[inspired by nobody's soldier by Crow__Quill on AO3]

The bitter tang of the hallways stung your nostrils, a cruel reminder of the sterile, manufactured world you were now trapped in. Each echoing footstep, each hiss of the ventilation system, was a metronome marking the seconds of your confinement. Two pink soldiers, faceless and identical, practically dragged you down the corridor. You wanted to wrench yourself free, to prove you could still stand, still fight, but your body screamed in protest with every shaky step. The Front Man. Just the thought of him sent a fresh tremor of rage and despair down your spine. He had known, hadn't he? Known you wouldn’t be able to abandon the others, known you would claw your way back into this twisted game. And he’d used it against you, twisting your need to protect into a weapon.

Now, instead of fighting on the arena, you wore the same pink jumpsuit as the guards. The irony was a bitter pill. You were supposed to be a savior, a beacon of hope. Instead, you were just another cog in the machine, another masked face enforcing the rules of a game designed to crush souls. As the pink soldiers steered you towards the staff dorms, you saw him. Or rather, the frontman Hwang in-ho or as you knew him young il

He wore a black outfit, clad head to toe in pink, his face obscured by the black mask. Yet, something about his posture, the way he held himself, radiated a cold, controlled intensity that set him apart. Even beneath the anonymity of the uniform, you felt his gaze on you, a silent, piercing assessment. He watched as you struggled to find your footing, as the pain etched itself onto your face. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers. But your voice was lost in the suffocating reality of your situation. You were a soldier now, a prisoner of your own making. This soldier... he lingered near you, always just at the periphery of your vision. You caught glimpses of him during your shifts, standing silently waiting for you as your shift ended