Chapter Text
In-ho let out a deep sigh when the doors of the elevator opened and revealed the cold, dark office that would one day represent the place he had either led the police to victory or died a gruesome death. It had been his second home for ten years. But it had never felt like home. Maybe it was because none of his so-called homes, neither this abominable office nor his small apartment, could offer the warmth of his family. He took a deep breath as the image of his beautiful wife flickered in front of his eyes. He ignored it. There was no point in remembering what had once been and what would never be again. Of course, she wouldn’t have wanted him to put his life on the line as recklessly as he did now. But she was gone. And there was no one here anymore that could pull him back from the sinking ship he was stuck in.
As he stepped inside the office and walked towards the seated padding, he let the atmosphere of the games invite him back in. There was the familiar green crowd standing behind the starting line, waiting for the signal that would be the commencement of their bloodbath, on his screen. The black walls and chair were harsh enough to complete the picture of a merciless leader for any of his subordinates to realize that he wasn’t a man to be questioned. Which stood in stark contrast to the sounds of cheerful chatter coming from the players, which would die sooner than it had begun.
Really, it should have affected him more that so many lives would be lost today, especially since he was the police’s one shot at bringing the games down. But as he sat down in his chair and took off his mask, laying it atop the table, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything for these strangers. That wasn’t all too surprising. He didn’t believe he was the same person he had been when he had started working as a police officer. Sometimes he wondered whether the name In-ho even still fit him or whether the Frontman was not just his cover but also his true identity. The only reason why he had accepted the offer to work as an undercover cop was because he had had no other perspective. He could have chosen between the lonely existence of the Frontman, surrounded by men and women whose lives he secretly worked to destroy, or staying in his apartment, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the point of his still beating heart was. The first option had simply sounded more entertaining, so In-ho had accepted.
Especially since there was no way the police would come and ask him a second time after what he had done. It was either that or having to go back to the games to live out his days as one of the people who pulled the strings. The games that had destroyed his life. In-ho looked at his mask, at its sharp crafted features accentuating the strict character of the Frontman. The thing was, ever since the police had suggested this role to him, he had wondered what his reaction would have been if the VIPs had reached out and offered him the position as the Frontman, no undercover mission attached. Given the mask didn’t feel all too uncomfortable, In-ho always shuddered at the thought of what his possible answer could have been. After all, he was cold enough to watch hundreds of people being murdered without batting an eye. Not to mention he didn’t do this job because he believed bringing down the games could actually be accomplished but simply out of boredom. So long as there were people out there stupid enough to think the cruelty of the VIPs could be ended by having one man on the inside, In-ho had at least a good whisky and some music to look forward to.
He heard Gi-hun’s voice scream, demanding people listen to him. Seriously? It wasn’t just enough that he had to pretend he was friends with these idiots in their pink overalls to gather intel on them; now he also needed to make sure Gi-hun wouldn’t sabotage the whole mission? Because if the VIPs saw this – and in their stupidity considered Gi-hun an actual threat to their safety – they wouldn’t come to visit the island. Which simply meant they couldn’t be caught red-handed should the police really decide to storm. It was an option that wasn't out of reach anymore. At least, the police told themselves that.
In-ho grabbed the bottle and poured himself a whisky. How someone could stand this shitshow sober, he didn’t know. He took a sip as he continued watching Gi-hun making a fool of himself. Maybe acting out his little escapade and screaming things at his audience they’d never believe was enough to silence that obsession of the games inside Gi-hun. If they did, In-ho’s work would have been significantly easier. Honestly, gathering information on the VIPs was already exhausting, which only meant he didn’t need another problem on his plate.
Fear was painted across Gi-hun’s face; the constant reminders of that place had to be too much for him to control his expressions. In-ho nearly felt sorry for the man. Nearly. Gi-hun still had hope that humanity could be stopped in its selfish nature and greed. But In-ho knew the truth. No matter what Gi-hun’s scheme was, he wasn’t going to win. Not this time. He was just digging his own grave, making a show out of it for everyone to watch his downfall.
As was to be expected, most players were not impressed by Gi-hun’s little speech. One of them actually seemed to get excited, like he was ready to backstab anyone at any given moment while finding joy in their sorrow. It was that grey-haired man, Player 100, who was probably a douchebag; the short uproar he had caused earlier had proven that. In-ho couldn’t wait to see him get shot in the head.
Better to get that tragedy over with.
Young-hee’s robotic voice began to speak. Involuntarily, it sent a shiver down In-ho’s spine. Perhaps he couldn’t feel empathy towards the players anymore, but the cold sweat that broke out over him like it had when he had faced that creepy puppet the first time was just the same. Thankfully, the grey uniform reminding him he was on the other side now, safe and protected by the strong persona whose picture he was painting in front of his subordinates, soothed his tensed muscles. He couldn’t deny it felt good to be the Frontman. He was cruel maybe, but pretending to be that man shielded him from all the damage In-ho was sure was hiding somewhere inside his heart, safely locked away for now but greedy to be let free and spread all across his body. Perhaps In-ho had been lost along the way, but he was ready to accept the Frontman as his constant identity if it allowed him never to feel anything again. He didn't want to revisit that dark abyss he seemed to remember through a blur. It was hard to believe he was even alive back then and not floating through nothing like his mind had stopped working after death.
Amazingly, people followed Gi-hun’s commands.
When In-ho had been standing down there as a player, he hadn’t thought about the rest of the crowd or what was going to happen to them if someone didn’t take the lead. Despite it having been multiple years, he could still picture the scene clearly. Murdered bodies falling to the floor left and right with his mind fixated on getting back to his wife, the image of her smile that had been the only thing keeping him sane throughout the massacre. Back then, he had thought the games masters to be cruel monsters. But he hadn’t helped anyone, wouldn’t have dragged a stranger across the finish line because there was that one important person in his world counting on him, and he could never disappoint her. Not even when he lost himself along the way.
He wasn’t sure Gi-hun’s intervention was a good thing. It was admirable, to say the least, that he had returned to the games only to save a bunch of strangers. Albeit also stupid. That man was really unpredictable. Which was concerning because In-ho and his department were close to obtaining enough intel to storm and arrest the VIPs. Though In-ho doubted such an intervention could be successful, he didn’t want to actively go against the plans of the only job that made him keep at least some semblance of decency. Maybe they could soon make a case against the VIPs. But with Gi-hun’s unpredictability, the VIPs would start to become more careful. In-ho couldn’t risk them withdrawing now. The best was to keep Gi-hun under surveillance. Although In-ho doubted he stood a chance at changing anything at all. Still, it was better than taking an unnecessary risk.
The way the scene was playing out down there, how none of them knew what was inevitably to come, made In-ho shift uncomfortably in his chair. He reached for the remote and turned on the music. Instantly, the relaxing notes of „Fly Me to the Moon“ echoed throughout his office. The one song his wife Eun-ji had always moved to with her arms raised in the air and laughing out loud, despite her believing she was bad at dancing. He had never been able to get her to let go and just be free with another song. It had always been „Fly Me to the Moon“. He thought of her brightening smile and nearly felt her warm arms wrapping themselves around him. Heard her soft voice whispering in his ear how much she loved him. And he relaxed as he continued watching the torture that the VIPs enjoyed so much.
In-ho took another look at the remote again and was tempted to shut the TV off. He needed to perfect his role as the Frontman, but that didn’t mean he had to actually watch the games play out. Besides, Gi-hun’s attempts were pointless anyway. This wasn’t actually going to work, was it?
Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars.
In-ho felt the alcohol numbing his mind enough for the pain of the memory of his dead wife to start to ebb away. And all that was left was the music, lulling and numbing him further until he hoped to reach a point where he felt nothing.
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.
The song overrode some of the sounds the shots made as guards took out the players that ran towards the exits. In-ho resigned himself to stare at his whisky as if he could blot out the noises that his department had worked to end for ten years. Would there ever be any success? When they had only gotten as far as barely managing a case?
In other words, hold my hand.
As the chaos ensued, In-ho watched Gi-hun’s reaction. He was still screaming for people to freeze, yet people were too panicked to take his advice. In-ho hadn’t been a player since 2015, but the thought of being there, of standing down there again and not just that but having to give other people a sense of leadership, made him feel nauseous. He didn’t believe he could do it. The warm smile of his wife started to flicker as the terror that was happening below broke through to him.
In other words, baby, kiss me.
It was frustrating to see how hard Gi-hun tried, and yet he was powerless against the oppressing force of the VIP’s games.
They were another reason why In-ho was doing this. If they had never existed, he wouldn’t have come too late to the hospital to say goodbye to his wife and unborn child. No, he would at least have been able to hold her hand as she passed into a hopefully better world.
Fill my heart with song and let me sing forever more.
After a while, people actually stood still. The biggest massacre was over by now. The blood and gore still upset his stomach, but the alcohol eased the feeling a little. He tried to focus completely on the lyrics of the song, holding onto them like a drowning man might hold onto a floating plank. He was tempted to reach for his mask and put it on again, despite the fact that inside his office there was no official need to hide his identity. But he couldn’t deny that hiding his face behind that mask didn’t ease his discomfort. Putting on that cold and ruthless fake persona allowed In-ho to forget all the things he would feel if there was no alcohol and no Frontman in his life.
You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.
He was too distracted by Gi-hun to even start reaching for his mask. Instead, he sat up straight. By now, Gi-hun was the only one running towards the finish line. He stopped in front of the crowd, continuing his speech. He wanted them to form chains, a neat strategy to cause the least amount of collateral damage.
That could work if people were to actually follow his command.
But surprisingly enough, people did.
In-ho leaned back in his chair, for the first time intrigued by the games as he watched Gi-hun continue what he probably believed to be a rescue mission. Perhaps Gi-hun could actually be useful in a way. In-ho couldn’t possibly tell Gi-hun the truth of who he really was; otherwise, he would jeopardize his mission. And obviously, without proper proof, no one would believe his claim to be an undercover cop anyway. The best course of action was still to stay up here, where he could oversee what was going on inside the games without being put at any risk himself.
But with another man inside the games to help, much like In-ho, maybe they could stop them sooner than expected, especially concerning a person as dedicated and stubborn as Gi-hun. But that would also mean they needed Gi-hun alive. And he was in grave danger as long as he was part of these games.
People crossed over the finish line, more than In-ho had watched ever before. He stared as Gi-hun ran back to help a fallen player. That small act of kindness could very well cost him his life, which only meant they would be losing a valuable witness in their case. In-ho watched, unable to tear his gaze off the screen to find out what Gi-hun’s next move was going to be as the man dragged the player over the finish line with another woman right before the time was up. Gi-hun really was everything In-ho wasn’t. Compassionate, empathetic, and ready to comfort anyone. How had he done that? How had he survived these games and yet possessed enough humanity to show such bravery?
But the tiniest bit of victory In-ho felt for Gi-hun was quickly over when a gunshot sounded. And the injured player dropped onto the floor, blood pooling out of his head.
As much as In-ho wanted to believe it, Gi-hun couldn’t win at this by himself. He needed help. Just like In-ho needed it if he ever wished to gather enough information and get out of this hellhole.
The hellhole that hadn’t even done anything to save the kindest and smartest woman he had ever known.
In other words, please be true.
In-ho grabbed the remote, turned off the TV, slumped in his chair and put the whisky down. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling just as terrible as Gi-hun had looked as he stared up at the dark, gloomy ceiling. Probably both were realizing their current strategies couldn’t do much to help players during the games.
These games created the illusion of offering a better life. When it had done nothing but utterly ruin In-ho’s. He felt the tears prickle his eyes as the last pieces of the melody floated through the room. His hand automatically reached for the mask, as it had done so many times before when he couldn’t seem to control himself for much longer. He touched the sharp edges of the mask that were boring into his skin almost painfully. That was a useful thing to remind himself he wasn’t here to feel anything, not empathy or hurt. He was here to be the person that inflicted the hurt.
“Do not risk everything, In-ho. Not for me. I don’t want that,” she had said. He hadn’t even been able to listen to her. Not even when she had been pale as a white sheet while still keeping that love in her eyes until the day he saw her last. And he could never make up to her for the mistake he had committed when fully ignoring her final plea and entering the games. He had entered these stupid games instead of holding her hand. And now there was nothing left to be felt, except the soothing numbness the alcohol temporarily and mercifully stimulated in his body.
In other words, I love you.
“I’m sorry”, he mumbled.
He blinked away the tears and got up from his chair.
Maybe the police just needed a man outside their field of work. A new perspective with different ideas. The perspective of someone who could not be corrupted no matter how hard the world tried. In-ho was way past saving, but people like Gi-hun, who clung to their decency like it was their only currency, deserved to be given another chance at life. In-ho just needed to recruit him in a way that would be beneficial to their case. And simultaneously keep him alive.
As he stepped through the doors of the elevator, he realized something strange.
He had been intrigued by something – or rather someone – which was a little weird, considering In-ho showed no interest in any fellow human being.
Perhaps it was just a temporary phase that would surely wear off soon.