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Choi Chanhee had often regretted betting his life away on that fateful day, when he had – quite stupidly, indeed – hoped that luck would finally be on his side; but Chanhee regretted his foolish decision even more so now that he had just woken up in a midst of dull green and dirty white, trapped in a foreign place.
No, not a place, a bland dormitory, he noticed with a sleepy frown.
His head was continuously pounding, his senses slightly disoriented as Chanhee took in the large room filled with bunk beds he had apparently been forced into. He had lost all notions of time and right now, Chanhee had no idea how long it had been since he had climbed into that stranger’s car.
They had drugged him.
So much for playing innocent games to earn money, he thought.
“Hey!” a voice coming from his left called out to him, and Chanhee suddenly realised that there had been a pressing hand on his shoulder even since he had opened his eyes. “Ah! He’s finally out of it.”
Chanhee doubted that he was, but the other male seemed so cheerful about it that the black-haired man decided to keep his mouth shut.
For once.
He usually really liked talking.
“Where are we?” he still eventually asked, a shaky hand finding his forehead as if the press of his fingertips would be enough to appease his headache with a mere rub.
“In hell, perhaps.” The man – his face was very small, Chanhee noted – chuckled, the look in his eyes almost delirious. “Probably.”
He still seemed out of it.
There was a number on the man’s green tracksuit – that Chanhee was wearing too, surprisingly – sewn into the fabric right over where the heart was situated.
Two.
That was quite peculiar.
Chanhee looked down, and his eyebrows pulled into a frown again as he read his own number upside down.
Ninety-eight.
“What does that even mean?” Chanhee whispered in a confused tone, switching his gaze to the other participants ahead of them who were confusedly walking to the centre of the room.
“Maybe it’s the amount of people you’ll have to kill to win the money.”
Chanhee’s mouth slowly opened at that, but nothing came out of it.
What the fuck.
“Stop scaring him, Min.” Another man near them, who appeared to be taller than the other as he now also stood by Chanhee’s bed, slightly slapped the back of Two’s head, a fond smile playing on his lips. “We are just going to gamble a bit in here, not kill anyone.”
“They've drugged us, haven't they?” Two giggled again, as if the gravity of the situation had still not registered in his mind. “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, Jaehyun.”
“It’s the number of participants here,” a third voice gently explained to Chanhee, this time coming from behind him. The man had a handsome face and kind eyes, but Chanhee knew better than to trust anyone in there and he curled up a bit more in his bed, his legs now tucked to his chest as the other continued. “This may be illegal, but whatever is going on here can’t be as bloody as you make it out to be, Changmin.”
“That’s a pity.” Two, or rather Changmin, muttered under his breath. The corners of his mouth lifted into a menacing smirk when he pretended to nonchalantly shrug. “I was looking forward to finding my next two victims.”
Chanhee had always considered himself as a naive being, but it was currently crystal clear to him just who were those people who had accepted to play illegal games and who had thus been brought with him to such a place.
Criminals, for the most part.
The three strangers seemed to know each other, and Chanhee assumed that they all probably belonged to the same gang, or that they all worked for another organisation that clearly implicated doing illegal actions.
Such as killing, apparently, since Two had seemed quite interested in that.
The sudden sound of sliding metal doors resonated in the dormitory before Chanhee could utter a word and his eyes opened wide as almost a dozen of individuals, all dressed in unusual red attires, walked with an uncanny coordination onto the platform at the other side of the room.
They each had black masks on, with circles on the front.
But only one of the strangers had a white square painted on theirs.
Weird, Chanhee nervously thought, his blood curdling at the unfamiliarity and oddness of the situation.
Then, for several minutes, Square proceeded to welcome the participants – like Chanhee, some were still drowsily resting on their beds while others had joined the centre of the room to attentively listen to the newcomers.
Square had also probably explained the rules that they would have to follow in this place, but Chanhee’s mind was still too dazed to really understand the interminable sentences that were escaping the man’s unseen mouth.
He heard something about playing six games within the span of a week though, for an impressive reward.
And Chanhee desperately needed that reward, even though he was also aware that none of this could be remotely legal. Not after the organisers had apparently drugged more than four hundred participants and even went as far as kidnapping all of them to bring such a crowded group of indebted persons here.
Some of these persons indeed complained about the organisers’ questionable actions, but in the end, Chanhee knew that their frantic attempts were fruitless.
Like him, none of the participants here only seeked a bit of money, they actually needed it as much as one needed air to breath. Some to escape, others to be free.
Or similarly to Chanhee, to simply survive.
He only had a month left before the man he had gambled his existence with in a somber basement in Incheon would demand him to be retrieved – the way an expected gift would be – certainly in little pieces that his minions would bring him and not as a whole.
Just thinking about that night, when he had been utterly shitfaced and had once again opened his mouth at the worst time possible and addressed the worst people possible, too…
It made him shiver in horror.
Luck was rarely on Chanhee’s side, but at the time, his drunken mind had believed otherwise and made him bet his own existence for a card game that he had later pathetically lost; and he would soon suffer the consequences of his actions if he did not find the money to convince that hateful man to spare his life.
Nevermind going through a blatant kidnapping and partaking in other illegal money games, Chanhee would do anything to save himself.
Distantly, he heard that the red-dressed strangers wanted them to sign a consent form.
Chanhee slightly chuckled.
As if those strangers had asked for consent when they had drugged and abducted more than four hundred citizens.
The three men who had woken Chanhee up immediately joined the queue, though not without a last cheerful wave sent to him, as though they had somehow become acquainted in a total of merely two minutes of discussion; and Chanhee shuddered at the sight of the malicious smile that was plastered on Changmin’s small face just before the short man turned around.
When he eventually left his designated bed to shakily approach the platform, a numb feeling spreading in his legs, a shoulder collided with his, almost sending Chanhee to the ground in a single and rough movement.
He froze.
Chanhee knew that he was quite an impulsive talker, and probably too much of a talker even, sometimes.
All the time, really.
And here and now, he again made the foolish decision to open his mouth and darkly mumble:
“You could at least apologise, asshole.”
The first punch was anything but unexpected, but the strong impact of it was on the other hand quite surprising, making Chanhee basically stumble on his unresponding legs until he – quite gracelessly, he imagined – fell to the cold and hard floor in a loud thud, now sprawled there like a rag doll.
Chanhee had no choice but to let out a whimper of pain at the unpleasant sensation, his heart now beating out of his chest as he realised the mess he had created.
“What the fuck did you just say?!”
The man who had just sent him to the ground did not even let him repeat himself as other kicks immediately followed, either aimed at his stomach or at his legs.
“A-Asshole.” Chanhee muttered at last, and upon hearing the muffled word the man – Eight was his number – stopped altogether, as though he was genuinely wondering whether he had heard right or if it only was his imagination. Chanhee could not allow doubt to linger and he snarled back: “I called you an asshole–”
Instinctively, Chanhee raised his arms to protect his face when he saw a white sole coming down in his line of vision, the kick barely missing his chin and instead hitting his throat. The small gap between the limbs made Chanhee lock gazes with Two, the other man mischievously smirking down at him as if he found the violent spectacle to his liking.
Good for him, Chanhee had always enjoyed being a pleaser.
Chanhee was then roughly lifted up as the man grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, like one would hold a nasty rat they wanted to get rid of, before Eight forcefully turned Chanhee around to keep on taking his anger out on him.
Taking punches was nothing, and with Chanhee’s bothersome tendency to get himself into trouble, well, he was practically used to receiving them by now.
But still, he was only human, and the man’s raw strength was too unforgiving as Eight’s fist made contact with his left cheek for Chanhee not to cry out in pain, despite his best efforts to hold in his wails.
He heard the sound of Eight snickering above him once he was again pushed to the ground, now resting on all fours and painfully panting to fill his lungs. And when Chanhee tried to get up again, in a vain attempt to get away from the man, Eight stomped his foot directly onto his back, crushing Chanhee down.
“Say that again.” Eight hissed and Chanhee could swear that a spray of spit had just fallen on his bruised cheek. When Chanhee stubbornly kept his mouth shut after that, one of his eyes glaring up at Eight through wet eyelashes, the man’s foot pressed even harder onto his back. At this rate, Chanhee knew that he would soon faint. “Say that again, fucking bitch–”
Chanhee’s disoriented mind then probably hallucinated a tan hand reaching for Eight’s throat, but in a matter of seconds, the heavy weight and pressure on his back utterly disappeared and he could breathe, at long last.
He violently coughed, a few blood drops splattered on the floor at the action before he forced himself to roll onto his back and close his eyes to make the black dots that obstructed his vision dissipate.
And eventually, as he looked up through a still hazy gaze, Chanhee realised that he had not fantasised anything.
Because there was indeed a man – with honey hair, his mind that was still suspended between earth and sky unintelligently provided the term – standing next to Chanhee, the palm of his hand tightly wrapped around Eight’s throat, choking the man with a merciless hold.
And despite Eight’s own hands that were scratching and holding onto the stranger’s arms to make him stop, the other still stood firm and solid and upon a closer look, Chanhee noticed that the newcomer – obviously young, perhaps in his twenties, like him – was not even breaking a sweat, as though Eight’s attempts were not fazing him in the slightest.
Nineteen.
His number was nineteen.
Now that the adrenaline had finally left his body, Chanhee could feel all of the punches that Eight had relentlessly thrown at his body, and when Nineteen carefully looked down at his form upon hearing a pained gasp, Chanhee’s gaze fixed on something.
Right under Nineteen’s right eye, the words little bad were tattooed on the tan skin, like a brand.
How peculiar, Chanhee thought.
Another gang member then, undoubtedly.
“If you bother anyone here again,” Nineteen spat out as he focused back on the man who had just assaulted Chanhee, his jaw clenching. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Who are you, huh?” Eight hardly managed to get the words out at first, but quite loud and clear, he cursed: “Little shit!”
Nineteen arched an eyebrow before his already merciless hold noticeably tightened, until the man’s face flushed beet red, making him appear on the verge of collapsing.
For an instant, Chanhee thought that Nineteen had smirked.
The barrel of a firearm was suddenly pointed at Nineteen’s temple and Chanhee confusedly gazed at the strangers in red who now surrounded their trio, all of them holding guns in their hands.
“There will be no killing in this room.” the leader, Square, calmly declared, the words obviously meant for Nineteen. Chanhee’s eyes widened as the black mask looked to be glancing down at him after that before it turned in the direction of Eight. “No violence.”
Eight still looked as though he was about to pass out, and more urgently, Square ordered:
“Let him go, now.”
“I am a messenger,” Nineteen replied to Eight's earlier question, jeering, before he obediently dropped the tight hold, his glare looking the other man up and down until it intendedly fixed on Eight’s left wrist. “from your god, and I just delivered you your last warning.”
Chanhee followed Nineteen’s gaze, his mouth slightly opening in dismay as he at last noticed the black cross that was tattooed on Eight’s wrinkled skin.
Self-consciously, Chanhee hid his left hand inside of his pocket.
Everyone here was definitely a gang member, then.
“Should you not take that warning into account,” Nineteen nonchalantly stepped back, his cold eyes not wandering away from the man’s shaky form despite all of the guns still aimed at him as he solemnly stated: “you’ll fall to your death, eight.”
And as he heard that, Chanhee actually thought of something quite amusing, at least his fuzzy mind believed it was a funny vision; he fantasised the image of Eight being the personification of Icarus and flying too close to the sun until his greedy wings would erupt in flames and bring him to his downfall.
Fuck.
Chanhee could not wait for the drug effects to disappear.
“Fucking weirdo.” Eight muttered under his breath, his voice incredibly low, as though Nineteen had indeed managed to scare him away and he was now too cowardly to try and directly provoke the other again.
But Nineteen merely smirked, his eyes now turning to Chanhee.
For an instant, Chanhee actually thought that the man with honey hair would give a helping hand and lift him off the floor, but Nineteen mockingly snorted before he passed Chanhee’s bruised form without a backward glance.
Asshole, Chanhee wanted to curse again today, but right as he opened his mouth, Nineteen stated in a detached voice, his back facing him:
“Learn how to pick your battles, ninety-eight. You won’t survive here otherwise.”
Chanhee did not even have the time to try and defend himself that Nineteen had already disappeared amidst the still flabbergasted crown, the way an imagined phantom of Chanhee’s reveries would, like they always did whenever he was at his lowest points in his pathetic life.
One that could emit both the aura of a good spirit and one of a bringer of misfortune.
A messenger, Nineteen had called himself.
Hilarious.
All of the participants had apparently signed the consent form, the organisers had informed them a few moments ago and just as a classical music tune resonated inside of the edifice, they were all guided in a coordinated way through the door.
A couple of minutes later, they all gazed up in wonder at interminable and colourful stairs, the visual a blend of mainly pink, green and yellow geometric forms that were meant to carry them to the place where the first game would take place.
But before they had to take those unique stairs that could potentially lead them to victory and save them from a life of debt and misery, the red strangers gestured to what looked like a quite plain photobooth meant to take a picture of all of the participants’ faces.
When it finally was Chanhee’s turn, his mirrored harsh glare faced him, as though to mockingly stare him down for having put himself through the mangle in that characteristic fashion of his.
The cheerful voice of a woman then asked him to smile.
Chanhee did not.
Red light, green light.
They really wanted them to play red light, green light.
All around Chanhee, he could hear other participants loudly whisper their bewilderment, understandably so; and though this time he had decided to keep his mouth shut for the day to avoid trouble, Chanhee also wanted to share his discontent just as vehemently as the others.
Five minutes seemed way too long to play such a childish game too, and Chanhee doubted that anyone would realistically be eliminated today.
What was even the purpose of such a game, if not to reduce the number of players, he wondered, placing himself at the far left, where there were less participants so that he would more easily be able to dash for the doll.
Even that seemed off, a giant doll that contradictorily resembled a little girl and who directed the game in both an eerie and an upbeat tone of voice.
When the timer finally launched, Chanhee slightly raised his gaze to the clear sky, blinded by the rays of the sunshine, and sent a last prayer.
Just in case.
He took a step forward.
And now, it was everyone for themselves.
Chanhee was not as eager as the other participants on his right and those at the front, who were almost sprinting towards the doll, some even pushing each other to reach her. No, he opted to distance himself as much as he could from the others each time he advanced, not very keen to have someone accidentally – or not – bump into his side and make him lose.
It did not really matter who would come first in that impromptu race anyway, Chanhee only had to reach the line under five minutes and he was pretty confident about doing just that.
And Chanhee was usually a quite easily startled individual in his daily life, probably as a result of being constantly in the wrong place at the wrong time and later suffering for it; but as the doll’s head turned around and sudden - and oh so blaring - gunshots resounded, he froze, his heart starting to frantically pound into his chest.
Most of the participants at the front had fallen down, their green tracksuits now tainted crimson in some spots.
Only one there remained immobile.
Two.
Changmin.
Chanhee could feel his limbs start to violently shake, his chest heaving too quickly, and just as he feared that he would collapse to the dirty ground, the doll’s head turned to face the tree.
Screams of absolute terror echoed around him, but Chanhee’s ears were still ringing of the frightening gunshots from before and he barely reacted when the doll’s head turned back and other participants got eliminated while he was still standing on his own at the far left.
Paralysed.
Two minutes had already passed by and he could see that Changmin and his colleagues were standing close to the line, without a doubt about to achieve victory.
Nineteen was just behind them, also so close to being safe behind the finishing line.
Unharmed.
Alive.
All of them were far, too far, and it made Chanhee realise that he would soon die if he kept on succumbing to panic and standing frozen there.
And just as Chanhee started to take a few tentative steps towards the doll, his white shoes kicking the dust with each stride, he heard a familiar voice right behind him.
“You lose, asshole.”
A hand suddenly pulled on his jacket and Chanhee let out a piercing scream just as his back violently collided with the ground.
But he heard no gunshot, at least not near him, nor did he feel any painful wound tearing his body apart.
He had thankfully fallen right before the doll’s eyes had focused on him.
Eight lowly snarled above him. The man was staring ahead, probably right at the doll, and Chanhee could somehow perfectly recognise the glint that was shining in Eight’s hateful glare.
He meant to kill, and Chanhee was only a few seconds away from becoming the victim of the man’s bloodthirst.
If only he had kept his mouth shut.
But as soon as Chanhee heard the participants near them start to hurriedly move, he took that as his signal to roll to the side and quickly stand up just as Eight dashed for him, his arms stretched out.
Chanhee barely managed to avoid getting grabbed and just as he tried to run to the doll, in a desperate attempt to escape Eight’s clutches, it’s the man’s right foot that signed Chanhee’s own death warrant.
It tripped him, and Chanhee started to stumble as he lost his own footing, the doll’s youthful face now almost in sight as it started to move.
But surprisingly, his body did not touch the ground this time and instead, he was held upright.
There were hands on his waist.
Chanhee's breath caught in his throat.
The grip was tight enough to prevent him from falling, the fingers almost desperately clinging onto him to make sure that Chanhee would not be able to move around if he fancied doing so.
He could feel strands of hair tickling his right cheek, and when he prudently switched his gaze to the side, he could only see honey.
It was Nineteen.
But he was so far ahead… a voice at the back of Chanhee’s disoriented mind noted, the situation seeming all too unrealistic to be happening.
“Don’t move.” Nineteen ordered, the sound muffled as though he was trying to make the movement of his lips less visible. “Don't move a fucking muscle.”
And Chanhee obediently complied, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
For the second time that day, Nineteen had saved him.
Chanhee weirdly felt a strong urge to burst into laughter.
It did not make any sense.
“Get behind me when I tell you to.” Nineteen said, the tone of his voice turning even firmer.
What…?
“But you would be in danger then! I can’t-”
At Chanhee’s outburst, Nineteen’s hands tightened their already bruising hold on his waist even more, and Chanhee could somehow feel his breath knocked out of him.
“I’m saving your life, ninety-eight, be grateful for it and stop complaining.” the other man said in a frustrated whisper right next to his ear, and Chanhee sort of wanted to look into his eyes, curious to find out what he would discover there. “When she turns around, stay immobile. And when I tell you to get behind me, you obey. Clear?”
Chanhee’s brows furrowed.
Nineteen’s actions still did not make any sense to him, and he wondered if there really was an ulterior motive to his generosity.
Before Chanhee could ponder over that, the doll’s face finally turned and he barely had time to react as Nineteen’s strong hold left his body at once as he dashed for Eight, the man still standing near their spot.
Strangely, Chanhee had completely forgotten about the man’s presence in the yard and a strangled cry escaped his lips just as he witnessed Nineteen get in front of Eight and grab his throat before he turned their bodies around.
Eight’s back was now facing the doll, his body hiding Nineteen’s form.
In an impressive display of strength, Nineteen slightly lifted a shaken up Eight off the ground and when the doll turned around, the former almost imperceptibly let go, a single gunshot killed Eight on the spot when the man fell down.
“Red-”
“Behind, now!”
In a couple of strides, Nineteen was back to his side and Chanhee complied, at a loss for words as they advanced.
This stranger had just killed someone for him.
Well, he had only triggered Eight’s death, but still.
Chanhee violently shuddered, unsure what to think about the whole ordeal.
There were other gunshots in the yard when they stopped, and Chanhee carefully raised his gaze to the timer, his heart missing a beat.
One minute.
“We’re running out of time.” he warned Nineteen in an anxious voice, and he could feel a certain anger overcome him when he heard the other chuckle under his breath.
“Yeah, I can see that too.” Nineteen sneered at him, making Chanhee feel the embarrassing urge to roll his eyes in annoyance, despite the dangerous situation they were facing. “Thanks though.”
A killer, and one with humour, on top of it.
Chanhee had apparently struck gold with that one.
“You shouldn’t have come back.” Chanhee insisted, still a bit confused by Nineteen’s thoughtless decision.
“Just roll with it,” The man sighed, appearing to be a bit annoyed by Chanhee’s persistence. “and stop fucking complaining, it won’t change any-”
Alarmed by the telltale sounds of hasty footfalls behind them, Chanhee frenziedly wrapped his arms around the other male’s body just as a woman bumped into Nineteen’s left side to pass them, almost sending him to the ground.
The woman stumbled, and a bullet went right through her head.
His face almost nuzzled against Nineteen’s neck, Chanhee distractedly breathed in a comforting scent of pepper, feeling a bit self-conscious when he realised that Nineteen was undoubtedly able to feel the frantic race of Chanhee’s heart now that they were basically glued to each other’s bodies, Nineteen’s back plastered against Chanhee’s front.
“Thanks, ninety-eight.” the man almost shakily murmured and this time, Nineteen was the one who seemed shaken up, as if he had just realised that he could really die, right then and there. “You saved me.”
“It’s just payback.” Chanhee pretended to be unaffected, but there was an irrefutable sentiment of pride that was filling his heart, right now.
He had already paid off a debt today, at least.
“What’s your name?” Chanhee cried out the next time the doll’s face was turned, his arms no longer wrapped around Nineteen’s waist as they ran.
And to his own dismay, Chanhee actually felt sad about it.
This place was already making him lose his mind.
“Now’s not the time.”
And Chanhee knew it was definitely not, but since he was stuck in a dire situation that was more of a matter of life and death than a silly little game, he would have appreciated knowing who had just risked his life to save his.
And who he had risked his life for in turn.
“You killed him.”
The accusation did not seem to faze Nineteen, and Chanhee could even confidently bet his last savings that the man would have shrugged had they not been under threat of getting shot if they dared make a single move.
“I told you to keep your mouth shut, didn’t I?” Nineteen let out a deep sigh in front of him. “you’ll get yourself killed-”
“Thank you.”
The abrupt words apparently caught Nineteen off guard, his body tensing even more than previously, though not enough to make the doll consider that as a movement and shoot him down.
“Nineteen.” Chanhee pressed a few seconds later as his eyes caught sight of the timer, feeling a lump in his throat when he read the numbers. “we won’t-”
“I know.” This time, the other man sounded more gentle, and Chanhee weirdly felt appeased by the unfamiliar softness in his voice, as if that would change just how doomed they now were.
There were only thirty seconds left and the finish line was still too far ahead.
“Give me your hand when she turns.”
“What?!”
Chanhee was convinced that he would have been shot had Nineteen not hidden his form.
That man was insane.
“You want to live?” Nineteen asked him the million dollar question and as the doll turned around, Chanhee felt fingers interlocked with his. “Then let’s go!”
Nineteen yanked him forward, and Chanhee was pleasantly surprised by how quickly the finish line came into view after that, its straight red form a bit less distorted now that they had almost reached it.
And one last time, Chanhee focused on the doll’s face.
“That’s a pretty cross you’ve got there.”
On the other hand, Nineteen was looking down at their entwined fingers, his eyes having caught on Chanhee’s almost faded tattoo, engraved on his pinky.
“Is that what made you want to save me?”
Chanhee thought back to that moment, when his new companion had tauntingly told Eight that he was a messenger from his god.
And perhaps, he was also one from Chanhee’s.
Nineteen almost fondly shook his head as a response when their last chance presented itself, and a faint smile also appeared on Chanhee’s face.
Then, their feet swifted away in a macabre dance as they got closer to the doll, the last players in their surroundings collapsing like fragile houses of cards.
They crossed the finishing line together, and their hands were still interlocked in a tight hold as they dropped down to the dirty ground on their backs, the both of them feeling exhausted, but also deeply relieved.
The loud and eerie sound of a dozen gunshots firing all at once echoed in the yard, howls of pain followingly harmonising with the detonations; yet Chanhee only had eyes for the man who had saved him.
Twice.
For the man with the honey hair and the little bad tattoo under one eye, who breathlessly mumbled, his somber gaze locked with Chanhee’s:
“Sunwoo.”
A last shot was fired.
Deafening, sinister.
And terrifying.
“My name, it’s Kim Sunwoo.”
The first game was over.
“Choi Chanhee.”
Five more to go.