You Can Feel the Disappointment In Snakes Poorly Pixelated Face

SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK™

Hold on Imma let you finish, but John “Soap” MacTavish is the most handsome video protagonist of all time

02 - a piece of me | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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——

The room was cold. Not from temperature, but from design — sterile and steel-lined, walls pressed tight in perfect symmetry, not a single window to the world outside. You sat among dozens of other guards, each clad in the identical matte uniform, each face hidden behind a black visor with a single geometric shape. You were in a sea of circles - a hierarchy forged not in character, but in obedience.

You felt your breath fog slightly beneath the mask. Even now, after years of wearing it, there were moments it felt like a muzzle.

Then, the door at the far end hissed open, revealing the creator, host, and God of this hell.

Oh Il-nam.

His hair was thinner now, his skin clung tighter to the ridges of his skull, but his eyes — sharp, glinting like polished glass — scanned the room with that same quiet cruelty you remembered from the archives. He walked with a slight limp, supported by a black cane, his mask tucked beneath his arm like a crown he didn’t need to wear to remind you who he was. He was dressed in deep crimson — formal, commanding, and flawless. The color of blood dried into velvet.

He stood before the room of guards and overseers, calm and calculating, as if he were welcoming guests to a dinner party rather than orchestrating death. He spoke softly, but the room bent toward his words like blades of grass in the wind.

“Welcome to the 33rd Season of the Games,”  Il-nam began, his voice low and controlled. “Do you know what that number means?”

Silence answered him.

“It means that the world hasn’t changed. The hunger still lives. That desperation is still the most powerful currency.”

He paced slowly before the first row, hearing his cane tap against the ground with every step.

“The rules remain the same. The games — Red Light, Green Light. Dalgona. Lights Out,” he paused at that, smiling faintly. “Yes, it’s officially part of the cycle now. Chaos has structure. Isn’t that beautiful?”

You remained still, but your stomach twisted. You remembered the screaming, the way the night didn’t hide the dying. You remembered the man bleeding out on the floor, who now sat behind black glass in a tower above, a Front Man forged from your mistake.

“Tug of War. Marbles. And most importantly, the Squid Game,” Il-nam continued. “You will uphold the structure. You will maintain the illusion of order. But most of all—“ he stopped now, facing the crowd directly— “you will not disobey.”

Murmurs didn’t follow — they weren’t allowed. But the tension thickened. Lights Out was once an unofficial chaos was now part of the rulebook. You felt it all rushing back, blood pooling across tiles, and a hand reaching up in the dark. His voice was breathless, shaking, whispering the words, “Why…?”

“Any form of aid to players, any deviation from assigned protocol, any mask that dares to feel… will be punished.”

You flinched, barely, but you knew the sting was meant for you.

“Some of you have already failed us before,” he said, eyes grazing across the room, almost like he could see behind the masks. “You’re here again because we believe in second chances… not forgiveness.”

The word struck like a lash. You didn’t move, but inside, the fire of the truth burned anew. 

The punishment wasn’t execution, at least, not for you. It was service, a reassignment, and a demotion. A demotion that dragged you into night shifts, into silent bedrooms and glided masks, into the leering eyes of VIPs where no screams escaped and no names were spoken. And every morning, you returned to pink.

“Uniforms and role assignments are waiting in Hall B. You will report immediately. Any delay is noted.”

The square guards began barking orders immediately. Role assignments, room numbers, escort teams, firearm calibration checks — all familiar routines returned like a tidal wave. The masked figures rose, each moving with choreographed efficiency toward their fate. 

Season 33 had begun, and you would do anything just to survive.

——

The metal platform groaned beneath your boots as you stood at the edge of the training hall, rows of pink-masked recruits stiffening under your gaze. 

A row of red carpet unfurled like a fresh wound down the center of the pristine room — the designated “escort path.” Gold-painted chairs lined the simulated VIP lounge behind you, perfectly arranged for the demonstration. Surveillance cameras blinked red in the corners. Nothing here was ever unobserved.

“Position one,” you called sharply.

The recruits moved. The pink guard stepped forward to act as the "escort" was young, shorter than the rest, their voice still trembling. Their grip fumbled over the faux decanter meant to mimic luxury service.

They bowed to the mock VIP actor like a civilian would — too deeply, too slowly. You inhaled sharply through your mask. They tried again, offering a drink with both hands, their gloves shaking slightly.

“Wrong,” you snapped, voice cutting clean through the stale air.

The recruit flinched as you strode forward, the click of your boots like gunshots in the quiet room. In one swift motion, you snatched the decanter from their hands and slammed it down on the tray beside the lounge chair.

“You are not a servant,” you said coldly. “You are a symbol. A presence. A product of obedience, not emotion. The moment you show uncertainty, they will know. And they will take advantage.”

Your words hung heavy in the space between you and the trembling recruit. The rest of the class stood rigid, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

“Again,” you barked. “With your spine straight. Offer the drink like a machine, not a child.”

The recruit obeyed. This time, it was slower and more deliberate. You stood behind them, adjusting the tilt of their chin with the sharp edge of your gloved hand. Their mask tilted toward yours, questioning and fearful.

They reminded you of someone, more of yourself. When you were promoted to square, clean and hopeful, your eyes too bright beneath the black. Before your rank was stripped and your identity erased in silence, not because of failure, but because of mercy.

“Acceptable,” you said finally, though your voice was devoid of warmth.

Training resumed in silence. Hours blurred past drills — posture, presentation, calculated silence. The elite escort role required perfection. Anything less was an insult to the illusion these monsters paid to see.

Eventually, the session ended.

One by one, the pink guards filed out. The doors hissed open, and the cold concrete swallowed them. But one lingered. A square guard, standing by the door with his arms folded, watching you with quiet interest behind the black mask that once mirrored your own.

“They say you were once a square,” he said casually, his voice low and edged with something darker. “What did you do?”

You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. The distance between you was all surveillance and silence.

“Rumors say you saved someone. That you disobeyed for a dying player,” he added. “But they never say why you’re still alive.”

You turned your head, slow and measured. “I follow orders,” you replied flatly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Funny,” he said. “You train them like you’re trying to make them forget what it’s like to be human.” 

You stared at him. “Because being human in here,” you said, “is the fastest way to die.”

You walked away, back into the corridors of steel and smoke, where ghosts wore masks and punishment was survival’s reward. The dim corridor buzzed faintly, the sound of fluorescent lights above flickering like a dying breath. You made your way down the path lined with identical metal doors, the living quarters for the pink guards.

Yours was the last door in the row. Room 427. You keyed in the code. The lock hissed open. Inside was stillness with barren walls, a single bed with starched sheets, and a metal table bolted to the floor. There was no mirror and belongings. Just silence, always silence.

You sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off your gloves like a second skin. Your pink suit was unzipped just enough to breathe. The metal walls echoed with distant footsteps, squares barking orders at newly recruited guards, the crackle of radios, the buzz of the elevator ferrying supplies to the upper floors. But here in your unit’s quarters, it was still.

There was no escort duty tonight. For once, your number wasn’t on the list. That relief was almost as painful as the duties themselves. You stared at your gloves on the bedside table, fingers curled stiff from wear. Blood had once soaked through them. Screams once filled your ears. But now? You were used to it.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

Before the games, you had a name. A life outside the games. You used to dance in the rain.

You lived in colors, not red, black and pink, but golden light from streetlamps, the warm blue of your favorite café, the soft lavender of your tiny rented apartment. You weren’t rich, but you were free. A literature student by day, part-time waitress by night. You wanted to write stories one day. Novels. Maybe even poetry. You dreamed of publishing your own book someday.

Your laughter used to come easily. Your smile wasn’t a mask. You believed in people. Yet in the end, you were the one who stayed.

In a neighborhood where everyone else was desperate to leave, you stayed behind. You watched your friends grow distant and your family grow smaller. It was only one funeral, then came another. Then another. Until the only voices left were the ones in your head.

You weren’t running from anything — there was just nowhere left to go. No final fight nor betrayal. Just… time, taking people from you, one by one. You stopped talking out loud because there was no one to hear you anyway.

So when the pink envelope arrived that was sealed tight, marked only by shapes, it felt like an accident. A glitch in the mail. A strange dream.

But you opened it.

And that’s how it started.

You didn’t become a player. You didn’t owe anything. But you were noticed — someone they could use. Someone who would not be missed. At first, you thought you’d break. But there was no one left to worry about you. No one left to remind you who you were.

Now, you rarely think about your name. It doesn’t come easily anymore.

And maybe that was the point.

——

The order comes like a slap to your already numb consciousness. A square guard, his uniform sharp and flawless, strides over to you in the dark hallway. His voice is cool, matter-of-fact, as if he’s never had to question a thing in his life.

"Fix the Front Man's quarters. Make sure every detail is perfect," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You simply nod, the sound of the mask moving as you lower your head in silent acknowledgment. You’ve been in this position long enough to know how things go. The Front Man’s quarters, as cold and sterile as everything else in the compound, require absolute precision. The slightest mistake, the smallest imperfection, could result in more than just a reprimand. You’ve seen what happens when others fail in front of the Front Man. There’s nothing kind or forgiving about his gaze.

The square guard watches you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you’ll comply, before turning away, leaving you to your task.

You stood in front of the door, taking in the quiet, lifeless hallway. Everything is perfectly still. No noise. No interruptions. The only sound you hear is the distant hum of ventilation systems and the pulse of your own heartbeat beneath the thick mask. You inhale deeply and push the door open.

Inside, the quarters were as pristine as always. It was cold, empty, and unyielding - not a single trace of humanity remains. The room was meticulously organized, the bed made to military standards, the furnishings aligned with an unnatural symmetry, a single chair in the corner, its back to the wall. Every surface gleams, as if the place is nothing but a shell, waiting for its occupant to step inside.

You walk in slowly, your eyes scanning over every inch, every corner. Your mind runs through the mental checklist: lighting, temperature, scent. Every detail is scrutinized until you’re certain it meets the Front Man’s standards. Your gloved hands trace over the desk, wiping away the faintest trace of dust. It’s almost too perfect. There’s nothing left to fix. The space is an extension of the man who occupies it — cold, flawless, untouchable.

You began to adjust the small things. The alignment of books on a shelf, the angle of the chair, the slight shift in the position of a painting on the wall. Every adjustment feels like an offering. Your body is numb to the motion, your mind detached and mechanical.

A sudden movement at the door catches your attention, and you freeze.

A shadow. A figure standing in the doorway, silent and imposing. You don’t need to look up to know it’s the square guard again. His eyes are cold, but there’s something else, a faint smile at the edge of his lips as he watches you.

“Is everything in order?” he asks, his voice like a dull blade scraping against metal.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your eyes remain downcast, focusing on the smallest of details. The least of your concerns is his gaze, but you feel the weight of it pressing down on you nonetheless.

The square guard takes a step forward, glancing around the room. His eyes land on the smallest imperfection, a slight smudge on the glass of a picture frame. Without a word, he reaches out, wiping it away with a swipe of his gloved hand. His movements are sharp, deliberate.

“You’ve done well,” he says, his voice softening ever so slightly. But you know better. He’s not complimenting you. He’s simply acknowledging your obedience. The look in his eyes doesn’t change — still cold, still distant.

“Finish up,” he commands. “And make sure the Front Man doesn’t find anything out of place.”

The square guard leaves, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. As you turn to leave, your fingers brush against the edge of the desk, and something about the cold metal reminds you of the past. Of who you used to be. Of the girl who had dreams and laughter in her heart.

You barely register the sounds of the Front Man’s approaching footsteps — but you know they're coming. You can feel him before you see him, a presence that lingers in the room even as the door creaks open. 

The Front Man walks inside with his usual poise, the cold mask covering his face, unreadable. His eyes scan the room like a predator sizing up its prey, each movement deliberate, precise, as if assessing not just the space but the person who prepared it. His footsteps echo softly against the polished floors, louder than they have any right to be.

You stand at attention in the corner, still and quiet, as he takes his time walking around the room. You don’t dare speak unless he orders you to.

His gaze flickers to the desk first. He takes a long pause, inspecting the alignment of the books, the sheen on the surface. His fingers brush lightly over the chair, just enough to feel the exact temperature of the room, the subtle pressure of the cushion. He moves with the kind of deliberate grace that you’ve come to associate with someone who knows their power, their dominance, their control over every detail.

For a split second, you hold your breath, wondering what he’s looking for. Is there something amiss? A trace of imperfection you might have missed in your hasty preparation?

But then his gaze shifts to the picture frame. It’s the smallest detail, the most trivial of things. His eyes narrow, his fingers tracing the edge of the frame with unsettling precision. There is a slight tremor in his hand. Just a hint. But it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

He simply looks at the picture frame for a few more seconds, as if contemplating something too deep to put into words. His gaze flickers toward the small smudge you couldn’t catch, and for the briefest of moments, you think he might actually speak. But no. His gaze sharpens, and he pulls his hand away.

Finally, he stands still. For a moment, you wonder if the air between you is thick with his thoughts, heavy and pressing. But then, he slowly exhales, a sound barely noticeable beneath the mask. He turns toward you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your chest tighten, your breath stuttering.

"Good job," he said, his tone as cold as ever. "Everything is in order."

Your heart clenched at the lack of emotion in his words. It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel like one. There was no warmth in his praise, no sign that he saw you as anything more than another tool—an instrument to be used and discarded when no longer needed.

"Thank you," you murmured, even though the words felt hollow on your tongue.

He turned his head slightly, his masked face remaining unreadable. "You may leave now."

With a stiff bow, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. As you stepped out into the cold, sterile halls of the compound, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being forgotten.

You were nothing to him, and perhaps that was exactly what you deserved. After all, you weren’t a guard anymore, not truly. You were just a nameless face in the sea of masked figures, condemned to serve in the shadows for the rest of your days.

And yet, despite the cold dismissal, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder: would he ever look at you again? Would he ever realize that you were the one who had saved him when he had bled out during the chaos of lights out?

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized it didn’t matter. He was the Front Man. You were just a guard—nothing more. The distance between you was as vast as the abyss, and no amount of longing would ever change that.

——

A/N: HAS ANYONE WATCHED THE SQUID GAME TEASER? They just dropped the teaser for Season 3! I am SEATED (and also possibly traumatized) 😳 I think I'm going to be insufferable until June 27 because imagine the teaser making us feel like THAT, then what about the trailer 😨 What are your theories for the next season? I would love to hear about them!

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

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taglist: @roachco-k @goingmerry69

@helgathe requested: Call of Duty: Black Ops 1 + the Text Post Meme

hi! idk if u do other than squid game or lee byun hun but could u please do study group yoon gamin x y/n fanfiction? 🥹

Hi! Unfortunately, I don't know who Yoon Gamin is 🥹 So far what I can do are Squid Game fanfictions (Hwang In-ho & Salesman), and some Call of Duty characters (Soap, Price, Gaz, Ghost, etc.).

But I'll try to learn who Yoon Gamin is! 😄

"On your feet soldier, we are leaving!"

CHAPTER 11 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

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——

The tension in the dormitory hung like a thick fog, pressing down on your lungs as the fight between the X and O players seemed to calm down, with each player going back to their side. The air smelled of damp wood and sweat, but something else lingered beneath it — an undercurrent of unease.

Beside you, In-ho finished the last bite of his gimbap and stood up, putting the fork in his pocket and brushed his hands off on his pants. He was about to take on step forward when you reached for his wrist, your fingers wrapping around his pulse. His gaze flickered down to where you touched him.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” he replied smoothly, but there was something off about the way he said it. It seemed too casual, too detached.

You frowned, tightening your hold. “Wait. Just stay a second.”

In-ho sighed through his nose, seemingly impatient. “Why?”

“You owe me something.”

In-ho turned his gaze to you, his expression calm, but a question was evident in his face. Something gnawed at the back of your mind, an instinct you couldn’t name. You remembered In-ho wanting to tell you something after you vote. In-ho exhaled sharply, a short, amused breath, but he continued to look at you. Your hand was still on his wrist, and though he could have pulled away, he didn’t.

He studied you for a moment before exhaling, and to your surprise, he sat back down. His eyes, usually so guarded, were unreadable as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Then, his next words shifted the air entirely.

“I won the games in 2015.”

You felt your breath hitched.

“I didn’t enter out of curiosity like you. I needed the money. I had nothing.” In-ho’s voice was low, controlled. But underneath it, there was something at it. Something bitter. “It’s for my wife. She was sick… and pregnant. I did everything to try and save her, but they misinterpreted it as a bribe, and so I was out of the force. The hospital bills were growing and growing each day. She...” He paused for a moment but continued. “She was struggling. I was, too. Then, I was handed a card. I accepted it knowing I could win the prize money. I did everything to survive, just so I could go back to her.”

Your chest tightened.

“I won. But when I got home, she was already gone. Already wrapped under a body bag.”

You stayed silent, seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eye. He was holding them back. You almost motioned to touch his face, but then, he continued.

“The moment I walked out of here, I realized what kind of person I became. What I had to do to survive. I saw what these games really are, how people turn when there’s nothing left but desperation.” His lips curled, almost in disgust. “And I realized I was no different. I thought winning would fix everything. But it didn’t.”

Your fingers curled into his palm, gripping it tighter. Then, he held yours back.

“I walked out of here with more money than I could ever spend, and yet… I lost more than I gained,” his jaw tightened. “People think money changes everything. Maybe it does, but it doesn’t bring back what you sacrificed to get it.”

The weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, he was letting you see something raw. It was like you were talking to the In-ho you once knew years ago. And yet, there were still things he wasn’t saying. There were pieces he was deliberately leaving out.

“So why are you here again?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe I wanted to see if people ever change,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the players. Or himself.

Or you.

The sound of a distant scream shattered the moment. Your head snapped toward the source — the bathroom. Another noise followed, a sharp crack of panicked shots.

If you hadn’t stopped In-ho, if he had left just a second earlier, he would’ve been in there. His gaze flickered back to you, something unspoken passing between you both.

“That was close,” you muttered.

In-ho’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. But then he shook his head. “Lucky me, I guess.”

But you both knew luck had nothing to do with it. 

“The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331, and 401. End of the list.”

Your posture straightened up upon hearing the announcement. How can these players be eliminated in such a short time? There were no games in play.

Everyone in the dormitory tensed up, clearly shocked by what was announced. You felt the ceiling rumble, the piggy bank showing at the top as more money plopped inside, the TV turning on accounting the accumulated prize money for each player and the total prize. In front of you, Gi-hun stood up, his face focused on the piggy bank at the top.

“What’s going on?” Jung-bae turned to your group and asked. 

You all heard the doors open, seeing players drenched with blood all over their clothes, faces, and bodies. It seemed as they just got out from a massacre - a bloody one, indeed. 

“Listen, Team O!” Player 124 ran in the middle, his face with patches of blood and his tracksuit number with blood as well. “When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us!” He yelled. “They killed some of us, including my friend—“

“Bullshit,” Player 047 interrupted. “You’re the ones who started it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“Hey!” Player 192 called out. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” Player 145 retorted. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?”

“So, which side lost more people?” Player 100 asked out loud. In just a few minutes, each X and O players grouped each on their sides, counting themselves.

You and the X players grouped in the staircase in the corner, with Player 047 counting each of you. You continued to study the crowd, seeing the O players doing the same on the other side. The tension was palpable. You found yourself shaking a bit, but In-ho held your hand, trying to make you at ease.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said in a whisper, but enough for the X crowd to hear. 

“Two out of five. That means they lost three people,” you said, remembering the number of players who recently died.

“Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow,” Player 380 murmured, earning a nod from each X player.

As if a thought snapped in Jung-bae’s mind, he hurriedly whispered loud enough for you and everyone else to hear. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!” 

You noticed Gi-hun’s face focused on the O crowd as if he was trying to anticipate their next move. His eyebrows were furrowed together, his eyes almost a glare. 

“Attention, please,” the speaker announced, breaking the thoughts away from your mind. “Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up, eyeing each and one of you, the desperation evident in his face. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”

Each X player nodded while you only stared at Player 047. At least, in this way, you still saw the goodness in this place. There were still some other people who were desperate to get out of the place and be satisfied with the accumulated prize money. 

You can’t help but feel unease. You were so sure that the O players would attack during lights out, seeing them eyeing the X crowd multiple times and pointing their fingers. As the other X players start to return to their beds, Gi-hun motioned a small wave for you and your group. You and the others followed, though your group wasn’t only limited now to In-ho, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Jun-hee. Hyun-ju’s group also tagged along, with Gyeong-seok becoming a part of it. You gave Gyeong-seok a small nod, giving a small, quiet recognition to welcome him in the group. 

Together, you all formed a circle. Dae-ho turned around to look at the O crowd, then turned back to your group. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

Jung-bae scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it will all be over.”

“You think we’ll be okay?” Dae-ho asked worriedly. You gave him a small pat on his back to comfort him somehow. He gave you a small smile, but his eyes still had a hint of worry. “They said things were really scary in the bathroom earlier.”

A brief silence filled your group, weighing Dae-ho’s words. But then, Gi-hun’s voice cut out the tension as he stared into space, his eyes determined while his eyebrows were furrowed.  “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us.”

“Really?” Yong-sik’s eyes widened.

“Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize,” Gi-hun explained.

“So what do we do?”

“Let’s attack them first,” In-ho replied, much too quickly, earning a glance from Gi-hun who seemed to be taken aback by his words. “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

“That’s right. It would be better to attack them first,” Player 047 agreed, then eyed you, Geum-ja, and Jun-hee. “We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

“We can’t do that,” Gi-hun replied, his voice with diction as the words left his mouth.

“But we have to get out of here,” you retorted, though your voice calm despite the incoming chaos you could predict. “You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

“That doesn’t mean we should kill each other,” Gi-hun explained, his voice reeking out of desperation. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

“They?” Jung-bae asked.

Gi-hun paused for a moment, clearing his throat before continuing. “Those who created the game. Those who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

“Where are they?” Dae-ho asked. 

Gi-hun slowly looked up at the ceiling, as the others followed. You almost did, but then you notice In-ho looking at Gi-hun more than he should, though his expression was unreadable yet… too calm. He sat across from you, one arm draped over his knee, the other resting loosely at his side. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the minute tension in his posture, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly, like a subconscious tell. His gaze, dark and piercing, remained locked onto Gi-hun.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

Gi-hun kept speaking, laying out his plan, but his words blurred in the background as your mind reeled.

“I have a foresight.”

In-ho’s words echoed to your mind. He anticipated things before they even happened, maneuvering like a man who had already played this game before. You remembered his words, the way he hinted at his understanding of the games — too precise, too calculated. 

“Has anyone ever played before?” You murmured, interrupting Gi-hun, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gi-hun blinked. “What?”

“You survived the last game,” you continued, staring at him. “Did you ever feel like… someone already knew how it would all play out?”

“Yeah, there was this old man,” Gi-hun’s voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Oh Il-nam. He was with us from the start. Turns out he was the creator of the games.”

You tilted your head. “What happened to him?”

Gi-hun exhaled as his hands twitched against his knee, as if the memory physically lingered there. “He died three years after I won.”

You swallowed hard. Slowly, you turned to In-ho, your gaze locking onto his. His mask didn’t crack, but his eyes told another story. His expression was still unreadable, but something in his gaze shifted — the slightest trace of amusement, of challenge.

He knew what you were asking. And he was waiting for you to piece it together.

“The man in the black mask is their leader,” Gi-hun continued. “Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

You heard Jung-bae sigh, who was seated beside Gi-hun. But then, In-ho replied, his gaze locked onto Gi-hun, his expression cold as his voice remained low, as if he was calculating something. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

“We’ll fight them with guns too,” Gi-hun answered, the determination in his voice was evident.

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae said in defeat.

“We’ll take their guns.”

“From those masked men?” Gyeong-seok asked in surprise. 

Gi-hun nodded, which earned a worried sigh from Jung-bae. 

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.” 

“What then?” Gi-hun retorted. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?” He eyed each one of you in the group, then eyed In-ho. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

You almost forgot that they all knew him as Young-il. Silence fell into your group, the uncertainty of surviving in this place crashing on to the air. 

“Do we… stand a chance?” Hyun-ju asked, her voice with a hint of worry. 

“We do if we catch them off guard,” Gi-hun replied. “Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“Don’t you think it’s too… ambitious?” You asked, feeling each eyes of your group turn to you.

“If you don’t want to join the fight, then don’t,” Player 047 said, looking at you in disbelief. 

“All I’m saying is, we’re not sure if we can survive. The stakes are getting higher. Wouldn’t it be more dangerous if we bust our way out there and fight all of them, including this captain with a black mask?” You explained, giving Player 047 a slight glare before turning to the rest of the group. “It’s not about me not wanting to join the fight. It’s about being cautious about whatever danger we may encounter. I’m not opposed to the idea.”

Gi-hun nodded, taking in your words. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but In-ho quickly spoke. “How are you going to take their guns?”

“Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance,” Gi-hun said surely. Then his voice became low, but still enough for your group to hear. “Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

“But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage,” Jung-bae murmured. “Without us in the first, they’ll be outnumbered.”

“I know,” Gi-hun said. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

“Are you suggesting that we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?” In-ho asked, though his eyes were still unreadable, but his voice was calm yet there was a hint of amusement in it. You could his lips twitch almost to a smirk, but it seemed as though he was holding it back.

Gi-hun paused for a moment, his expression falling upon the realization of the so-called sacrifice. “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.” 

Your stomach twisted at his words. “A small sacrifice?” You said, your voice sharper than you intended. 

Gi-hun’s expression hardened. “If we don’t do something, we’ll all be wiped out. You know that.”

Your breath came slow, controlled, but the words scraped against something deep inside you. “Victory at the expense of others is no victory at all, Gi-hun.”

Silence gripped the group. The air was thick with unspoken fears, the scent of sweat and tension suffocating. Your fingers curled into a fist as you and Gi-hun stared at each other, waiting for each of you to speak.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t about just one person. If we don’t act now, we’ll all end up—“

“Dead?” You challenged. “And you didn’t think sacrificing someone will stop that from happening?”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “This isn’t about being selfish. It’s about surviving long enough to end this damn game.”

Your jaw clenched, but before you could respond, in your peripheral vision, you could see In-ho shift.

“She’s right,” he said, finally speaking. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “You talk about sacrifice as if it’s a simple thing. But once you deicde someone else’s life is worth less than yours, you stop being different from the people who put us in here.”

The words sent a chill down your spine as you looked at In-ho, realizing he was already looking at you, locking your gazes.

Gi-hun shook his head. “So what, then? We do nothing?”

“No,” In-ho murmured. “We do it without becoming the monsters they want us to be.”

And though his words aligned with yours, you weren’t sure anymore if they came from the same place. Because as much as you knew him, as much as he was once your childhood best friend —  the one who promised to always protect you — you weren’t sure anymore if he was protecting you.

Or if he was simply playing a different game entirely.

——

Ten.

Nine.

Eight. 

The dormitory was quieter than usual, a deceptive calm settling over the room as the players settled in for the night. The dim lighting flickered against the cold metal walls, casting long shadows over the endless rows of bunk beds. Some players lay with their backs to the world, others murmured in hushed voices, exchanging anxious theories about the next game.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

You sat on the lower bunk, fingers running absentmindedly over the thin blanket draped over your legs. Beside your bed was In-ho’s, who was leaning against the bedframe, his arms crossed in that ever-relaxed posture of his. But you could that his eyes were sharper than usual, tracking the other players’ movement, scanning the room with quiet precision.

“Something’s going to happen,” you muttered under your breath.

He hummed, barely a nod, but you caught the way his fingers flexed against his bicep.

Four.

Three.

Two.

The tension in the room felt like a rubber band stretched too thin. Then, you heard footsteps in the middle, the light shining on Player 124’s face with a fork in hand.

One.

And then, all hell broke loose. 

Someone on the upper bunk near the doors screamed. Metal clanged against metal as a bunk collapsed under struggling bodies. A body slammed into the floor near you with a sickening thud. The room erupted into chaos as players lunged at each other, driven by desperation and paranoia. X and O no longer mattered — everyone was a threat.

“Under the bed. Now.” In-ho’s voice was low, yet urgent.

You didn’t hesitate.

The moment your back hit the cold ground, In-ho followed, pressing close as he pulled the thin mattress down just enough to shield you both from the view. The noise around you grew unbearable — the shouts, the sharp, wet sounds of bodies hitting the ground, and the suffocating smell of sweat and iron.

Your breaths were shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The space under the bed felt too small, too suffocating. You could see movement — feet darting past, shadows shifting violently in the flickering light.

Then, you felt warm fingers brushed against your wrist.

You startled, turning to look at In-ho. His face was closer than you expected, his eyes dark but steady. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your palm. 

“Breathe,” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it over the chaos. “You’re safe.”

Safe. The word felt too foreign here, in a place where safety was nothing more than an illusion. But still, his touch was grounding, his presence a steady force amid the madness.

The chaos outside your hiding spot hadn’t lessened, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just you and In-ho. His grip on your hand remained firm, grounding you in a reality that should have been terrifying —  but somehow, wasn’t.

Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he moved. His hands slipped from yours only to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him. And then, his lips found yours.

A kiss in the middle of a massacre. The softness of his lips against yours clashed cruelly with the violent screams and death rattles surrounding you. It was wrong, so reckless. But damn, you enjoyed it.

The heat surged through you, an intoxicating contract to the blood-stained air. His touch was commanding, his fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it — to make you remember this moment even as the world fell apart. And maybe that was the irony of it all. That you could find something so addicting, so devastatingly good, while people were tearing each other apart.

But the moment shattered in an instant as you felt a hand yanked you backward, ripping you away from In-ho’s hand as he screamed, “No!”

Your body slid out from under the bunk, seeing an O player on top of you.

It was Player 192. His grip on you was bruising, his breath reeking of desperation as he sneered down at you. “Didn’t know whores could get into this place,” he snarled, tightening his grip around your throat. “Let’s see how tough you really are without him.”

Your nails clawed at his wrists, panic rising like bile. The edges of your vision blurred as he raised his fork. You closed your eyes, ready for the impact.

Then, you heard a crack. A familiar one, to be exact.

Player 192’s body jerked violently before collapsing lifelessly beside you. Your own breath was ragged as you struggled to push yourself up, barely able to comprehend what just happened. 

In-ho stood over you, his expression softening this time as he looked at you. The sharp rise and fall of his chest betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. The bloodied weapon in his hand dripped onto the cold floor, his fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles had gone white.

He crouched beside you, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away a streak of blood that wasn’t yours. “Are you hurt?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. 

In-ho exhaled sharply, then leaned in, his lips ghosting against your ear. “No one touches you. Ever. Remember that.”

He didn’t waste another second as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward the shadows, the urgency tightening his grip. Your breath was still uneven, the ghost of the O player’s attack lingering in your bones. The moment your bodies disappeared for everyone to see, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’m never letting you go again, Y/N.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your temple, his chest rising and falling in steady contrast to your own erratic breathing. His scent, faint traces of sweat, blood, and something unmistakably him, wrapped around as if it were a second skin.

The chaos was still raging. Metal clashed against metal, bodies smalled into beds, and desperate cries filled the air. The dormitory had become a warzone, a battleground fueled by greed and fear.

In-ho’s fingers traced slow, grounding circles against your arm, a silent reassurance that you were still here… and alive. “Stay close,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the madness. “We move once the guards step in.”

You nodded, gripping onto his sleeve like a lifeline. The minutes passed like hours. The sounds of violence started to blur together, each screeam and crash dulling into a single, ceaseless noise. Your body was stiff, adrenaline still coiling tight in your muscles.

Then, a loud, blaring alarm erupted in the air. The lights turned on, hearing more footsteps. The guards had arrived.

In-ho’s fingers tightened around yours. As the guards’ booths thundered into the room, you and In-ho prepared to slip out unnoticed, ready to face whatever came next.

The surviving players scrambled back to their bunks, some collapsing from exhaustion, others from injuries to severe to ignore. The guards moved in, their rifles raised, their heavy boots pounding against the bloodstained floor.

In-ho gave you a look, then in a seamless motion, he pulled you down, pressing your body against the cold floor beside the fallen. His hand slid over yours, smearing the warm blood from the O player he had killed onto your skin. The metallic scent stung your nose, but you didn’t flinch. 

You both lay still, bodies limp among the corpses, eyes fluttering shut as the guards stepped closer. Every breath you took was shallow, controlled, listening for the precise moment.

One guard crouched near In-ho, nudging a lifeless body beside him with the barrel of his rifle. Another did the same near you, muttering something about cleaning up the mess.

The guard turned away, but In-ho struck first. In one swift motion, he rolled up, seizing the rifle from the nearest guard before slamming the butt of it onto his head. The guard crumpled instantly.

You weren’t far behind. With adrenaline firing through your veins, you lunged, grabbing the other guard’s wrist before he could react. His weapon clattered to the floor as you twisted his arm, forcing him down with a brutal precision that left no room for error. A quick, decisive blow to his temple, and he, too, was out cold. 

The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Then, a shot rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade. 

It wasn’t yours, nor was it In-ho’s.

Players who had been waiting for the right moment, who had seen what you and In-ho had done, began to move. You saw Gi-hun, Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, Jung-bae, and Daeo-ho wrestle the weapons from the fallen guards, others tackled those still standing. 

In-ho turned to you, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Stay close to me,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the madness.

With rifles in hand, you charged into the chaos together.

Another chaos ignited like a match to gasoline. The screams overlapped with gunfire, bodies clashed in frantic desperation, and the metallic scent of blood thickened in the air. From across the room, Gi-hun’s sharp eyes locked onto yours, then flickered to In-ho. There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation. With a decisive nod, he started shooting the other guards.

You lifted your stolen rifle, your pulse steady despite the storm raging around you. In-ho was already ahead, moving like he had done this a thousand times before.  As the guards escaped on the other side of the room, the square-masked guard was left out in the open, trapped inside the dormitory. 

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun yelled, his rifle pointed to the square-masked guard. You and the others with the rifles motioned in the middle, pointing your guns to the guard. “Everyone, hold fire!”

Jung-bae ran towards the guard, pointing the end of his gun to the guard. “Hands above your head!” The guard followed reluctantly. “On your knees!”

“You goddamn bastards!” You heard someone shout from behind you. You saw Player 047 aiming his gun towards the O players. 

Just as you were about to step in, Gi-hun ran and held Player 047’s rifle down. “No!”

“Move!” Player 047 yelled. “Do you not see this?” He pointed to the dead bodies on the floor. “They are not human. They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!” He proceeded to aim his gun again, but Gi-hun held it down once more.

“This is not what we took these guns for,” Gi-hun said, gritting his teeth. “If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.” 

Player 047’s breath trembled, his body shaking as he fought the urge to aim his gun once again to the O players. Gi-hun’s back was turned to the O players behind him, which turned out to be a big mistake for him.

Player 336 tackled him to the ground, wrapping his hands around Gi-hun’s throat, squeezing as Gi-hun’s legs kicked out, his face turning a sickening shade of red. His fingers clawed uselessly at the man’s arms, eyes wild with panic. He tried to reach for his gun as Player 047 stared in horror, startled at the sight.

Your body moved before you could think. Raising your rifle, you took a step forward and pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out loud and final. Player 336’s body went limp, collapsing over Gi-hun before rolling off. He gasped for breath, coughing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His eyes darted to you, a mixture of relief and something unspoken flashing across his face.

You offered your hand as he took it, gripping tight as you helped him to his feet. You gave each other a nod, a silent acknowledgment of saving his life. Before Gi-hun could say something, In-ho approached you, stepping into your space, his hand instinctively finding your arm. His touch was firm and grounding. But when you met his gaze, there was something else in his eyes.

“You seem eager to play the hero,” In-ho muttered, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. There was a tightness in it, a rough edge that wasn’t entirely from the chaos around you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I let him die?”

His fingers curled slightly against your arm before he let go. “I’d rather you stop putting yourself at risk for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.”

You exhaled sharply, but before you could snap back, Gi-hun had already moved on, recruiting players who had been too scared to fight before. His voice carried over the dormitory, rallying them with the promise of survival. 

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

In-ho’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes, dark and intense, never wavered from yours. “No,” he admitted. “But I know you. You’re getting too involved.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And you’re jealous.”

You noticed a muscle in his jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, his hand brushed against yours, fleeting but deliberate. As if it was a reminder or somewhat a warning.

“Everyone!” Gi-hun called out, as the players continued to place more rifles and ammos in the middle of the room, stealing each from the guard’s uniforms. “We will now head up to the masked men’s headquarters. We’ll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay,” he paused for a moment as he lifted the rifle on his hand up in the air. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

You gripped your hand tighter to your rifle, seeing the players hesitate to come forward. But then, Jung-bae moved and stepped forward. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive,” he said. “Fight with us so we can go home together. All together.”

One by one, players motioned to walk towards you, grabbing rifles from the ground. Most of them came from the X crowd. 

“Let’s take one radio each. We’ll use channel 7, the lucky number.”

You grabbed a radio from a fallen guard, following Jung-bae’s instruction. You proceeded to check your gun, checking its ammo. You grabbed more from the ground, placing it on your pocket. Then, you felt someone’s presence beside you. You looked up and saw Gi-hun, the hesitation evident in his face but looked at you.

“Thank you for earlier,” Gi-hun spoke, his voice low. He gave you a small smile and a nod.

You nodded back, loading your gun with an ammo. “You can but me soju when we get out.” 

Gi-hun chuckled softly, nodding his head. A fleeting moment of recognition passed between you and him, somewhat like an understanding that for now, you were on the same side. But in your peripheral vision, In-ho didn’t seem to look amused. Yet somehow, you enjoyed seeing him this way, the irony of playing a game inside a game.

Hyun-ju proceeded to teach you and the others how to properly operate the rifle, later revealing that she was part of the ROK Special Forces as a sergeant first class. You awed in admiration. You proceeded to set your rifle to single-fire mode.

You heard a gun cock near your side, seeing the guard on his knees with hands over his head as Gi-hun aimed a rifle at him. “Take it off.”

The guard followed reluctantly, taking off his mask — only to reveal a young, teenage boy.

“Good God,” Jung-bae gasped. “Do your parents know what you’re doing here?”

“Take us to your captain,” Gi-hun said coldly, as the young boy nodded. He dragged the young boy down to the door, shooting the glass window as he peered his arm down, unlocking the door. 

You and the others followed as the young boy led the way. You were behind In-ho, his back turned from you though his posture was composed. You gripped your rifle tighter as you exited the dormitory, your heart racing knowing you were about to participate in the rebellion, with no certainty of survival.

You all proceeded to walk towards the labyrinth of stairs, the colorful environment enveloping waiting for chaos to erupt. After a series of turning lefts and rights, Gi-hun grunted, grabbing the young boy’s hood. “How much farther?” He grabbed to face him when he didn’t speak, a gun still pointed to his head. “Is this the right way?”

The young boy’s body was shaking as he pointed his finger behind him. “The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, his voice shaking.

“Move it, then,” Gi-hun pressed.

“Wait,” the young boy said as he motioned his hand to his pocket, only for his hand to be grabbed by Gi-hun.

“What are you doing?”

“I need my mask to pass security,” the young boy’s eyes widened as the end of Gi-hun’s gun was already aimed at his forehead between his eyes. Gi-hun relunctantly removes his hand from the boy.

As the young boy glances up, you notice his shoulders stiffened at the sight of someone behind Gi-hun, which was In-ho. It wasn’t the stance of a seasoned enforcer. It was hesitant and uncertain. He was clearly shocked but at the same… terrified.

Something twisted in your gut as you looked at In-ho, expecting confusion, maybe even a demand for answers. But he wasn’t surprised nor alarmed. In fact, he just… stared.

Your grip on your gun tightened as your mind raced, piecing things together, little by little. The foresight. The calculated steps. The way he always seemed to anticipate what was coming. 

Gi-hun’s voice from earlier echoed in your mind. His recollection of a former player who turns out to be a part of the games, Oh Il-nam. And now, this.

The young guard who was too young to be here, and too familiar with In-ho. Your pulse pounded as you turned to In-ho, searching for an explanation, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes remained on the boy, and for a split second, you saw something there.

Some kind of recognition. Not surprise nor fear. Just… recognition.

A chill crawled down your spine. Your fingers curled tighter around your gun, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

But then, the young boy’s body fell from the ground, much to your surprise. Gunfire and chaos echoed through the corridors as the rebellion pushed forward, sweeping through the facility like a storm that couldn’t be contained. In-ho immediately turned to you and pulled you down, pressing you against the wall as you dodged.

There was no time to think. You felt In-ho’s body pressed against yours as he shot the guards out by the corridor. He bent down and hid behind the wall beside you, reloading his ammo. You took it as a signal to shoot as you and In-ho exchange shifts, shooting each guard one by one. 

——

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A/N: I got the next chapter ready already! Hahaha it was supposed to be a really long chapter but I decided to cut it from here instead. I'm so excited about the next chapters as they would rely solely on my imagination on the aftermath of Squid Game. I'm aiming to upload two chapters today so y'all better wait for that 👀 Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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Metal Gear Solid Moodboards (1/?) | Kazuhira “Kaz” Miller

“You’ve only got two options. Heaven, or Hell.”

Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain - Character Artworks

Do you ever get upset because of Soap MacTavish sometimes because I do

And then you and I will be enemies, too. One of us will have to kill the other. Fine by me.