Chapter Text
And though it hurts, we keep on climbing
'Cause our addictions take us from inside
A sturdy back, but brittle bones
Too weak to show
We would say anything just to hear what we want
Right or wrong
Then we lie to be forgiven
The pink guard pressed Gihun's face to the ground, right into the puddle of blood still oozing out from Jungbae's corpse. He screamed in agony, wailing, unable to look away from those empty eyes. The color was already starting to drain from his friend's face, mouth agape, with drool and blood spilling out.
Gihun had to strain his neck to look back at the Frontman, who was already making his way up the stairs. A loud ringing sound in his head numbed his senses.
"Take him out. Then bring him to the—"
With a strong blow to his head, the world around him went dark, the last thing he saw being the lifeless face of his friend.
~
Gihun's eyes were still heavy when he woke up. His face felt swollen, probably from crying in his sleep.
His whole body hurt.
With a groan he sat up and looked around, still feeling disoriented, his senses slowly returning.
Instead of the tracksuit with his number on it, he was dressed in… pajamas. A white shirt and black pants.
Gihun felt strangely clean too, his skin that had been sticky with sweat and blood now soft, showing no trace of the hell he'd just been through. The thought of strangers undressing him, wiping down his unconscious body and dressing him again as if he were nothing more than a doll…
It sent a cold shiver down his spine.
His distressed movements caused the shackle on his ankle to make a rattling sound. Made from iron, it lay heavy on his skin.
Gihun followed the long chain to the corner of the room right next to his bed where it disappeared down a small hole in the floor. He gave it an experimental tug, which worked, though there wasn't much length left, since he could only reach the door on his right.
Which – to his relief – led to a bathroom after all.
It was equipped with only a lidless toilet and a small sink to wash his hands. After he was done, he returned to the bed and sat down.
A blinking red light caught his attention in the corner of his eye.
It was most likely a camera, documenting his every move.
Gihun scoffed.
He didn't understand why he was still alive.
When the mission had failed, the Frontman pointing his gun at him, Gihun hadn't felt any panic at all. On the contrary, he'd been flooded with a strange sense of relief. Because it was done. He had tried with all his might to survive and make his cursed life count for something, and he had failed.
So why hadn’t he been…
With a soft squeak, the door suddenly opened, a small ray of light falling into the room from the outside. Two pink soldiers entered, machine guns raised in their hands.
"Player 456.", one of them said, "You have been summoned. Don't try anything stupid or we'll shoot your legs and drag you instead. Understood?"
Gihun's mouth went dry.
Unable to say anything, he gave a small nod.
"Put your hands behind your head and stand up slowly."
Gihun did as he was told.
One of the soldiers cautiously pointed his gun at him while the other grabbed him, pushing him into the wall and pressing his face against the cold concrete as he bound his hands behind his back.
He could feel it faintly as the chain was dislodged from the shackle. The heavy weight around his ankle remained. Soon after, the world around him went dark as they blindfolded him, the helplessness of the situation settling like a cold, heavy stone in his stomach.
Gihun focused on placing one foot in front of the other, praying that he wouldn't trip and fall.
With the lack of vision, his other senses sharpened.
A soft whirring around him, probably the ventilation system, the sound of the soldiers' boots marching in unison, dragging him forward. His own heavy breathing, panicked. He tried to calm himself but to no avail.
It didn't take long before they reached their destination.
Gihun could feel the difference in his surroundings immediately. The air was warmer, the floor beneath his bare feet now covered with a soft carpet. There was even a sweet smell, faintly filling his nose.
One of the guards started pushing him down roughly and Gihun quickly followed, falling to his knees.
"Stay here. Don't move.", was the last order he received before he could hear them leaving the room, the door slamming shut with a loud noise.
Was he alone now?
Had they just left him here?
Gihun held his breath for a few seconds, listening closely for the smallest sound. It was completely silent all around him. Adrenaline rushed through him as he realized that he probably had a very small time window before either the soldiers or the Frontman himself would be back. He experimentally tugged at the rope around his wrists, but it wouldn't budge at all. The knot was way too tight for him to loosen it quickly.
He blinked a few times, rolling his head from side to side. There was a good chance he could shake the blindfold off. Wasting no time, Gihun started to shake his head violently. He was so focused on his task that he didn't hear the glass being placed on a table, or the soft steps closing in on him.
Until a dark chuckle right above him made him freeze.
In an instant, the blindfold slipped from his eyes, exposing him to the room around him.
He found himself kneeling in the middle of an extravagant lounge, in front of him a spacious couch, a table made of glass and marble. The ceiling was high, a diamond chandelier right above him, bathing everything in a warm light.
Gihun couldn't believe his eyes.
There were gold ornaments laced all throughout the walls and ceiling, behind him a massive television just like a cinema. The absurdity of it all almost made him laugh in bitterness.
The Frontman placed the blindfold on the table next to a glass of whiskey and watched him closely.
By now, Gihun had recovered from his initial shock and stared right back at the mask with a frown on his face.
"What do you want from me?"
Instead of answering, the Frontman sat down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, taking a transceiver from his belt in the process.
"Bring me the suitcase."
Almost immediately, the door opened again. A pink soldier carried the demanded suitcase inside; it was quite small, Gihun thought, probably not containing any money. He expected the soldier to leave right away, but they didn't. They took position behind him instead, their hands resting on the machine gun.
"You still haven't answered my question yet, Player 456.", the Frontman said. He opened the suitcase one buckle after the other with a click. "Did you have fun playing the hero?"
Those words punched the air straight out of his lungs, ice trickling through his veins as they threw him back to the moment this man had shot his friend.
Gihun's eyes widened, a violent shiver forcing its way through his body. When he opened his mouth to answer, the Frontman raised his hand to stop him.
"You better be honest, Gihun."
He couldn't bear to look at the mask any longer, so he fixed his eyes on the glass instead, waiting for another tremor to subside before he finally found the strength to answer.
"No.", Gihun replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm afraid I didn't quite hear you."
Again, the Frontman's voice was laced with mockery, taunting him.
Gihun cleared his throat, cheeks burning.
"No."
"What a shame. I granted you your wish, but you didn't get to enjoy it after all. Well, I told you that it would never work."
Gihun kept quiet and looked down at the black carpet, fists clenched, his fingernails digging into soft flesh. The pain grounded him a little.
There was nothing he could do.
Still, the desire to strangle the other man to death sent adrenaline rushing through his veins.
"Look at me.", the Frontman ordered. Even though he really didn't want to, Gihun raised his head to defiantly meet his gaze. "I'm glad to see that the fire in you hasn't died yet."
The amusement in that voice only infuriated him more. Before Gihun could respond, the Frontman walked over and placed the suitcase on the ground right in front of him.
"I want to give you a choice, Player 456. I must admit that you haven't made it easy for me. Your little hero act might've made for some good entertainment, but the VIPs aren't happy with you right now. Not happy at all."
Gihun barely listened, his eyes locked on the suitcase's contents, questions racing through his head
"As I told you before, you really surprised me during your first game. I would never have thought a horse like you would win, but here you are. Again. Even though I didn't bet on you, you entertained me quite well, Gihun."
The way his name was said made him shudder.
Inside the suitcase were two—no, three—items. He wasn't shocked to see a gun on the left. After everything he'd been through, especially with the Salesman, it would only make sense if there was one last game to be played.
But it was the other item that made his skin crawl. Embedded in the red silk pillow was…
A dog collar.
A black leather collar adorned with rubies and a metal O-ring to… his mouth went dry as he noticed the leash right next to it. A collar and a leash—was this some sick joke?
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me.", he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
"I'm afraid not." The reply sounded far too cheerful for a situation like this. "Would you like to hear your options now, Player 456?"
Gihun finally tore his eyes from the collar and looked up again, even though he had no desire to hear whatever madness the man was about to spout. Nonetheless, he gave a small nod.
"Yes."
There was a beat of silence.
Confused, Gihun blinked.
The Frontman suddenly grabbed his face, fingers digging brutally into his cheekbones. A pained noise slipped from his lips before he could bite it back.
"Manners, 456."
"Ah—right.", he stuttered helplessly, his mind finally catching up. "Yes. Yes, please, I mean… please tell me my options." His voice sounded strange to his own ears, the words tumbling out before he could even think about what he was saying.
Satisfied, the Frontman let go of him and pointed at the gun.
"Option one. ", he said. "Everyone involved in that little rebellion of yours will be punished, eliminated. Well, everyone that's left. And you, you will return to the games, and we'll see if you can get lucky a second time."
The pause that followed felt suffocating.
Gihun needed a moment to let it sink in as another shiver crawled down his spine.
The Frontman took the collar out of the suitcase and held it up, tilting his head as if to contemplate how it would look on him.
"Option two.", he continued. "You will submit to me. And I will show you, teach you, that what I told you back then was true after all."
Gihun felt sick.
"A ton of new trash is poured into the world each day, even right now as we speak. I'll make you see that these games won't end unless the world changes."
Gihun was at a loss for words, still clinging to the desperate hope that this was some cruel joke meant to humiliate him before the end, though deep down he knew it wasn't.
No, this was real.
"What will—" His voice cracked before he could finish. "What will happen to the players if I… if I choose option two?"
The Frontman put the collar back into the suitcase.
"They'll continue the games, of course."
Anger welled up inside Gihun at the casual tone. He didn't really care what happened to him anymore, if he could only somehow save the others from their cruel fate.
Especially that young, pregnant girl Junhee.
"With an added bonus.", the Frontman said suddenly. "Depending on how well you behave, the other players will get a full week of rest. No games for seven days, with food and medical care as needed. Of course, guards will be stationed to make sure they don't rip each other to shreds in the meantime."
Gihun's head shot up at that.
He eyed the masked man in front of him warily. Did he know about Junhee? He had to. And still, he had recruited her as a player and put her in such a cruel situation anyway.
Sick bastard.
"Why would you do that?", Gihun asked through gritted teeth, fighting to keep his anger contained.
The Frontman hummed thoughtfully. "An incentive, for one."
"What else?"
But there was no answer.
Instead, the Frontman rose to his feet abruptly, taking a few steps back.
"You should decide now. I won't force you. The choice is yours: whatever remains of your little rebellion gets erased and you return to the games, or you submit to me."
Gihun's stomach turned at the mere thought. He wondered what that meant exactly, but from the looks of the collar he could only imagine what it would entail.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The choice was obvious. There was no real question to consider.
It's not really a choice, a voice whispered deep inside him. It's blackmail.
"Op-option two.", he stuttered, refusing to look at that expressionless mask and keeping his eyes fixed on the suitcase instead.
"Very well then."
Somehow, the Frontman didn't sound particularly pleased.
Gihun was taken over by an uneasy feeling. It made him question whether these options had been the Frontman's idea, or if there was someone else behind it after all.
Maybe he would prefer to kill everyone and send you back in.
There was no time to ponder though, because the soldier suddenly began to untie the rope around his wrists, setting him free. Meanwhile, the Frontman took the gun from the suitcase and returned to the couch.
With nothing more than a wave of his hand, he dismissed the soldier who left straight away.
It should have been a relief, but Gihun felt the exact opposite. Even without another heavily armed person in the room, the Frontman's presence alone settled as a heavy weight on his shoulders. An uncomfortable oppressive feeling.
"Get up."
The command snapped him out of his thoughts.
Gihun kept his gaze lowered as he stood, his knees aching from the long time spent on the floor, nerves buzzing under his skin.
He felt nervous, his heart pounding loudly inside his chest. He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to rush up there, take the gun and shoot the man until there was nothing left of his head.
"Look at me."
Reluctantly, he did.
There was a small pause as the Frontman leaned back, the gun still resting in his left hand. He seemed utterly unaffected by the whole situation, relaxed even.
"Now take off your clothes."
The words made Gihun choke. He felt dizzy, his knees suddenly weak, the room spinning around him.
Only the familiar click of a cocked gun snapped him back together.
A warning.
"I won't ask a second time."
With shaking hands, Gihun took off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor beside him. As soon as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants, heat shot up his face, humiliation burning through him.
Before he could overthink and question what the hell he was doing right now, he pulled his pants down and stepped out of them.
His eyes flitted up, to gauge the Frontman's reaction, unsure whether he should continue or not and get rid of the very last piece of clothing, his shorts.
That mask was unreadable.
When he finally gathered the courage to go through with it, the Frontman snorted, stopping him in his tracks.
"No, leave it. Put on your collar instead."
Gihun made sure not to strap it too tightly, then waited anxiously.
"Now, come here. And bring your leash with you."
When he bent down to take the leash, the Frontman clicked his tongue in displeasure.
Gihun hesitated, not sure what to do next.
"I mean, you said…"
"Crawl. "
His order was cold, unforgiving. "And I don't want you to touch that leash with your hands, Gihun."
It took a moment before it dawned on him.
Gihun didn't want to do it, every fibre of him recoiling.
Yet he obeyed, sinking to his knees, closing his eyes before picking up the leash with his mouth and crawling forward on all fours.
"Well done." The praise didn't feel like praise at all and Gihun really didn't want to hear it.
A hand appeared in front of his face. "Drop it."
He let the leash fall.
The Frontman attached it to his collar immediately, giving it an experimental tug. It felt strange. Gihun knew that he should probably keep his eyes open for an opportunity to strike, to somehow seize that gun and do something, anything. But at the same time, he was afraid. He was scared of the consequences that would follow if he failed.
Failed again.
So instead, he kept his head down as the other man crouched down beside him, a tight grip on the leash.
"Hands behind your back now."
The deep, distorted voice sent an involuntary shiver through him, but Gihun obeyed again, hating himself for it.
The Frontman made quick work of tying his hands together. Then he returned to the couch and leaned back, spreading his legs.
Gihun's eyes followed the movement.
His heart dropped.
No. He wouldn't.
The stray thought alone sent panic rushing through him, his body trembling in fear.
There's no way he'd do that to another man. There's no way he'd make me…
His thoughts must have been written all over his face, because the Frontman sneered and shook his head, clearly amused at the implications.
"Here's what I want from you, Gihun.", he said. "You will kneel right here beside me. Don't make a sound. Don't move. Unless I tell you to. Understood?"
Gihun nodded weakly.
A hard pull on the leash forced him back to reality.
"Use your words."
"Yes.", Gihun said quietly. "Yes, understood."
"Good. Now, hold still."
The Frontman dropped the gun beside him with careless ease, and Gihun couldn’t stop himself from glancing at it.
Again, the other man grabbed him by the chin, forcing his eyes up to look at him. "I will blindfold you now."
There was nothing Gihun could do except nod his head.
He didn't know why he even bothered. It wasn't like he was asked for permission in the first place.
I won't force you, the voice rang in his head.
The absurdity almost made him huff in frustration.
When the cloth covered his eyes, he shifted uneasily until a surprisingly gentle push on his shoulder made him sink back onto his legs.
His pulse was still racing as he tried to calm himself, telling himself he should be grateful he wasn't being forced to do the unthinkable to another man’s body right now.
If I just have to stay here, it will be fine, he thought. It's not that hard.
But when Gihun closed his eyes beneath the blindfold, it didn't take long before he lost all sense of time. It felt like he was kneeling for hours already, the only sound his own heartbeat, his heavy breathing.
Then reality slammed into him with full force.
Out of the darkness, an image emerged.
Jungbae's face.
He remembered how they'd been sitting together after the first game and how his friend had tried to feed him some of his food, to lift his spirits. Of course that hadn't worked at the time.
Looking back, he wished he'd appreciated the gesture more, but he'd been too trapped inside his own head.
You know what they say. Eat up, even on your deathbed.
Only it wasn't his deathbed. It was Jungbae's.
If we play just one more game…
Gihun took a deep breath.
He could see it clearly now.
How the Frontman had pointed his gun at Jungbae.
The panic he'd felt in that moment surged back with brutal intensity, sending ice-cold tremors through his entire body. The sound of that bullet rang in his ears, piercing flesh.
Then there was the blood.
Insane amounts of blood poured from his friend's body—his corpse. Jungbae had died.
Because of him.
It was all his fault.
The realization hit like a truck, tears prickling in his eyes. Jungbae hadn't died during one of those gruesome games after all. It was his own plan, his decision to take his friend with him to the very front line, that had killed him in the end.
A sob tore from his throat before he could stop it.
"Jungbae, I'm sorry. I—I'm so sorry, Jungbae, I…"
His voice died in his throat when a gloved hand gripped his hair tightly and gave it a hard tug.
A violent reminder to keep quiet.
No no no, Gihun thought desperately. It wasn't supposed to go like this. It should have been me. It should've been me.
By now, he was shaking like a leaf and barely noticed it, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably.
More memories came flooding back, choking him.
He could hear the voices of all the other players—of all the people now dead because of him. And in the chaos that was his mind, one face appeared at last.
Youngil.
An unforeseen support and friendship in such a horrendous place. He'd been the first to voice his belief in him.
Gihun had felt a pang of guilt then.
I pressed the O button because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think, maybe I could play just one more game.
And Youngil hadn't been alone with that sentiment. The group of people that had followed him had all murmured in agreement, looking to Gihun with wide and hopeful eyes.
Looking for guidance and support.
Just what was I thinking?
Gihun had the urge to slam his head against something, over and over again, but he couldn't. He was bound and forbidden to move.
Youngil had stood by him through it all.
Challenging him, questioning his ideas.
Still, he'd always put his trust in him without a trace of doubt. All he had wanted was to earn the money to save his wife and unborn child. And with their husband and father now gone, dead, they were also left to die, without ever knowing what had happened to Youngil or why he'd disappeared.
It was too much.
All these deaths were haunting him now.
Gihun could see them. Dead bodies piling up and toppling over, until their corpses landed right at his feet, bloodshot eyes staring into his soul.
Ice-cold sweat began to form on his forehead.
He felt feverish.
He could hear nothing but his own heavy breathing, the sobs bubbling up inside him, and his fearful heart pounding like a drum in his chest. There was nothing else to focus on, not even the rustling of clothes. No white noise.
Nothing he could cling to.
Nothing.
The silence was deafening, giving every horrific image free rein. The blindfold trapping him in darkness only made it worse.
Before he knew it, he cracked.
He couldn't take it any longer.
"Please."
It came out as nothing but a wrecked whisper, trembling and tinged with desperation.
But there was no reaction.
The sudden panic that flooded him took him by surprise and completely drowned out the immense shame he was feeling.
His head jerked up to where he knew the Frontman was sitting, as he tried to see anything through the black cloth covering his eyes.
Gihun didn't even know what he was begging for.
Maybe to make it all stop, for the Frontman to just get it over with and shoot him in the head.
Make it stop, please.
Just end it.
Make it stop.
Finally, a contemplating hum broke the silence.
Without warning, the blindfold was ripped away.
Gihun squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sudden bright light.
When he looked up, the Frontman was staring right back at him. Even though he couldn't see any facial features, the gaze behind that mask pinned him so sharply he had to look away.
Gihun gasped.
What the hell was happening to him?
"Player 456."
The voice-changer sounded emotionless, robotic even. Gihun wondered if the man beneath the mask sounded the same without it.
The difference in their positions was striking.
Suddenly, anger surged up again, his fingers twitching with the urge to lunge forward and wrap his hands around the man's throat.
To choke him to death.
The Frontman tilted his head, regarding him some more as if he could read his thoughts.
When he spoke, he sounded cold.
It was strange.
Gihun had felt utterly defeated before, close to breaking down. But the way the Frontman was talking to him now, indifferent and with a tint of arrogance, lit another raging fire inside him.
What was left?
"I killed them?", he snarled, voice seething with hate. "No, you did! You're hosting these sick games as if they were nothing more than… than the Olympics! You killed Jungbae right in front of me and Youngil…"
It was as if he could hear the gurgling dying sounds right next to his ear. "Youngil, you killed him too. And the others. You killed them! You did!"
Whatever Gihun was expecting to happen, didn't happen. There was no slap across his face, no gun pointed at his head. His words resonated empty in the large room.
It only drove him closer to madness.
"Youngil?"
Gihun was stunned.
Then it finally dawned on him.
"Oh right!", he spat. "Maybe 'Player 001' rings a bell instead. Because to you, we're not even human. We're numbers, nothing but horses on a racetrack. But I'm no horse and neither was he. Did you know he had a family?"
There was no response so Gihun continued, more and more desperate with each word.
"Why do I even ask? Of course not. A fucker like you doesn't care! Right now, there's even a player who's pregnant, for God's sake! And Youngil, he… his wife and child…"
Gihun choked on the words.
He had to close his eyes once more, fighting back even more tears.
Suddenly he felt himself crumbling again, a stabbing pain blooming in his chest.
He couldn't do this.
Before he had the chance to sink any deeper into his own head, drowning everything out, there was a harsh pull on the leash that almost made him topple over. It left him in an awkward position, with his upper body bent towards the Frontman.
His face felt hot with anger and shame.
"I see. You still don't understand.", the Frontman mused. "How disappointing. I can't say I'm surprised though. This will take some time after all."
He didn't elaborate and Gihun didn't have it in him anymore to ask. He felt completely drained. He kept his eyes peeled on the floor, occasionally closing them only to jolt when the images returned.
As it stood, he had no choice but to endure the silence as time crawled by. It felt endless, melting his consciousness.
A numb feeling spread throughout his body and mind. He wasn't able to form any coherent thoughts as he sank deeper and deeper into a bottomless pit, death and terror awaiting him with open arms.
When the Frontman finally moved, stroking his head, he didn't even flinch. It felt like the touch was far, far away… only an echo remaining.
"It's time to get some sleep now, wouldn't you agree, Gihun?"
"Yeah.", he said weakly, his voice thick.
"I have another choice for you.", the Frontman said, still running his fingers through his hair. But Gihun couldn't bring himself to care. "Are you listening?"
"Yes."
The Frontman looked at him quietly.
Then he continued, "You go back to your room. Or you could stay here, sleeping on the floor."
It snapped Gihun straight out of his trance-like state.
"Will you be here?", he asked, not knowing where those words were even coming from.
"No."
It wasn’t disappointment that settled in his stomach. And even if it was, the only reason would be that he'd lost his chance to turn things around, to kill this bastard in his sleep.
You never truly desired to kill anyone before, the voice whispered again. You wanted them to suffer, to pay, yes. But killing someone with your own hands, relishing the very act…
"The room.", Gihun blurted, desperate to drown out the voice he refused to listen to. "I want to go back to the room."
After a short pause, he realized his mistake.
"Please.", he added quickly.
The word left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"As you wish. Let's get you dressed then."
The Frontman stood up abruptly, pulling Gihun after him with a tight grip. He tried his best to follow quickly, crawling as fast as he could.
It humiliated him to his core.
The Frontman watched as he avoided eye contact and, with trembling hands, put his clothes back on.
Soon after, two soldiers entered the room.
Gihun's cheeks heated up with shame as the collar remained around his neck. No, he didn't want to know what they were thinking about any of this. Seeing him standing there, collared and leashed.
Finally, the Frontman decided to take the leash off, and gave one last order. "Keep your collar on. Don't take it off. I'll know if you do, and there will be consequences."
Gihun only managed a small nod.
He could feel a massive weight being lifted from him as the soldiers dragged him out, a burning gaze boring into the back of his head.
The way back to his room wasn't as far as he had imagined. Still, this building was a maze in and of itself and it was impossible to know where exactly he was located or how to escape.
The soldiers made sure to attach the chain to his ankle again, then left him without sparing another glance.
Gihun barely made it to the bed before sinking down, fatigue taking over his body. He stared at the ceiling, still completely overwhelmed.
He couldn't help but squeeze two fingers between his neck and the collar. He really wanted to take it off.
There will be consequences.
Gihun closed his eyes, trying to shake off the suffocating coil in his chest. Just how long had he been there, kneeling on the floor?
He didn't know.
He took one last glimpse at the camera in the corner, the red light still blinking, taunting him. He wondered if the Frontman was watching him now, waiting to see whether he obeyed and kept the collar on or tore it off despite better judgment.
Gihun pulled the blanket over his shoulders, burying his face in the soft pillow.
It smelled clean and good.
It made his chest ache.
I don't deserve this.
I shouldn't be alive.
I should be the one lying there, bleeding out slowly, suffering until my last breath.
Gihun curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut, until the dam finally broke and he cried himself to sleep.