Work Text:
The screams of the players reverberated through the circus-like arena, their cries forming a haunting symphony that twisted Gi-Hun's insides with every agonizing note. It was a song that would stay embedded in his mind for a while.
His gaze snapped to the side, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw Jung-Bae dragging Jun-Hee toward a door. The two were frantically fighting for a chance at safety, their desperation to reach the sanctuary and immunity the rooms promised palpable in every strained movement.
The game served as a dangerous and twisted race, for only the most capable could reach the other side. One wrong movement and you might as well consider yourself dead.
A dark, viscous pool of blood soaked the floor in numerous spots, glimmering under the lights that shone down from above them. They served as a grim, unyielding reminder of the fate that awaited those who faltered--a fate Gi-Hun refused to accept for himself.
Maybe later, but not now.
He had come here for a purpose, a mission that he would see through to the end. He wouldn't rest in peace until the games were destroyed.
With a sudden jolt, Gi-Hun snapped out of his mental prison, a fierce shout tearing from his throat.
"One more! I just need one more-"
Without warning, Gi-Hun felt a sharp tug at his arm, pulling him away from his spot and toward a yellow door. He stumbled, nearly falling from the force that the person had exerted onto him.
Catching his breath in a gasp of surprise, his heart raced frantically as his mind struggled to catch up on everything that was happening around him.
As he was tugged forward, his eyes caught sight of Young-Il, who was sprinting with fierce determination, his focus locked on nothing more than the door ahead.
The man weaved through the crowd with a desperation that mirrored Gi-Hun's own. It was a race, a race for survival, and Young-Il was determined to reach that door first, to beat everyone else who was just as desperate to escape.
It seemed as if they were finally going to make it. A wave of relief surged through Gi-Hun's veins, his body relaxing as the tension that had gripped him for so long began to slowly melt away. He could almost let out a cry of gratitude, but just as quickly, any hope he had was soon shattered.
Two players, 218 and 343, who had been ahead of them --having been denied entry to another room-- arrived at the very one they had been running for.
Gi-Hun's heart sank, the hope he'd clung to slipping away in an instant. From ahead, the man could hear a frustrated growl leaving Young-Il's throat, low and guttural.
He could only watch in shock as the man surged forward, moving faster than ever. His eyes burned with a single, undeniable thought: there was no way he was going to let them die--not here, not like this.
With determined strides, Young-Il released Gi-Hun's hand, his fingers slipping away with a quiet finality as he shifted his focus entirely to the immediate danger.
Every part of his being seemed to sharpen in that moment like a crisp knife, his breath steady but quick, his pulse thrumming in his veins like a drumbeat.
The chaos around him seemed to vanish, the world narrowing down to a singular point: survival.
There was zero room for hesitation and absolutely no time for second-guessing.
Every movement that Young-Il exerted was precise and driven by the raw urgency of the situation.
Young-Il shot forward with a fluid, calculated intensity, each step carrying him closer to the target.
With an almost animalistic speed, his foot lashed out, connecting with the back of one player's leg in a brutal strike.
The force of the impact soared through the room, a sickening crack echoing off of the walls.
Player 218 let out a jagged scream, a sharp cry of pain that cut through the tense air as his leg buckled beneath him.
His body collapsed forward, the ground rushing up to meet him with an unforgiving thud.
The sickening sound of his body hitting the concrete seemed to hang in the air and the man let out a groan of pain, clutching at his injured leg, face contorted in nothing but pure agony.
Gi-Hun's eyes widened in shock, nausea punched at his gut harshly as he stood frozen. His mind struggled to process what he was witnessing--what was happening around him.
The man in front of him was no longer acting like the reasonable, level-headed man that he knew as Young-Il, instead replaced by a savage, uncaring beast.
The sound of the brutal kick, the sharp crack as the Player's leg buckled echoed in his ears, a painful harmony, an unwelcome song. However, it was the sight of the fallen man that really tugged at the noirette's core.
Player 218, who had been a part of this game just like Gi-Hun, fighting side by side with the others for survival, now writhed on the floor, clutching his leg in agony.
It was the sight of the raw desperation on his face that made Gi-Hun's demeanor crack, as if it was not just pain that contorted his features...
But a realization.
The realization that no matter how hard he had tried to get to safety, it was all futile now.
The realization that in just a few minutes, he'd be nothing more than a bloodstain on the ground.
Hallucinations of his dear friend, Sang-Woo, flickered in his mind.
The man who had once branded the same number as Player 218.
The man who had been a part of his life before all of this madness began.
Cherished memories hit Gi-Hun like a crushing wave.
The laughter, the quiet moments of camaraderie, all those fleeting memories of a time when things seemed simpler.
Oh how he was so wrong.
Now, those memories were tinged with something darker.
The image of Sang-Woo, once so full of hope and promise, had been replaced with a cruel reminder of what this game had done to them all.
Gi-Hun's stomach twisted painfully, his throat constricting as nausea surged within him. He had to swallow it down, force it back... but the wave of grief and loss was almost too much to bear.
The memory of Sang-Woo, his friend, his companion, now felt like a ghost--lost to this nightmare.
A casualty of the same ruthless game that threatened to swallow them all whole.
Lost in his own mind, Gi-Hun missed how Player 343 stormed into the yellow room with frantic urgency.
His movements were aggressive, yet sluggish.
However, in the most jarring fashion, Player 343's movements were completely devoid of hesitation.
He didn't glance at his partner, didn't spare even a second to check on the man who had just fallen, whose body was now a helpless heap on the ground.
The cold indifference in the other player's eyes hit Gi-Hun like a blow to the chest.
This game had warped everyone participating into the shell of who they were before, perhaps the most sickening part of this entire scheme.
The realization gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
How much longer before Young-Il, too, would lose himself in the struggle to survive? Or Jung-Bae...?
Or even himself?
Gi-Hun's gaze drifted over to Young-Il, who stood over the fallen man, his body trembling with ragged breaths.
The sight of the normally composed man acting like this was nothing more than unsettling.
His posture was rigid, every muscle taut with anger. His expression was twisted with annoyance, his gaze fixed on the man beneath him as if he were little more than an inconvenience.
The room seemed to grow colder with every passing second, but they didn't have time to waste, not like this.
Suddenly, Young-Il's gaze snapped over to Gi-Hun, sharp but not unkind, his eyes calculating yet calm.
Gi-Hun felt his entire body tense up, instinctively recoiling from the intensity of the moment, could you blame him after everything he had witnessed?
Young-Il didn't raise his voice or make any aggressive moves however. Instead, he simply motioned toward the open door with a subtle tilt of his head.
Gi-Hun followed his gaze to the room, which held Player 343 inside, the man cowering in a corner.
The noirette swallowed, the knot of fear tightening in his chest.
"But, Player 343 is still in there," He said, his voice laced with doubt. "You heard the voice, it's two players per room!"
Young-Il's expression didn't change; he remained steady as a fox, his demeanor almost unnervingly calm.
One measured breath, and he responded, his voice low but firm, as if he was weighing his words carefully.
"I get it. I know what she said, but we don't have many choices, do we? We wait here, and nothing changes, we get shot." Taking a deep breath, Young-Il's eyes met Gi-Hun's own.
A silent plea.
"But if we go in, at least we have a chance. A better chance than just standing out here, waiting to be killed."
Gi-Hun's mind raced, unsure on how this would go over with the armed guards who were set to come out at any moment.
But, what would happen if they come out and they discover that there are more players in a room than called for? Certainly that'd be a death sentence.
Gi-Hun's racing mind was swiftly interrupted by Young-Il's own voice.
"Gi-Hun, don't you want to make it out of here? Don't you want to survive and reconvene with our friends again after this game?"
Young-Il continued in his own refined fashion.
"If we don't act now, we risk losing everything. We don't have time to waste."
Gi-Hun swallowed hard, the weight of Young-Il's words sinking in.
It was true.
This was their only real shot.
"Okay," He finally said, his voice soft but steady.
Young-Il smiled at Gi-Hun's approval, yet his calm demeanor never wavered.
"Good," He said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
With that, Young-Il started toward the yellow room, with Gi-Hun followed steadily behind, the sounds of Player 218's sobs echoing quietly beside them.
Player 343's eyes widened in shock as he saw the duo walking toward the room, a wave of panic rushing through him.
His voice shout out, sharp and frantic, as he instinctively took a step back, his hands held up in a defensive gesture.
"Wait! Stay out there!" He yelled, his words trembling with fear. "They said two players, not three! You're going to get us all killed!"
Gi-Hun once again froze at the sound of his desperate voice. He had expected resistance, but not this kind of raw fear. His mind raced, uncertainty flooding him as he looked at Young-Il, whose expression remained calm, unwavering.
Young-Il didn't flinch.
His eyes remained on Player 343, calculating, assessing the situation.
It was like a lion stalking it's prey.
Without breaking stride, he turned to Gi-Hun, speaking in a low, steady tone, as if the panic in Player 343's voice meant nothing.
"Ignore him," He said quietly, "He's scared, just like we are. But we can't afford to back down now. We have to move!"
Gi-Hun felt a lump form in his throat as he glanced back at the door, the words of Player 343 still ringing fresh in his ears.
"You're going to get us all killed."
The weight of the warning hung in the air like a heavy cloud, but there was no turning back now.
Player 343 was still yelling, "Get out of here! They'll punish all of us if you--"
Young-Il's gaze remained steady, his hand subtly moving toward the door, signaling to Gi-Hun to keep moving.
"There's no time for second-guessing, we've already made our choice."
Without another word, Young-Il stepped into the room, his presence unwavering, and Gi-Hun followed.
With a loud bang, the door behind them slammed shut, jolting Gi-Hun so violently that his breath hitched in his throat.
His heart raced in his chest, thudding wildly against his ribcage, and for a moment, he felt as though the air had been knocked straight out of him.
Immediately, Gi-Hun darted toward the small rectangular window, his hands shaking as he pressed them against the cold, unforgiving metal.
Jung-Bae, Jun-hee...
His eyes scanned the chaotic, flashing blur outside.
Please, please, just be there at the end.
The red and white lights outside flashed like a strobe, disorienting and blinding, making it almost impossible to see anything clearly.
His breath came faster, panic gripping him like a vice. His throat tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears. He tried to steady himself tried to focus, but his thoughts were nothing more than a jumbled mess.
Had his friends made it?
The uncertainty gnawed at him, eating away at his insides.
The sickening sounds of shoes hitting the floor outside broke his frantic thoughts.
Gi-Hun's body went rigid, his gaze flicking from the darkness outside to the heavily armed pink guards entering the area.
His blood ran cold.
They were everywhere.
Guns raised, masks hiding their emotionless faces.
The way they moved was cold, deliberate, and clinical.
They didn't care.
For they were there for one thing only.
To kill.
Please don't let them be one of the ones left behind.
The air around him felt thick, suffocating, all he could do was stare through that tiny slit in the door, as the panic rose in him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him.
The flashing lights made it impossible to see clearly, the only way that he could tell just who was out there was through his hearing.
Sounds of gunfire and frightened screams filled the air, cascading a wicked song over the circus arena.
However, there was a terrifying sound much closer to him that took his attention away.
The sound of a sudden struggle behind him, Gi-Hun froze, his heart skipping a beat.
Panic surged through him as he whipped around, his mind still clouded by the chaos outside. His eyes widened in shock at the scene before him, his breath hitching.
Young-Il and Player 343 were on the floor, tangled in a frantic, desperate struggle. The man's arms were wrapped tightly around Player 343's neck in a chokehold, his grip unforgiving.
The player's face was flushed, his features contorted in pain and desperation as he gasped for air, his hands clawing desperately at Young-Il's forearms in a frantic attempt to break free.
Sweat clung to his face, his eyes wide and wild, as if the reality of his situation was beginning to sink in.
Player 343 kicked desperately at the air, his legs thrashing wildly as he tried to wrench himself free from Young-Il's unyielding grip.
His body rocked back and forth, a frantic attempt to break the chokehold, but it was futile.
Young-Il's hold was like iron--unrelenting, suffocating, and far stronger than anything Player 343 could possibly muster.
Each time he tried to break free, Young-Il's arms tightened, squeezing out the last remnants of breath from his lungs.
Gi-Hun stood frozen, his heart racing as he watched the chaotic struggle unfold in front of him. The sounds of Player 343's desperate gasps filled the room, mixing with the gunshots that rang through the air.
The intensity of this all was too much.
"Stop! What are you doing?!" Gi-Hun shouted, his voice cracking as panic seized him. His chest tightened in terror. He couldn't breathe.
He had to stop this!
He couldn't recognize the Young-Il in front of him anymore.
As soon as Gi-Hun's words rang out and he made a move to run forward to put a stop to his attack, the atmosphere shifted.
Through it all, Young-Il's expression didn't change, he didn't even look at Gi-Hun.
With terrifying precision, Young-Il adjusted his grip, his hands moving with such calm purpose that it was almost methodical.
He shifted slightly, applying just enough pressure, and with a sickening sound, Player 343's neck snapped.
The horrifying sound of bone echoed through the room, singing along with the shots outside. Player 343's body went rigid for a split second, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief, but then they glazed over.
His breathing stopped, and his entire body collapsed against Young-Il's hold.
Deafening silence followed, thick and harrowing.
With no respect, Young-Il shoved the man's body off of him and stood up, his face unreadable, his posture calm as ever.
The man wiped his hands,
Up...
Down.
Up...
Down.
It was as if he was wiping away dirt.
"You--you killed him?!" Gi-Hun's voice cracked, thick with disbelief, pain, and anger. He took a step back, his gaze shifting between the lifeless body of Player 343 and Young-Il.
"Why?! What did he do wrong?!" The words burned his throat as they left his lips, raw and desperate.
This wasn't the man he had come to know, the one he had fought beside, the one he had trusted.
This was not the person he thought he had been sharing this nightmare with. His heart, already heavy with the weight of this game, now felt like it was breaking in two.
His friend had just taken a life with a chilling efficiency, and Gi-Hun couldn't even begin to wrap his mind around it.
Young-Il hadn't even flinched,
He didn't even hesitate.
Gi-Hun's eyes narrowed as he stared at the man, the fury inside him building with every passing second.
Why, why you?
Young-Il stood over the body, his posture unwavering. He looked down at the man's lifeless form, then back up at Gi-Hun.
"I had to, it was the only way to make the count right. To ensure our survival." The man spoke, beginning to step toward Gi-Hun, who stood his ground.
Cold and calculated, he continued, "If we had shoved him outside to make room for us like 218, he would have been killed anyway, shot on the spot." Young-Il huffed out,
"Just like they would have done to me, or you, if they'd found us standing outside this very room."
Gi-Hun's breath caught in his throat as his mind tried to process the gravity of what Young-Il was saying.
He desperately tried to find something unreasonable in the man's words, but it was true.
They would have most likely been killed had Young-Il not subtracted one from the equation.
Gi-Hun stood there, frozen in a daze. He couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, what had just happened.
His eyes drifted to the lifeless form of Player 343, still sprawled on the cold concrete, and then back to Young-Il.
The man he had grown to trust, the one he had thought of as a friend, now stood before him with an unreadable expression--cold, detached.
It was as if the person Gi-Hun had known was gone, replaced by someone else, someone unrecognizable.
His friend that he had known had died as soon as he broke that man's leg.
"You..." The words caught in Gi-Hun's throat, and he couldn't finish the sentence.
He didn't know what to say.
His mind was in a fog, his emotions a whirlwind of disbelief and betrayal.
Was this really happening?
How could Young-Il have done this?
How could he have killed someone so...
so easily?
He felt like the ground beneath him was slipping, like the person he had been fighting beside, the one who had shared moments of humanity with him, was no longer there.
There was no warmth in Young-Il's eyes, no trace of the compassion Gi-Hun had once thought he could see lurking beneath his hardened exterior.
"You... you really did it," Gi-Hun muttered, his voice shaking with shock and hurt.
"I thought... I thought you were better than this."
Young-Il didn't flinch, his face remained stoic, but Gi-Hun could see the faintest flicker of something in his eyes.
A glimmer of frustration or perhaps even hatred, but it was quickly masked.
"I did what I had to do to make sure we survived." Young-Il said flatly. "This isn't about what's right or wrong. It's about living another minute, another day."
Gi-Hun shook his head, the disbelief turning into something darker. He wanted to scream, to demand that this wasn't real, that this wasn't the man he had shared so much with, but the cold reality set in.
This was Young-Il now... and maybe, just maybe, this is how he has always been.
"What happened to you?" Gi-Hun's voice cracked as he asked the question, though he didn't expect an answer.
How could he understand now?
How could he ever look at Young-Il the same way again after what had just happened?
Young-Il remained standing still, "I did what I had to do. There was no other choice."
With that, the door slammed open with a sudden, jarring sound.
Gi-Hun stiffened, his eyes snapping to the doorway. The air in the room felt colder now and the man's gaze immediately fell to the pool of blood closest to the room they were occupying.
The blood of Player 218.
The room in front of them was now coated with more puddles of fresh blood, fragments of bone and brain matter evident in some of the puddles.
He could hear the distant echo of the guards' footsteps, their rhythm mechanical and unfeeling as they finally finished their work outside--hauling away the coffins of the fallen with nothing more than a box lifter.
The silence that followed was a hollow emptiness, and Gi-Hun felt the weight of it settle heavily on his chest.
Gi-Hun stared at the pool of players who entered back into the arena after their doors had opened, talking amongst themselves and hugging in grateful reunion, happy that they'd see each other yet another day.
"You should be grateful, you know." Young-Il said, his voice cold and steady, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing had changed. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be in this room right now."
Gi-Hun opened his mouth to speak--he wanted to say something, anything, to confront him, to demand answers... but the words were stuck in his throat. The truth of what had just transpired sinking deeper into his gut.
He stood there, paralyzed, unable to move, the weight of Young-Il's words hanging heavily in the air.
Before Gi-Hun could even begin to process what had just been said, Young-Il took a final glance over his shoulder at the body of Player 343 before stepping forward and placing a cold, hard hand on Gi-Hun's shoulder.
Grip firm and tight, he began, "I'd suggest you remember that," His voice low, almost a whisper, but carrying a weight that Gi-Hun couldn't ignore.
"In this game, only the strong survive, not those who battle on what-if's."
With that, Young-Il stepped out of the room, the mask of who he was before immediately coming on as a fake smile formed on his face, presumably waving to Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee.
The world outside seemed to close in around Gi-Hun, the blinding lights, the relentless ticking of the alarm, all blending together into a single, suffocating weight.
Gi-Hun was left standing in the center of the yellow room, alone with the cold, lifeless body of Player 343. The room felt even emptier now, the silence pressing in, louder than ever.
His heart raced, his mind a jumbled mess of thoughts and emotions, but there was no one left to turn to. He couldn't tell anyone...
He couldn't tell them what had just happened. Now when it would change how they saw Young-Il.
Not when it would ruin whatever fragile hope they had left in this nightmare of a game.
He stood there in the stillness, the image of Young-Il's cold gaze lingering in his mind.
How could it have come to this?
He had thought of Young-Il as a friend, even as a brother of sorts, someone who shared in the horrors of this place, someone he could trust.
But now...
Well, now Gi-Hun was forced to face the brutal turth--
That in the game of survival, there was no room for sentiment.
No room for weakness.
Gi-Hun took a long, shaky breath and turned toward the door, getting ready to exit this suffocating room and put on a mask of his own.
Just what was he supposed to do now?