Chapter Text
In-ho knew he was not invincible. Not even as the Front Man.
He wasn't the first one who stepped into the role and put on the mask. There were others before him, and there would be someone else taking his place when his time was over.
When you die, the voices — the whispering — in his head served as a constant reminder. After all, that was how In-ho earned the title. The mask. The one before him died, and the one before the One Before Him died too. That's how it works. And if he died — when you died...
(In-ho knew what he signed up for when he, after his wife and their unborn child died, returned to the island as a broken, grieving husband who'd lost his purpose in life; eventually the Front Man would die. That's how he puts down the mask. Danger and unpredictability had always been what kept the game going since day one. Part of the job. It was only a matter of time until something happened, all hell broke loose, and the Players took revenge against the one behind their doom.)
He never expected to retire and live the rest of his life in peace. Death is how you get out.
Then someone new would step in and take his place, put on the mask and sit on that chair and oversee the next game. The bottom line was that the game continued. It always did.
He had hoped to pass the torch over to Gi-hun when it was time.
(In-ho had, once or twice, pictured Jun-ho — his own brother and his own pride, even though he'd never said the latter out loud enough — behind the mask, but In-ho knew him; Jun-ho was nothing like In-ho, or the man In-ho had become, at least. Jun-ho was... too righteous.)
And while Gi-hun tried presenting himself as a man as righteous as Jun-ho was, In-ho knew... he saw a little too much of himself in Gi-hun. Gi-hun's attempt to be a hero only made him more like In-ho, even if he didn't know that.
In-ho remembered himself playing the hero, too. Just like Gi-hun. Back then. As a good and clean cop, before his wife died. He kept playing that role as a Player, didn't matter if he killed to win. A small sacrifice. He was saving his wife and their child. He was still the hero. Then he won, with hundreds of other Players' blood on his hands, yes, but he was still his family's hero, and then he returned home with the money for her surgery. That surgery that'd save her life and the life of their unborn child.
It was all too late.
In-ho realized then he was the furthest thing from a hero.
Gi-hun hadn't realized this yet, but he soon would. In-ho knew that. Because they were alike.
He'd spent the last years observing Gi-hun, preparing him for the responsibility. Welcoming him back in the game and disguising himself as Player 001 to get close to Gi-hun was a well crafted plan and In-ho was proud of himself for that.
He would make Gi-hun see. People were fundamentally bad. Greedy and selfish. And then he would pass on the mask. Then his job would be done.
That was the plan.
Things were going well until...
Until something happened. A sickness growing inside his chest. Not the same kind of sickness to which his late wife succumbed, but a sickness nonetheless. A rather shameful sickness.
Are you in love with me? Gi-hun had asked. When In-ho was vulnerable and defenseless. Take off your mask, and In-ho did. Following his archenemy's order like an obedient dog.
I love you, and I'm sorry for that.
Gi-hun did not call his name — his actual name — when In-ho left his room (his cell).
He hadn't gone to see Gi-hun again after that. Couldn't. The thoughts of being seen by Gi-hun and knowing that Gi-hun already knew. The secret In-ho hadn't figured out about himself until Gi-hun called him out for it.
Are you in love with me?
And In-ho had not been able to deny. Had been replaying their conversations in his head ever since. That he was aware of himself losing his focus (he still had the game to oversee, the remaining Players awaiting their next rounds), did not mean he could do anything about it.
I love you, and I'm sorry for that.
______________________________
He'd been distracted. Very obviously so.
He'd never been distracted. Never lost his focus.
Something changed. Something happened to him, and In-ho knew the danger, the cost of not being on high alert at all times.
He was paying that price.
Another riot broke out. Another coup. In-ho's another mistake (and he'd been keeping making mistakes ever since Gi-hun, the first one was developing feelings for him) was that he underestimated them, the remaining Players. Too busy being distracted. Too busy drowning himself in alcohol and his own pain, after his last conversation with Gi-hun.
It turned out, In-ho realized, the Players didn't need Gi-hun to lead them anymore. What Gi-hun started was enough, and now they were finishing that for him. They were able to continue what Gi-hun started because In-ho was distracted.
(He should have known better. The cost of losing his focus and making a mistake in his line of job was often deadly.)
The Players attacked when he and the Soldiers least expected them to attack. An ambush was more efficient than the first time. And this time they knew what they were up against.
"That cop and his team found us. They're here. Killed 20 of our men, possibly more as we speak," said The Officer, In-ho's right hand man. In-ho, with his mask on, grabbed the revolver, turning to the Officer and opening his mouth to deliver his next order. A damage control.
Words got stuck in his throat. He did not flinch, but the suddenness and how unexpected it was still caught him off guard, when a bullet pierced his right hand man's skull and he dropped to the ground with a single thud.
In-ho's gaze was on his body for a single second before he turned towards the door, where the attack came from.
"Drop the gun," Gi-hun barked, already pointing the rifle at him. Right. The other Players must have freed him from his cell. In-ho was too late.
His last conversation with Gi-hun made itself clear at the forefront of his mind again, despite how inappropriate the time and circumstances were, now that Gi-hun was looking at him. "Drop it now, In-ho."
In-ho weighted his options. He could try and shoot Gi-hun (but they both knew he wasn't going to kill him, couldn't actually kill him. Just like how you were unable to kill Jun-ho), it would most likely end in him dead instead. Gi-hun had every reason, the perfect opportunity, to gun him down and put an end to him once and for all. Or In-ho could... surrender.
There's nothing left to fight. The game will still go on without you, a little massacre won't end the system, but your job as the Front Man has reached the end of the line.
He wouldn't be the first to die as one. The Front Man. No matter what he ended up doing. Fighting or surrendering. In-ho could see only one way how this would end for him.
Death has always been the only way out for the Front Man.
Going down fighting was an honorable act. The right choice. What Il-nam would have expected him to do. And In-ho knew he would have chosen to fight until his very last breath, had it been... someone else. Someone that wasn't Gi-hun.
He'd always liked this game he played with Gi-hun. Not the game but their game. Taking turns hurting and trying to destroy each other had become his new purpose, and In-ho was not aware of that until being the Front Man was no longer his priority.
What was, was Gi-hun.
(The first insurgence may have been a result of Gi-hun's plan, but this, the second one, In-ho knew it happened solely because he was distracted.)
"I said drop the gun," Gi-hun raised his voice. His hands didn't shake as he aimed the gun at In-ho's chest, where his heart was.
Fighting or surrendering, you're dead just the same. Might as well go down with what's left of your dignity.
In-ho tightened the grip around his revolver. He hadn't exactly lifted his arm. Not exactly. He saw then, the way Gi-hun looked at him when Gi-hun saw In-ho's finger rest against the trigger.
It wasn't fear, the look on Gi-hun's face. It would have been easy for In-ho if Gi-hun was scared. Or angry.
Pain means they love you.
In-ho could never seem to shake from his head the pain he saw in Gi-hun's eyes the moment he lowered his mask during his visit to Gi-hun's cell that day.
Young-il?
My name is Hwang In-ho.
He used to think he fed on seeing Gi-hun suffer. His pain. Things changed.
What if Gi-hun is right and there is still humanity somewhere inside you? And wasn't In-ho, deep down, unconsciously rooting for Gi-hun to be right?
"In-ho, please," perhaps Gi-hun didn't mean to say that out loud (and In-ho still wasn't used to hearing his actual name from Gi-hun's mouth), but there was... so much pain in Gi-hun's voice. It pained In-ho, too.
"Put the gun down,"
Why does it matter? he wanted to ask. For some reason words refused to leave his mouth. If I'm going down fighting or surrendering. You'll kill me anyway.
And I don't blame you. I don't blame you at all. I'm only sorry that you're the one I love. In this fucked up world. I'm sorry that you're wrong, but people are not good. People are always fundamentally hungry for blood, and your killing me will prove me right. But it's okay. That's okay. I've been dead a very long time ago.
The last thing In-ho could do for Gi-hun, he supposed, was obey. He obeyed no one. Except his own archenemy. In-ho realized that now.
He slowly lowered the hand, placing the gun down and moving both his hands up where Gi-hun could see his palms. Gi-hun approached him, still holding him at gunpoint. He kicked In-ho's gun away without averting his eyes from In-ho. "On your knees. Now."
Another command. In-ho obeyed. Sinking down on his knees in front of Gi-hun, with his hands behind his head. He next felt the muzzle press against his forehead, on his mask that was very clearly not bulletproof, though his being paralyzed was not a result of fear. He wasn't scared of death. He'd been dead a very long time ago. This was... In-ho realized, his attempt to be good. For once. He wasn't asking for forgiveness or redemption. But he could, for once, be good. For Gi-hun. He could obey.
Gi-hun lowered the gun until it was pointing at his heart. In-ho didn't look up to meet his gaze, but the weight of it, Gi-hun's gaze, was heavier than his own looming demise.
"Tell me," came the voice above him. There was a crack in it. In-ho still didn't look up. "Does this remind you of anything?"
He knew exactly what Gi-hun was talking about. Look closely at the consequences of your little hero game. He would not say he regretted killing Jung-bae. There were a lot of terrible things In-ho had done that he didn't regret. Jung-bae had always been kind to him, yes, and he... appreciated that, but Jung-bae was getting in his way and In-ho did what he had to do. To get Gi-hun. He figured that meant he was a selfish, violent and cruel monster. He'd known that for a while now. He was a monster. Not born. Made. But a monster nonetheless. His only regret, In-ho supposed, was how things were between him and Gi-hun. Maybe, he even sometimes wished childishly, in another universe — a better world — there was no game, and he and Gi-hun were friends. Maybe they even were something more.
"Jung-bae," In-ho answered. After a long pause. Are you giving me the same fate I gave Jung-bae? It sounded fair, he thought. It was fair. And he must respect Gi-hun for that.
"You were a brother to him," Gi-hun said. "He cared about you."
"I took no joy in killing him," it was the truth. And if there was anybody who deserved to hear that, In-ho thought it should be Gi-hun.
"But you did it. You did it anyway because you were a sick, selfish bastard."
In-ho didn't look up, but he could tell Gi-hun was gritting his teeth as he spoke.
"Everybody is," he said. Not to taunt or piss Gi-hun of. In-ho was merely telling him the truth. "Selfish. Greedy. It's in human's nature, Gi-hun."
"No," Gi-hun said, "you're wrong."
"Look at me," despite his words, In-ho was the one tilting his head upward to meet Gi-hun's eyes. Gi-hun could not see In-ho. Or Young-il. Not with the Front Man mask shielding his face. But that was the point. Gi-hun needed to see him. Not as In-ho or Young-il but as the Front Man. "You trusted me, and that was your mistake. I am the proof that your belief, everything you stand for is wrong. You think there're good in people. You thought Young-il was a friend. In the end, your naivety caused you Jung-bae's life. Because people are selfish. Because I am selfish. I wanted you all for myself, and I did the only thing I knew. I took. Just like the rest of them. People will not stop taking, Gi-hun. The game will not stop just because I am dead."
"You know...," Gi-hun trailed off, "I would have pitied you. I would have... felt bad for you, In-ho. You're drowned in rage, hatred. Grief. But I can't... I can't feel bad for you, not after what you've done. You've turned your pain into a weapon, and you used that to hurt people. Innocent people. All those blood on your hands. Killing you may not stop the game, I realize that now. You're just a pawn. One of many. More people are going to die because of the game. Because of the system. But still... killing you will..."
"It will bring you peace," In-ho said, finishing what Gi-hun was struggling with getting past his gritted teeth. "Killing me will give justice to Jung-bae. And Sang-woo. And Sae-byeok." The shake of the gun in Gi-hun's hold, the trembling of Gi-hun's hands, did not go unnoticed. "I remember their names."
"That doesn't mean anything. Not when hundreds — thousands — of other people's blood are still on your hands. Even if you weren't the one who pulled the trigger. It doesn't make any difference."
"I know. I am not pleading for my life, Gi-hun. I know you have to do what you've got to do."
"What I've got to do?"
"It won't stop the game, but it will make you feel better." He could see Gi-hun's finger twitch, could tell Gi-hun was adding pressure against the trigger. This was the right thing for Gi-hun to do. It'd mean Gi-hun was wrong. People craved blood, and while Gi-hun was different in many other aspects, he was no different in that sense. But it was fine. In-ho wouldn't take off the mask. Gi-hun needed to kill the Front Man — that was the only way Gi-hun could get closure. The least In-ho could do for him now was keep the mask on.
He heard the gun cock and waited, preparing himself for the impact. A shot to the heart. Just like what happened to Jung-bae. Just like what you did to Jung-bae.
Behind his mask, In-ho didn't mean to close his eyes. He never flinched. And he wasn't afraid of death. Has been dead for a very long time. Gi-hun couldn't see his face, and he didn't know why... closing his eyes seemed like the only right thing for him to do. Surrender it all. His fight. His pride. In-ho kept his eyes closed and waited for the impact. The pain.
It never came.
He opened his eyes again. Gi-hun no longer aimed the gun at him. His rifle — the rifle he clearly seized from a guard — hung low by his side, its barrel pointed toward the floor. It confused In-ho.
"Gi-hun?"
"You're wrong, you know," Gi-hun said. "People don't crave blood, In-ho. I don't want your blood."
"Even after what I've done to you? To Jung-bae?"
"You may be a monster," Gi-hun's voice, cold, did not mirror the pain in his eyes. "But that doesn't mean I am one, too. Killing you won't make me feel better."
"Gi-hun —"
"I don't want you to die." The rawness in Gi-huh's voice... In-ho, for the first time, wanted to crawl away and hide with his tail between his legs. I don't want you to die.
A pause, then. "You still see Young-il, don't you?"
"Young-il was my friend. You may have been him, but you've also killed him."
"Wrong. I didn't kill him. Young-il never existed."
"Is that the lie you tell yourself, huh?" Gi-hun leaned down until his face was closer to the mask — the Front Man. "That he never existed to begin with. When you wrapped your arm around my shoulder when we were cheering together when a team made it to the finish line in time. When you defended me against Player 100. When you came to me in the middle of the night and opened up to me about your wife. When you changed your vote for me. When my name was the only name you called after we got separated when we were playing Mingle. When you gunned down your own men to save my life. When you looked at me when I gave you the last ammo. Now, take off your mask, look me in the eyes and tell me none of these exist."
"Gi —"
Something hit him on the side of his neck, silencing him mid word. He thought he heard a shot — though less like a bang and more like something piercing through the air — that followed less than half a second after the force. It didn't hurt. And for a moment In-ho was confused. He was still looking at Gi-hun's face, which only confused him more. Because Gi-hun didn't look like he was in pain anymore. All of a sudden, Gi-hun looked shocked. Terrified. Neither of which was making any sense.
In-ho blinked when he felt something wet and warm there, below his jaw, seeping out of his skin and soaking his suit. He opened his mouth to say something, ask what was going on. He couldn't get any words out. Not coherent ones, at least. But he saw next Gi-hun's mouth started moving in a frantic manner. Like he was shouting something. His name, In-ho realized, not because he could hear it but because he was reading Gi-hun's lips.
Gi-hun was shouting his name. Only that In-ho... couldn't hear him. Or anything. After that force. His hearing was nothing but ringings echoing in his ears. And all he could feel was that warm liquid that was seemingly oozing out of his throat.
He lifted up a hand and touched the spot next. All while seeing Gi-hun's fearful gaze follow his every movement (almost like Gi-hun was too afraid to blink, for some reason In-ho could not understand). His gloves were black, but In-ho could remove the hand and see his fingers covered in something darker — something he figured could only have been red, had it were to be against bare skin.
"In-ho," the ringings were slowly fading away, In-ho guessed. Because, while it sounded far away, he could now begin to hear Gi-hun's voice. His cry.
And then something gave. His knees. Gravity started pulling him sideway before In-ho realized, and when he tried staying up right — his body felt like a deadweight. His limbs something that wasn't his own, in the sense that he could not control them.
Gi- hun — Gi-hun caught him before his head could hit the floor. Suddenly Gi-hun was kneeling while he was lying on his side, with his head on Gi-hun's lap. The rifle previously in Gi-hun's hand long forgotten.
In-ho tried pressing his hand against the hole on his neck, but that warm liquid — his blood — was making the task challenging, it did not help that he was losing control of his muscles. His hand falling to his side, no matter how he tried to hold it there.
Someone else's hand was pressing firmly against the wound, and it wasn't until now that the pain began making itself known to In-ho's nerves. He may have tried, out of instinct, to squirm away when Gi-hun's touch sent white hot pain down his spine. But Gi-hun was an unyielding force, keeping his hand firmly against In-ho's neck, not choking but keeping as much blood inside In-ho's body as he could.
Above him In-ho heard shouting. Yelling. Gi-hun's voice and someone else's. It was a familiar voice though, the other. Their company. The one who, In-ho supposed, shot him in the neck.
"No, don't. Don't kill him."
"He killed Jung-bae. This son of a bitch killed Jung-bae."
"Killing him isn't the answer."
Another face came into In-ho's line of vision, then. He knew him. The ex marine. With his rifle — his own guard's rifle — pointed directly at his face. Gi-hun kept yelling at him to stop. Dae-ho, no. Don't.
In-ho was half aware of himself blinking slowly. Despite the commotion and his own consciousness — his life — beginning to fade away like a forgotten childhood memory, Gi-hun's hand never left his throat. He got a feeling he'd bleed out the second Gi-hun removed that hand.
"He tricked you. He'd been lying to you all this time. He killed — he —"
"I know. Please, put the gun away, Dae-ho. Killing him won't stop the game, and it won't bring Jung-bae back."
"I need to kill him for what he's done."
"No, you don't. You're not like him. We're not like him."
There were some other words being exchanged. In-ho could hear them, but he thought he was too out of it to understand what was being said. In the end, the gun was gone from his line of vision, and so was the ex marine. Then Gi-hun's eyes were on him again.
Gi-hun looked scared. He took off In-ho's mask with his free hand, and In-ho wished he hadn't done that. Gi-hun didn't need to see his dying face. In-ho could have died as the Front Man. With his face and emotions hidden behind the cold and emotionless mask. With the mask gone, he felt... exposed. Vulnerable. Which he knew didn't really make a difference when he was dying. Exposed and vulnerable.
Gi-hun was repeating something to his face. "Stay with me. God damnit, In-ho, don't you dare close your eyes."
Will you mourn me? he wanted to ask. The only sound that came out of his mouth now was a helpless gurgling.
Next thing he thought he heard a new set of heavy footsteps approaching.
"In-ho?"
In-ho recognized that voice. Not Gi-hun's or the ex marine's. But In-ho recognized that voice. No matter how long it'd been. No matter how... disoriented he became.
"In-ho!"
Suddenly his brother's face popped into his line of sight. Jun-ho. What is Jun-ho doing here? Maybe hallucination was a part of life when it reached its final moment, In-ho thought. Or maybe... he thought the Officer said something to him before he was shot dead, something about the cop and his team found us. They're here.
In-ho watched, blinking slowly, Jun-ho and Gi-hun talk. Words no longer registered to his ears. But both of them — Jun-ho and Gi-hun — they looked scared. In-ho knew them both well enough to know they wouldn't be scared for their own lives.
This was....
They're scared because you're dying.
Jun-ho was scared of losing him. Which didn't make any sense. Jun-ho had no reason to still care about him, not after what happened. The cliff. And Gi-hun...
The thoughts of Gi-hun being scared of losing him was even more absurd.
But Gi-hun's hand on his neck was soaked in his blood, and Gi-hun never let go. Keeping the pressure on and keeping him alive.
Jun-ho knelt next to Gi-hun, and In-ho could partly feel his hand being held. By who, he had an idea, but he couldn't exactly tell for sure. The pressure Gi-hun applied on his wound may be the only thing keeping him alive right now, but there was only so much Gi-hun's bare hand could do when the damage had already been done.
In-ho coughed and felt warm blood flooding the inside of his throat, his mouth, spilling past his lips and making its way down his chin, his front. Gasping and gurgling and choking on his own blood, In-ho's eyes remained fixated on Gi-hun and Jun-ho.
Having a man who was supposed to be his sworn enemy and another who was his own wayward brother as the last two faces he saw before he died might not be so bad, all things considered.
In-ho blinked slowly, looking up at both of them and knowing they were calling his name (it just sounded too far away now), he never allowed himself to actually acknowledge it, but deep down he guessed he always thought he was going to die alone. But if for some reason, he was lucky enough to have someone with him when he took his last breath, he'd rather it be Jun-ho. Or Gi-hun.
Jun-ho and Gi-hun were both here.
Closing his eyes, In-ho guessed... he guessed it meant his death was a lot more merciful than expected.