Chapter Text
Gasping awake, the first thing Sang-woo notices is how annoyingly bright it is. Breathing heavily, he squints as bright, white fluorescent lights assault his vision. He tries to cover his eyes with his hands, only to realize he’s tied down to a bed.
(Is this hell?)
His heart racing, Sang-woo frantically looks around, his mind in shambles as he watches those godforsaken pink soldiers cutting players free from their bindings. Everyone seems equally as confused as him, some crying out in fear as the circle-masked guards untie them and some just aimlessly wandering around in the large warehouse they’re all stashed in.
A circle approaches him calmly, their black-gloved hands deftly untying Sang-woo’s left arm. As they continue to untie the rest of his bindings, Sang-woo glances around, looking over his shoulder to see behind him.
His hands now free, Sang-woo’s eyebrows furrow as he notices an elaborate looking helmet on a sterile-looking table behind his bed, wires coming out of it in every which way like tendrils, all slithering to something underneath his strangely chair-like bed.
Out of curiosity (or perhaps stupidity), Sang-woo slowly reaches out for the helmet, his fingers intertwining with countless wires. Quickly ducking under it to peek inside, Sang-woo nearly drops the heavy apparatus when he sees what’s inside.
It’s blurry from the angle he’s looking at, but it’s fairly easy for him to recognize himself.
(Or, well, you know - his corpse.)
Chills run down his spine right as a triangle-masked soldier he didn’t notice loads their gun, pointing it at Sang-woo.
Breaking into a cold sweat, Sang-woo’s eyes are blown wide open as he slowly looks towards the soldier, eventually looking straight down the barrel of a handgun. The soldier has their gloved hand outstretched at him, as if asking for payment.
(For some strange reason, he can faintly hear someone calling his name.)
The gears clicking into place in his head, Sang-woo quickly hands over the helmet, the hundreds of eyes on him encouraging him greatly. The soldier stashes the gun away in god-knows-where and carefully places the helmet back down on the table, staring down Sang-woo for a few seconds that feel like hours, before resuming walking through the rows of beds.
His heart pounding in his throat, Sang-woo internally scolds himself for touching things that are clearly not safe to touch.
The circle at the foot of his bed stands up, dusting their gloves off before moving on to go do whatever they do. Sang-woo wills his breathing to return to normal as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, his nicest (and only) pair of business shoes neatly placed on the floor.
(Faintly, it dawns on him that he’s wearing the same clothes he came here in, and he assumes everyone else is too.)
“Sang-woo Cho.”
Sang-woo jolts at his name being uttered by one of the managers, the square-masked person standing right in front of him, casting an intimidating shadow over him. The Korean man breaks out in a cold sweat, his expression neutral despite him feeling the beginnings of panic clawing at his throat.
“Second place,” the manager drones, pulling a card out of their pocket sharply, holding it out in front of Sang-woo.
Sang-woo stares at him blankly, glancing up and down between the card and the manager, who moves their hand forward and back quickly, as if encouraging the man to take it.
Cautiously, Sang-woo plucks the card from the manager’s grasp - the manager immediately turns and walks away after he takes it - and holds it gently, as if it could turn to dust at any second. He holds it up in front of his eyes, the light bouncing off of the brightly coloured card to reveal a series of numbers, along with a bank often frequented by his ex-clients.
“Debit card,” Sang-woo whispers, as if he’s worried that it’ll disappear if he so much as utters a word. His hands tremble pathetically as he clutches it in his hands, his grip firm but not too strong in fear of breaking the card.
A conversation forcefully forgotten rings in Sang-woo’s head.
(“Hyung, do… you have any family?”
“... Yes. My mother.”
“Do you miss her, Hyung?”
“... So, so much.”)
A loud crash jolts Sang-woo out of his thoughts, as panicked screams ring out in the room, echoing as if to mock them. His eyes dart every which way, settling on a set of large metal doors that he only now notices are slowly opening.
Triumphant music blares through the speakers stationed around the room, a playful insult to what the players had gone through. A cheery feminine voice rings throughout the room, the same that might've been the last thing people heard.
(Wait, but, if… they're alive? How are they alive?)
"Congratulations on completing the game! Please walk in a single file line towards the door to collect your reward," the voice announces, the happiness in her voice so strangely genuine-sounding that it feels mocking. "Please note that the following players, who were the top five, have already received their special reward - Player 456, Seong Gi-hun, Player 218, Cho Sang-woo, Player 067, Kang Sae-byeok, and Player 017, Lee Sang-hee. The fifth place prize will be split between Player 212, Han Mi-nyeo, and Player 101, Jang Deok-su, who were eliminated at the same time.”
At the announcement of his own name, Sang-woo breaks into a cold sweat, anxiety clawing at his stomach. His grip on the card tightens ever so slightly, so as not to damage it.
He needs to get out of here.
(In the back of his mind, he squashes down the realization that if he’s alive, that means Gi-hun and Sae-byeok are alive.)
“Han Mi-nyeo, you fucking bitch!”
As a voice that is undoubtedly the cowardly thug Deok-su roars out into the room, Sang-woo’s heart pounds like a jackrabbit, every breath he takes feeling like too little and too much.
“Suck on my fat nuts, Jang Deok-su!”
(His heart aches and cries as he pretends that he doesn’t know full well that Ali Abdul is in this room with him.)
The entire room bursts out in loud conversation, some murmuring to the player next to them and some shouting at each other, cursing each other out as other players try to stop them from beating each other senseless.
(Someone is calling his name.)
A gunshot is fired into the air, the whole room immediately falling so quiet, the sound of the bullet falling to the floor echoes through the space.
(His mind speeding at a rate he can’t possibly process, Sang-woo muses that it’s funny how fear can silence an entire room.)
“I will now repeat the instructions,” the cheery feminine voice announces, booming out over the chaos. “Please walk in a single file line to exit the building and collect your reward. Any violence is prohibited, as we are now back in Korea.”
The masked soldiers begin to close in, herding everyone together like cattle. Sang-woo allows himself to be squashed into the line, clutching his card to his chest. He ends up two people behind Mi-nyeo and Deok-su. Despite most of the room being silent, they’re still squabbling fairly loudly.
(Despite mostly being lost in his own mind, Sang-woo allows himself to huff out a miniscule laugh at Mi-nyeo shouting that Deok-su’s penis was like a Japanese sausage.)
“Sir? Is that you?” Someone says faintly from the back of the line, presumably re-meeting a player.
Absent-mindedly, Sang-woo mourns the memory of when Ali would call him sir.
(Though he may have found it annoying at times, truly, he knows that he was mostly endeared by it.)
“Sang-woo?”
Sang-woo stares ahead blankly, fully convinced the familiar voice calling his name is just a memory replaying on repeat.
“Sang-woo hyu-- Sir?”
(Now this is just cruel.)
Sang-woo rubs his eyes under his glasses, knocking them slightly askew. He rubs his temples, hoping that maybe if he just presses hard enough it’ll knock the memories from his head.
“Sir--!”
Now at the front of the line, Sang-woo tiredly accepts a sealed envelope from a circle-masked guard, walking through the large metal doors and onto a creaky old dock that he doesn’t exactly trust to hold up 456 people.
The sun greets him with a middle finger to the face, Sang-woo squinting as he walks out onto the dock, the rays shining directly into his eyes. The line has dispersed into scattered crowds of people all mumbling among themselves, leaving Sang-woo looking strange standing there alone.
At the end of the dock, Sang-woo spots a road with inconspicuous cars lining it as far as he can see. Squinting at the window, he realizes that the drivers are circle-masked guards, and assumes he’ll probably be knocked out and tossed out in Yeouido again if he gets in one.
(Maybe if he got in one of the cars, he would see Ali again.)
As he prepares to take a step closer towards the parade of dark cars, a familiar hand lands on his shoulder, the grip firm yet gentle.
(Sang-woo glances at it out of the corner of his eye, his breath hitching as he notices the hand is missing the ring and pinky finger.)
“Hyu-- Sorry,” Ali heaves, clearly having run at full speed to catch up to Sang-woo. The latter stares at the Pakistani blankly as he positions himself in front of Sang-woo, a bright smile on his face.
(He looks nice with sweat running down his face.)
“Sir, I’m so glad I caught up to you,” Ali breathes, a more serious expression crossing his face. Sang-woo’s stomach turns, anxiety clawing at his skin. “I just wanted to talk to you about… well, you know--”
Sang-woo’s eyes snap open in fear.
(He’s not ready to have this conversation. He’s not ready. He might never be. He has to go.)
“I’m sorry,” Sang-woo whispers, sharply turning on his heel and running down the dock, ripping open the door of one of the cars.
The driver turns to him, and despite the mask, Sang-woo can tell they’re staring at him incredulously.
(He doesn’t have the time to be anxious or embarrassed about his actions right now, thank you.)
Slamming the door quickly, Sang-woo allows himself a moment to breathe, leaning back in the backseat of the shady car.
“I assume you’ll knock me out and drop me off wherever you dropped me last,” Sang-woo heaves, staring at the headrest of the seat in front of him. His chest rises and falls in succession with every shaky breath he takes. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The driver stares blankly at him for a moment, before turning back around.
And as the car pulls out, and as the gas fills the air in the car, Sang-woo tucks the debit card and envelope safely into the pocket of his suit jacket, his hand resting on them as he succumbs to the gas, the last sounds he hears being Ali and Gi-hun calling for the car to wait.
Gripping the sides of the bathroom sink tightly, Sang-woo breathes heavily, drops of water and blood dripping off his face and hair as he stares down at the tap blankly.
(Abandoned in the other room, his phone buzzes twice.)
An eyebrow razor grasped tightly in his right hand, Sang-woo slowly straightens up, his arms falling limply at his sides. He releases his grip on the razor, and it falls to the tiled floor with a clatter.
His eyes blown wide open, Sang-woo slowly looks up, facing himself in the mirror.
Short, black hair parted to the side. Frenzied, wide eyes. Dark circles under his eyes and messy stubble on his jaw. Glasses askew on his face.
A familiar cut on his cheek.
Blood oozes from the fresh gash on his cheek, the phantom pains from his memories now imitated in reality.
He’s now truly Sang-woo Cho. Player 218.
(A horrible, manipulative, nefarious, plotting, selfish, stupid fucking son of a--)
His phone clatters loudly on the floor outside, buzzing restlessly. The sound makes Sang-woo jolt, his breaths laboured as he turns sharply towards the door, left ajar.
Slowly, he trudges out into the other room, dripping blood and water alike on the carpeted floor.
Not even bothering to shake the water off his hands, he shakily grabs the phone, Sang-woo squinting at the screen as it powers on, blinding him with blue light for a moment.
His lock screen - a drawing of a long-abandoned hyperfixation - pops up, notifications almost immediately flooding the screen.
[CYBER POLICE: Cho Sang-woo, you are to present yourself in court… 2 new messages ]
[LEE, HYUNG-TAEK: I saw the payment you made. Pleasure doing business… 1 new message ]
[EX-CLIENT: Sang-woo, please, tell me where you got this money. I don't want… 2 new messages ]
Scoffing spitefully, Sang-woo swipes away a good chunk of notifications all pertaining to his (now past) crushing debt or his old job.
(He repaid them in full, so they can all fuck right off and leave him to rot.)
Suddenly, the next few notifications have Sang-woo's finger hovering above them, no longer swiping without care.
(His heart pounds and pounds, as if trying to break out of his ribcage.)
[MOTHER: Please come home Sang-woo… 12 new messages ]
[GIHUN HYUNG: sangwoo. please, just let me know youre still alive i wont text you anymore after… 34 new messages ]
[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hey. it's sae-byeok. look, we weren't close but gi-hun is really pissed that you… 2 new messages ]
[UNKNOWN NUMBER: 🥰🥰 hey bitch!!! its 240 (real names jiyeong btw)!!! so as a proxy friend of urs… 3 new messages ]
Sang-woo's breath hitches as his finger shakily hovers over the messages from his mother and the other participants.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, he slowly swipes away the messages one by one, his body trembling so badly that a drop of watery blood falls to the phone screen, splattering and dripping downwards.
Once those notifications are gone, all that's there are inane, useless ones from his apps wondering why he isn't using them. His heart rate slowly calms down as he swipes those away methodically, wiping his screen as he does it, flicking the watered-down blood to the ground.
Suddenly, his breath hitches and he nearly drops his phone.
[UNKNOWN NUMBER: hello sir! :^D 8 new messages ]
"Ali," he whispers, clutching his phone to his chest as he slowly backs up, quite literally falling back onto a couch that he didn't realize was there.
(Ali’s calling him sir again. A pang of sadness echoes through Sangwoo. He should’ve known better - no one would want to have a hyung who got them killed.)
After a moment, Sang-woo finally gets the courage to look at his phone, Ali's message now shoved down to make way for a Candy Crush notification. Sang-woo swipes it away with a quick eye-roll.
Hesitant, Sang-woo's finger hovers over Ali's message in the notification bar, the cheery smiley face both encouraging and daunting.
With a sudden burst of resolve, Sang-woo firmly presses the notification, the messages app opening.
(In.)
The little loading animation mocks him.
(Out.)
The messages finally pop up, Sang-woo subconsciously leaning closer towards the screen when they do. His eyes burn from not blinking as his eyes practically drill holes in the screen, scanning the messages closely.
September 18th, 2021 (2 months ago)
UNKNOWN NUMBER
hello sir! :^D (4:56 PM)
i know you haven't been replying to the others, so i'm not sure if you'll receive this message ;;; T_T (4:57 PM)
but i really hope you're listening, sir (4:59 PM)
UNKNOWN NUMBER
i just wanted to tell you that i really need to talk to you, in person (5:00 PM)
because i really care about you, sir (5:00 PM)
i'll wait for you every day!! (5:01 PM)
right where we first met :^) <3 (5:02 PM)
(Oh.)
Sang-woo's heart aches at the messages, crying out and wailing for Ali in a way he didn't quite expect.
He wants to hold Ali, hold him and have him say that everything will be okay, he wants to talk to Ali like that night on guard duty, hold his hand and get lost in his kind eyes, he wants to rewind time and live out that moment forever, before he betrayed him, before he murdered him.
(But what kind of murderer deserves comfort from their victim?)
Sang-woo's phone buzzes again, a notification popping up in the small bar at the top of the screen. Still reeling from Ali's messages, he absentmindedly pulls down the notification bar, which unfurls on his screen to reveal a new message from Gi-hun. He taps the notification, a strange feeling of sadness settling in him when Ali's messages disappear, replaced by Gi-hun’s.
34 NEW MESSAGES
… just let me know youre alive i wont text you anymore after this. man’s promise. please, sunny? 4:32 AM
November 18th, 2021 (Today)
GIHUN HYUNG
hey. just texting to let u know we’re having group therapy again on sunday as usual (9:12 PM)
we’d all really like it if you came (9:12 PM)
ali especially, he misses the hell out of you (9:13 PM)
so please come. it’s at my omma’s house (9:14 PM)
i miss you asshole (9:26 PM)
Sang-woo has half a mind to chew Gi-hun out and crush him under his heel - a traumatic human horse race that played him into the villain role like a fool is enough of an excuse for a break in his opinion - but the heartfelt tone of his closest friend’s messages and the messages from everyone is enough to hit home that Sang-woo running away from Ali and Gi-hun and then consequently disappearing for 2 months, the last mention of him being alive being rumours that the mysterious gift box full of money and a premium knife set that showed up on his mother’s doorstep the day after the games ended was from him - yes, perhaps, maybe he could’ve handled this better.
Oh, who is he kidding - Gi-hun is right. Sang-woo’s an asshole.
Stifling a yawn, Sang-woo taps on the text box at the bottom of the screen, the mobile keyboard popping up obediently.
Worrying his lower lip, his thumbs hover indecisively over the keys for a moment. Furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, Sang-woo quickly types something out, firmly pressing the send button.
Sighing deeply, he turns his phone off with a quiet ‘click’ and tosses it to the edge of the bed, throwing himself onto the bed immediately after.
As his eyes flutter shut, Sang-woo sleepily tries to remember where that convenience store is, falling asleep before he can remember.
(For the first time in months, Sang-woo’s heart feels full.)
YOU
I miss you and Ali too (9:39 PM)
Sent