junhee's.

Please don't be Junhee's.

Still bolting down the hallway, identical corridors were repeating one after the next, the only distinction being the amount of vampire's wine coating each area. Unconsiously, he applied his childish slang to refer to the horrific displays in front. Was it a coping mechanism to relieve heartache dealt due to the amount of death witnessed? To battle the violent tendencies of the games with childish determination? Reminiscing simpler times when Deaho and his siblings would research western mythology and overall cultural differences, he recalled the inside joke his elder sister—Eunbyeol—cleverly pioneered.

On the singular decaying monitor the household owned, they would sneak into their father's study whilst he was occupied with soju and or co-workers, typing in naive searches such as "Most famous superstitions in America" or "Why are firearms legal in the USA" to suffice their childish curiosity. Expressing an interest in the more iconic monsters of the United States, such as the wealthy blood-suckers who lived up in isolated mansions alone, donning extravagant over-the-top capes they would dramatically let flow in the wind, the siblings would poke fun at the peculiarity of it all.

"You see how they have fangs little tiger? I heard they use them to suck the blood out from their victims! Scarily cool right?"

"I think it's funny how they have to drink blood. Maybe it's like wine to them..."

No, he couldn't afford to be distracted by feeble memories of the past. Not when his friend could potentially be in harm's way. Why was he being bombarded by these sentimentals anyways? This reoccurring issue started ever since he fled. Ever since he abandoned the rebellion. Fortunately the static of speaker system broke him away from the destined spiral.

Players 260 and 276 pass.

Players 400 and 310 eliminated.

Those were the announcements on the intercom to Daehos's relief, finally arriving at the scene. He hadn't been comfortable with the splattering of blood clouting both the floors and walls, but he was glad to see it wasn't Junhee's. He promised to help her. Just like how he promised to return with the magazines. At least one successfully kept vow. That's all he needed to inflate his confidence back to the usual go-lucky nature he possessed.

With a careless attitude, the seekers who passed simply vacated the area, not lending second thoughts towards the limp bodies they left behind. Blood blossomed on the freshly sliced skin, now deserted since the blood didn't seem to pulse nor pump further. Double-taking on the appearance of the corpse, his attention wasn't orbitting the gore, it was instead focused on the strange familiarity of it all. Spikes of uneasiness aroused, goosebumps populating his skin noticeably. Beginning to have the environment around him distort into pastels ruined by stains of vermillion smeared across, Daeho tilted his head in perplexity. Distant thunderclaps of firearms were illusioned into existence by his delirious condition.

Approaching the two blurry outlines, it became inherently clear to Daeho who these phantoms were. Jung-bae and Young-il. Was this how they died? Hopeless? Afraid? Pained by the bullets infiltrating their organs? The bullets which punctured holes through their limbs? A pained gasp escaped him. He shrank back into a pitiful state of despair once again, shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear. Waves of nausea washed over, inducing this pathetic back and forth rotation of covering her mouth to covering his ears. Gihun's forgiveness was a mistake.

Deaho didn't deserve it.

He didn't.

Because he was a failure of a son. A failure of a marine. Courageousness was just something he couldn't reciprocate.

Trying to prove his father wrong, to prove that he really was legitimately brave only backfired and demonstrated the cowardice his father attempted to beat out actually multiplied over the years.

God was this his unraveling? The mental breakdown he desperately avoided?

The ever so noticeable quivering of his lips were triggered. Now he simply stared at the massacre. Jungbae's perky smile glitched into and unsatisfied grimace. His father usually carried that same grimace whilst starring at his 'girly' son in disgust, practically gagging at the sight of his ponytail. Young-il's encouraging sternness twisted into a strict, calculated leer. Everything traced back to that man didn't it? Cruel, oppressive, and the embodiment of toxic masculinity. A perfect parent for enforcing the guide to sexism in a child's head. (Luckily for Daeho, the misogyny in the household hadn't strained his relationship with his wonderous sisters. The four of them defended Daeho on the contrary, which instead instilled feminism into the boy's mind.)

Suddenly he was that same frightened twelve year old who wondered to his father why his mom and siblings vanished one night. Sucking in his breath, hand over mouth, and praying to the divine spirits that father wouldn't find him cowering behind the bedroom door, Daeho also wished that he'd been taken away too, and not forced to abide by his father's rigorous military mindset.

But the hinges creaked open, revealing a shadowy figure with clenched fists and popping veins, the fantasies of playing Gnoggi accompanied by his sisters were bygones. Foolish dreams destroyed by the cruel reality his father dragged him into. Earlier that week his siblings had been taken custody of by his mother, and he was the only child the alcoholic actually fought for, though that would remain unbeknownst to Daeho until his late teens. Constantly told he was to blame for their abandonment, he grew accustomed to the continuous guilt.

His father's military mindset wasn't suited for nursing a sheepish young boy, let alone a child in general.

Was a little kid that hard to distinguish from a soldier? Even despite being an ex-sergeant, a regular commander wouldn't manhandle a service person for a mistakened question.

Perhaps a harsh lecture would've been an accurate punishment, though apparently that was a mercy which went undeserved towards a twelve year old boy, confused by the mysterious disappearances of his mother and siblings. Eventually, his throat grew hoarse and sore from all the screaming. Deep breaths wouldn't be taken without severe pain following. His ribs would snap and pop occasionally if abrupt movements were made, though it was a muffled version of the cracks originally formed.

Swelling, bruised, and left to choke on the hemepytsis developed due to the overexertion of force used to cradle his neck. That event was a milestone for Daeho's mental development, it was the moment he realized hell exists on Earth. Piss was the pugnant scent of acid, and you could distinguish that same unique aroma lingering from the wooden veneers below the unconcious body. Most of the liquid seeped through the cracks and holes in the flooring, sparing Daeho from the chore of cleaning after himself.

Trauma isn't a learning experience, it's a mockery of the morals that surround phobias.

---

Waving his hands in front of the guy, Namgyu realized he wasn't getting anywhere with this. Why did he choose Daeho as his partner again? Too late now he supposed. Huffing in annoyance, rolling his eyes for the thousandth time, the druggie bitch-slapped Daeho into reality, a scowl still visibly present on his face.

"Fuck...are you going to be stuck in a trance for the remainder of the time we have here? It's every two seconds I see you in this state you know?"

Namgyu exclaimed, the blade in his grasp being gestured around with his hands. "It was entertaining for a bit, but now it's a nuisance..."

Despite initial the facade of irritation, Namgyu internally contemplated why Daeho's eyes jumped out of their sockets every time they stumbled across a body or two. Unresolved trauma? That's a possible reason. Usually that pathetic behavior would earn the other mockery, but honestly, right now Namgyu hadn't felt anything except the vauge waves of deja vu. A hint of lucidity escaped him. He'd probably be acting the same way without the drugs.

"Hey? Mr. Kang?" He drawled, eyeing the shivering figure. "Back to reality now?" His cheek rested on his fist while the rest of his body followed a crouching position.

"Sorry." A pathetic apology, but the only one he could muster from his trembling voice. "I don't think I can get through this...I don't...I don't think..." He whimpered.

Gears shifted, clincked, and cranked. Relaxation. Daeho yearned for it. Desprately. If he was going to constantly turn to begging in these games, maybe ho probably made a buck or two gold panning on the streets. Well, albeit regrettably, Daeho finally managed the strength to twist his head upward, eye to eye contact with Namgyu.

"Namgyu...could I? Could I..." Deaho extended a hesitant hand towards the other, reaching out in a dazed manner.

"I'm sorry to ask. I just...please. I don’t think I can—I need the pills. Just one. You said it helps with calming yourself right? I can't help you in my condition."

Mulling over the thought, Namgyu considered this uneasy alliance had improperly weighed scales that needed to be tipped in his favor. If Daeho was requesting a pill, there were obviously more of those requests to come. Namgyu could make due of that power imbalance, take advantage of the supplier and suppliant dynamic they had going on.

It was control.

Someone to have power over.

"Tell you what I've been somewhat expecting this...With your non-stop episodes and such. I'll be generous and tip you off under one circumstance..."

"This partnership we have going on. It's long term now."

Whatever, Daeho didn't care about those implications at the moment. What he needed was sweet relief. To have the tension in his shoulders finally deflate. To no longer be plagued by phantoms and visits of the damned.

"S-Sure. Fine. Call the shots or something. Please. You'll give me one right?"

Shoved into his lazy hand was a pill-sized kaleidoscopic mini 'skittle'. So this was the savior he was imploring for.

It was contemplation, followed by a bitter flavor melting on his tongue, followed by subsequent swallowing, and lastly the concluding aftereffects slowly overtaking.

.

.

.

Surveillance cameras acting as video feeds for entertainment channels, you would reckon staring at them for prolonged hours over the course of five days would've caused your eyes to rot. To gradually fade out perfect vision into a static array of blurriness. But miraculously, his eyesight remained sharp and dignified. What wasn't fortunate was that a certain individual burned into his scelera, imprinted into his baby blue's. Having said that, he preferred having his vision to degrade instead of whatever obsession engulfed him.

Inho swished the alcohol around in his glass vessel, detached to the action as it was simply a soothing motion he developed into a quirk (ever since Gihun first registered into the system). Adapting to his role as the Frontman, indifference was key he learned. Attachment was a fatal mistake whilst apathy was a saving grace. But that man, 456, he managed to win without twisting his morals, stuck true to himself without losing the humanity that brought himself there. Inho couldn't bring himself to dismiss such a remarkable narrative.

The two of them were strikingly similar in a way.

It was quite obvious Gihun secured a snug position in his head after his first round, but purposely choosing to go back? The man built a reputation for being the biploar loan shark victim, spending his days betting on horses with his mother's money. One could say it was out of character for such a gambling addict, but underneath that initial impression was someone who masked their trauma with a façade of idiotic optimism. Even if that idiocy was relatively a part of his personality.

Gihun. In due time, he would see through his delusions. But for now he supposed, the man could live in a fantasy.

---

Body taut and coiled, overworked beyond the humanely possible limit, Junhee's legs had to be lugged over by Guem-ja in order to acquire a proper seating position beneficial to her comfort.

Commotion was an understatement for the war being wrought outside.