Chapter Text
Rage.
White hot rage that flooded throughout his body. Seeping through his bloodstream to mingle with his cells. So overpowering and uncontrollable as it consumed every fiber of his being.
His teeth clench together so harshly he can hear them creaking as the Frontman moves further away from him. Black silhouette slowly fading from view as Gi-hun’s face is pressed into the floor.
There are guards swarming around him as he screams in agony, staring at Jung-Bae’s now lifeless eyes.
This was his fault.
His plan.
He had convinced the others to attack the soldiers, he forced them to join his plan to take down the Frontman and stop the game once and for all.
Only to fail yet again.
His heart burns with sorrow as the guards yank him up off the floor, dragging him further away from the upper levels. He feels the hot white pain from the bullet graze on his arm as they press on it to pull him down the staircase.
He is screaming he knows. He can feel his throat begin to ache with the intensity, but he can’t stop. His mind is overwhelmed with emotion, unable to control himself as he is dragged back into the players' room and pushed inside before the door is firmly locked behind him.
Heavy sobs tear free from his throat as the remaining players regard his arrival with wide eyes.
How many men had he led to their deaths just now? How many others had he doomed by doing this?
They would all still be alive right now if he hadn’t suggested that plan. Young-il would be alive if not for him.
A fresh pang of sorrow stabs at his heart.
Someone he’d barely even known for three days but who gave his life to follow Gi-hun into battle. Someone who’d saved his life more than once…and for what? To be gunned down in cold blood?
Hate begins to pool into his gut. Visceral and ugly as his mind continues racing.
Some of the others try to comfort him, but their words have little effect on him.
Gi-hun remains motionless on the floor, where he first landed when he was tossed inside. Even as lights out are announced hours later, he remains immobile.
Someone could try to kill him, he realizes, but no one does. Perhaps there has been too much bloodshed already today. Maybe they were too busy admiring the additional won deposited into their golden piggy bank.
It sickened him.
He should have known exactly what to expect. Greed was always a factor. In these games and the ones three years ago.
They had a chance to leave. They could have all left if only one more person voted to end the game.
Then Jung-Bae and Young-il would be alive.
Gi-hun doesn’t know how long he sits in the darkness, he only knows when he walks to the door, rapping on the glass sharply.
After a moment, a red-clad soldier appears. The shape of a triangle looms ominously in the window.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“Entry and Exit is prohibited at this time.”
Gi-hun laughs. It is more twisted than usual, filled with irony as his hand reaches for something in his pocket.
It’s a thin glass shard he picked up from the floor earlier.
He holds it up to his neck.
“I’m getting tired of this game.” He whispers, voice deadly serious.
The soldier doesn’t move or speak.
Gi-Hun smiles again.
“You don’t think I’ll do it?”
In a fluid motion, he cuts a portion of his neck, laughing as red blood immediately seeps out.
The soldier stiffens, taking a step forward.
“You see, I can’t imagine you went through all that trouble of keeping me alive only to watch me die here from slitting my throat. I doubt the VIP’s will find that very entertaining.”
There is the slightest hesitation before the door opens, and the soldier yanks Gi-hun through. His gun is pressed into the small of his back, a warning as clear as day.
Gi-hun enters the bathroom, quickly choosing a stall to enter.
Once inside, he rips the porcelain toilet seat cover off and holds it in his hands, waiting patiently for his next move.
He doesn’t have to wait long before footsteps enter the room.
“Player 456, exit the stall immediately.” The guard says.
Gi-hun can hear the metallic click of the gun being loaded.
He’ll have to be quick.
By a stroke of luck, the guard kicks open the stall next to him, his gun aimed at the empty toilet.
Gi-hun seizes the opportunity. He moves quickly, lifting his arms high in the air before smashing the porcelain toilet seat over the guard's head. It shatters in two as the guard quickly slumps to the ground.
His arm throbs from the motion where he was shot, but he ignores it. The dull ache of pain helps to center him, and ground him into reality.
Gi-hun doesn’t waste any time. He grabs the gun from the guard and slings it over his shoulder as adrenaline courses through his veins.
He was a dead man anyway. He had no reason now to go on. His friends were dead. The police and Jun-ho would never find them before the game was over.
What point would there be to keep playing?
No. There was no reason.
At this point the only thing left for him was revenge.
It was an insatiable need growing larger inside of him by the second, and if he was going to die, he might as well go out fighting.
Quickly, he puts on the outfit of the unconscious soldier, securing his mask tightly as he exited the bathroom.
He is following the hallway back to the colorful corridor of stairs when a voice calls out to him.
“Number 27! This way!”
Gi-hun freezes in his tracks.
He looks down at the number printed onto his red uniform. 27.
He turns his head around to see two triangle soldiers waiting on him.
With no other option, he begins to follow them.
They lead him down multiple sets of stairs before reaching a corridor. It is dark and grey, nothing like what he had seen before.
Once they open the door, he is immediately hit with the overwhelming scent of death.
It is nauseating.
Bodies split open on operating tables. Organs packed up into coolers, socketless eyes staring at him.
“How many today?” One of the soldiers asked.
Gi-hun turns his attention to what appears to be a doctor in the room, stitching one of the bodies back up.
“Eight salvageable organs today.”
“Eight?” A guard asks in disbelief.
“How is that possible? We brought you over twenty corpses.”
Gi-hun feels sick.
Not only were they brought here to fight and die, but even after that there was no peace. These people would tear apart every inch of you to sell before reducing you to nothing but a pile of ash.
The doctor shrugs. “Many of them were hit in vital areas. Who would spend thousands of dollars on an organ that was damaged?”
A guard sighs.
“Damn, we’ll have to be more careful then.”
Gi-hun twitches. It is getting harder to control himself. The urge for revenge is itching at his fingertips, begging to be unleashed.
“So are these all the players that rebelled today?” The doctor asks curiously, staring at the corner of the room.
Gi-hun turns his attention toward the stack of black coffins with pink bows.
“All but 456 and 001.” One of the guards chimes in.
Gi-hun freezes in his place, words ringing in his ears.
All but 001?
Had Young-il survived somehow?! Could it be true?
Hope flickers to light inside him.
Of course, it was true.
Young-il was much too stubborn to die!
If Gi-hun could find him somehow…the two of them could escape! They could leave together!
A surge of joy bubbles up through his chest amidst the hopelessness. He would find him. He would save him.
He needs to take action fast. Before anything else could go wrong.
There are three people in the room with him now. If he moves quickly enough, he’ll have the advantage.
He raises his weapon up with alarming speed, pointing it parallel to the guard closest to him before shooting once.
His head whips backward from the bullet before his body slumps to the ground.
Quickly now, he tells himself.
Gi-hun turns to where the other guard is standing only…he is no longer there. He’s suddenly behind him, delivering a swift punch to Gi-Hun’s gut that knocks the wind out of him.
He hisses in pain, backing up.
The guard points his weapon at Gi-Hun.
“Freeze 27!” He yells out.
Gi-hun freezes.
The doctor peers around at him, scalpel in hand.
“What’s wrong with him!?” He asks.
The guard shakes his head. “An imposter, I'm sure. The real 27 is likely dead.”
The doctor chuckles.
“Hmmm, well I suppose there is one benefit to this turn of events.”
“What’s that?” The soldier asks, gun trained on Gi-hun’s face.
“Every one of his organs could be salvageable depending on where you shoot him.”
Gi-hun stiffens.
His ears are ringing as his body temperature heats up with anger.
Was this truly all they cared about? These people who showed up to monitor the games, they didn’t care about following the rules.
No. All they cared about was money.
It was the same greed that caused so many of the players to decide to remain in the game.
Now, here they were going to purposefully avoid killing him to harvest and sell each of his organs.
No. He won’t allow it.
He can’t die here. Not when he could still save Young-il and the others.
The gun tilts down toward his leg, and his body reacts on its own.
Move, he tells himself.
He reaches forward to grab the gun and push it off to the side. It fires, and a rush of pain shoots across his side.
The bullet has grazed him again, only deeper this time.
He hisses in pain as he wrestles for the gun, wrenching it away from the soldier.
There is movement behind him, and a searing pain that follows as the doctor’s scalpel slides across his back.
Cursing, Gi-hun slams the gun into the soldier’s head, knocking him to the ground.
He whips around to the doctor to see the man put his hands up. Hands that are shaking nervously, holding a bloodied scalpel.
One he just used to attack Gi-hun with.
A doctor, who’d once taken an oath to do everything in his power to save people. Now nothing more than an organ harvester.
He could not be allowed to live. Not someone who cut people open while still alive to cause them even greater suffering than they’d already experienced.
He takes a step backward, hands shaking further as Gi-hun shoots him once in the head.
He falls unceremoniously to the ground, blood pooling out from his forehead.
It was a more merciful death than he deserved.
Gi-hun moves forward, bending over to collect the spare magazine in the soldier’s pocket.
His back and waist ache at the movement, but regardless he pushes on, fueled with desperation and adrenaline.
He moves back up the corridor in darkness.
The cameras are not fixed yet, so Gi-hun is able to easily move throughout the rainbow staircases without being noticed.
There are a few guards he can spot as sentries, keeping watch over their surroundings.
Gi-hun crouches carefully as he moves past them. Stealth would be necessary if he were going to make it to the Frontman.
Once he returns to the purple staircase from earlier, his mind begins racing.
This is where he handed Young-il the last magazine clip and told him to look for another way in.
He had succeeded, but then what? Where had they taken him?
Gi-hun follows the path Young-il took earlier, and discovers it also leads to another staircase that ascends even further.
Only…the bullet holes he sees come from behind, as if they were ambushed. Had more guards found this hidden way up? What had they done with Young-il?
He can feel that the fabric on his back is soaked with blood now. It makes him feel a little dizzy looking at the staircase, but he forces himself to continue onward.
As he walks up the stairs quietly, he sees a doorway leading to the control room.
Then another stairwell parallel to it leading up further.
He ascends up the stairwell further. His aim right now was not the control room.
Now he needed to find the Frontman and put an end to this.
He walks up the stairs, tilting his head up.
There is a scanner at the top, and once it recognizes his mask he is granted entry.
The door slides open, and Gi-hun rushes inside, gun pointed at the dark figure seated in the room away from him.
The Frontman is staring out the window in this dark room, barely illuminated by the light from the moon.
Gi-hun can’t see well enough in the darkness to get a good look, but he can hear the crashing of the waves outside.
The Frontman rises at his arrival, turning his head slightly.
“Don’t move,” Gi-hun tells him sharply.
There is a pause momentarily. Then a deep laugh fills the room.
“How dare you, a mere guard, point your weapon at me number 27.”
His voice alone is menacing, and Gi-hun has to remind himself that he had the advantage here.
The Frontman is unarmed, and there is a good fifteen feet of space between them.
“Where is Young-il!?” Gi-hun demands, pointing his gun toward the Frontman.
The Frontman is emotionless. His face is unreadable, and his body remains still.
“You. Are not guard 27.” He says definitively.
Gi-hun removes his mask, and watches as the Frontman takes a deep breath.
“Player 456.”
Gi-hun says nothing.
A deep laugh echoes from the Frontman’s throat.
“Have you come to play the hero again? I thought you’d had enough by now.”
Gi-hun ignores his taunts.
“Young-il. What have you done with him?”
The Frontman tilts his head to the side.
“Who?”
A pang of anger hits Gi-hun in the chest. Of course the Frontman didn’t know his name. He didn’t know any of their names. They were all just players to him. Cattle to be slaughtered for the sake of pleasing those who watched the games.
Gi-hun takes a step forward.
“Player 001. Where is he?”
The Frontman is silent for a moment.
“Dead.” He replies swiftly.
“You’re lying.”
“I overheard your organ harvesters earlier. They said players 001 and 465 were the only survivors of the attack today.” Gi-hun continues.
“Organ harvesters?” The Frontman repeats.
“Don’t change the subject!” Gi-hun hisses.
“Tell me where he is!” Gi-hun demands again louder.
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” The Frontman says, voice laced with amusement.
“How do you expect to find him without me?” He continues.
Gi-hun shakes his head.
“No. No, I won't kill you. But if you don’t help me find him, I’ll put an end to this game once and for all.”
Intrigued, the Frontman tilts his head to the side.
“And how do you propose to do that?”
Gi-hun smiles. Blood begins dripping down his uniform onto the floor from the wounds on his back and waist, but he doesn’t care.
He laughs long and loud, as the Frontman takes a slight step backward. He was unnerved. Gi-hun had managed to unnerve the mastermind.
“I’ll march right upstairs, to where you have your VIP’s tucked away, sleeping without a care in the world, and I’ll put a bullet in each of their brains.”
The Frontman takes a deep breath in.
“You’re hurt. You won’t make it.”
Gi-hun laughs again.
“Oh, I’ll make it. Even if it kills me, I’ll make it there. And I won’t die until I kill each and every one of them.”
The Frontman takes a step forward, arms raised up high as if to attack him.
“Don’t move.” Gi-hun demands icily.
“If you do, I’ll shoot you in the leg and march past you to kill them all.” He continues.
The Frontman freezes once more. He was nervous.
Gi-hun feels delirious now, a giggle bubbling up from his throat.
“Once I kill the VIP’s, there won’t be any more games will there?”
The Frontman remains silent, but Gi-hun knows he is right.
“There’s nothing the rich fear more than death. If I kill them…you’ll never have other VIP’s come to this island again. They’ll be far too afraid when it’s their lives on the line instead of ours.” Gi-hun says menacingly.
The Frontman again says nothing, but Gi-hun feels the shift in the room. There are cracks now, pulling at the surface of the emotionless mask.
“…Very well. I’ll take you to him. Player 001.” The Frontman says after a moment of hesitation, voice quieter than normal.
Gi-hun stops in his tracks as a rush of relief courses through his bones.
Young-il was alive. Gi-hun could still save him! He could at least save one of his friends.
Gi-hun nods once, and the Frontman turns to the door where he had entered.
Gi-hun follows close behind, gun still raised up toward the Frontman’s back, watching his movements carefully.
As they exit the room Gi-hun notices it is an office. He sees the desk with complex monitors further back.
Where the Frontman takes him is even higher. Confused, Gi-hun follows him. They pass a hallway with a series of black doors before reaching the end of the hall to a corner.
There is another staircase leading higher, and outside the door at the top, a scanner analyzes the Frontman’s mask before allowing him entry.
Gi-hun follows cautiously, ignoring the ache of his wounds and the blood continuously dripping from his back.
As they enter, the door closes behind them.
It is dark inside, but from what Gi-hun can make out, it is a bedroom.
The furniture is dark, matching the walls and floors.
A large king bed lies against one wall, with couches and windows on the other.
This was…The Frontman’s bedroom. Why did the Frontman take him here? Why would he bring Young-il here?
The Frontman simply stops moving when he reaches the center of the room.
Gi-hun looks around the room frantically.
“Young-il!” He calls out.
There is no answer.
Gi-hun takes a dizzying step toward the bathroom door, feeling his eyelids becoming heavier.
He was losing too much blood.
“Young-il! Are you here?!” He calls again.
He is met with only silence.
He turns back to the Frontman, who’s facing him now, hands clasped behind his back.
“You told me he was here! Where is he?! Show him to me now or I’ll kill you!” Gi-hun screams.
The Frontman nods.
“If you insist.”
There is a silence that follows then. Stretching the seconds into hours as the Frontman reaches up to the clasps holding his mask into place.
Gi-hun stands frozen, unable to do anything but watch as the Frontman removes his mask.
As the black plastic mask drops away revealing flesh and bone, Gi-hun’s heart seizes in his chest.
There was Young-il. Perfectly unharmed and alive.
Betrayal slams into him like a wall. He staggers backward in disbelief, gun shaking in his hands as he fights just to hold onto it.
His body feels as if it is on fire. Burning from his injuries and bitter acknowledgment that the Young-il was the Frontman all along.
He had been toying with Gi-hun from the beginning.
A cry of anguish escapes his throat as white spots dance across his vision and he stumbles back further.
Young-il raises his hand in the air, as he moves forward. There’s a saddened expression on his face.
Gi-hun’s hands shake uncontrollably as he tries to pull himself together.
“Gi-hun.” Young-il calls to him, taking another step forward.
But it wasn’t Young-il. This was the Frontman. The man who killed Jung-Bae and his other friends. The man who put him through hell for years.
Gi-hun steps backward until his back is pressed against the wall of the room. He can hardly breathe, breath coming in short and small bursts of air.
The Frontman advances.
Gi-hun squeezes his eyes shut.
“Stay back!” He yells out louder.
His mind torments him. Replaying moments of Young-il talking with him, celebrating with him when they succeeded in a game, and even saving his life numerous times.
It is agonizing. Seeing the face he’d grown to care for so much be beneath the Frontman’s mask.
It hurts more than anything. More than Sang-Woo and Sae-Byeok. More than Jung-Bae. This was worse than any of the deaths he’d experienced, because even now…Gi-hun knew he wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger.
The gun is pressed against his hands still, and yet it is all but useless now.
The Frontman seems to know this too.
His steps forward become more confident, closing the distance between the two of them.
Gi-hun’s shaking progresses to the rest of his body.
Young-il stops a few feet from him, eyes trained on his face.
Gi-hun looks at the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes.
“You’re hurt.” Young-il comments, eyes drawn to the blood pooling on the ground.
He is hurt.
Gi-hun is hurt so badly he can hardly bear it.
How much more could he endure? How much suffering would it take to put an end to this game once and for all?
“Gi-hun. You’re tired.” Young-il speaks to him. His face is a mixture of softness and sympathy. Gi-hun hated it. Even now, The Frontman was toying with him. Wanting to cause agony even in his final moments before killing him.
Gi-hun’s vision is getting darker by the second, and his legs are unable to bear the strain of his fatigue.
He slides against the wall to the ground, hands still wrapped around the weapon.
Young-il takes another step closer, kneeling down to his level.
His voice is soft as he speaks.
“Gi-hun. Give me the gun.”
Gi-hun tilts his head to look up at the Frontman. The black uniform is still there, aside from the mask, but it is Young-il’s face that looks back at him.
That face. That same face that had smiled at him two nights ago. The face that belonged to the man who saved him more than once. The face that asked Gi-hun to share a bottle of Soju when they got out.
And now. The face that would kill him.
Except, Gi-hun didn’t want to give the Frontman any more power over him.
“You’re right. I am tired.” Gi-hun says quietly.
Young-il stares at him, face only an inch or two away now.
More black spots take over his vision, so much so that he has to force himself to stay conscious, even if only for a few seconds.
This last decision will be his own.
Gi-hun smiles.
“The game is over for me.” He says quietly.
He watches as Young-il’s face morphs into confusion and horror as Gi-hun's hand swiftly lines the weapon up to the side of his head and smiles gleefully.
He can see the gears turning in Young-il’s mind. Watches him recognize what Gi-hun is about to do.
Gi-hun’s fingers find the trigger…and pull it.
He hears the loud crack of the gunshot next to his eardrum as his head is slammed into the wall. He doesn’t feel the instant pain of it ripping into his skull, but he feels blood dripping down his ear.
Had he…missed?
No.
Young-il had wrenched the gun away from his skull just in time.
Why?
Why couldn’t he just let him die?
Gi-hun feels the inescapable pull of darkness. It clouds his vision. He can no longer see anymore, and every breath he spends fighting to stay awake sends him closer to the brink of unconsciousness.
Until he can no longer fight it, and his vision fades completely black.