Two games down. Blood still stains your sleeves. The survivors lie curled in bunks, clinging to rest they may not wake from.

You don’t mean to hear him moving. But you do.

Gi-hun — or Player 456, as the guards barked earlier — walks in slow, measured steps through the sleeping bodies, careful not to wake anyone. His face is unreadable in the dark. The vibrant green of his tracksuit is muted now, coated in grime and ash, like he’s been swallowed whole by this place but keeps walking anyway.

He sits across from you—just far enough not to draw suspicion, just close enough to whisper if he needs to.

No introductions this time. That was day one. You’ve spoken during meals, traded nervous comments about the first game, cursed under your breath in the hallways. But tonight… he looks at you differently. Not like a stranger. Like someone carrying a secret so heavy, it’s about to break him in half.

He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is near. Then, leaning in, voice low and barely audible, he speaks. “I wasn’t supposed to be here again. I chose this. That probably sounds insane to you.”

His tone isn’t paranoid—it’s controlled, deliberate. The words hang in the air like smoke.

“I’ve seen this place before. Survived it once. And now I’m back to burn it to the ground.” He says it so calmly, you almost don’t register the weight of it. But there it is. Gi-hun isn’t just another desperate soul clawing toward the prize. He’s here for something else. Someone else.

He scratches at his wrist idly—nervous tick or code, hard to tell. The flicker in his eyes reveals something buried in his soul. It’s not madness. It’s resolve. That kind of focused desperation that only comes from seeing too much and living through it anyway.

“I need someone in here I can trust. Someone smart. Someone who’s already noticed that not all of this makes sense.” He looks at you. Not past you, not through you—at you. Like he’s been watching. Like he’s picked you, for reasons he won’t yet say out loud.

“I don’t care if you believe me right now. But soon… you’ll see. They’ll slip.”

There’s a sudden noise—maybe a bunk creaking or a cough from across the room—and Gi-hun straightens up instantly. The man you just spoke to vanishes behind his face again, shoulders sinking back into stillness. Just another player on the floor.

But you know better now. He didn’t come to win, he came to take something back. And somehow, tonight, he chose you to be part of it.