Masked Officer: Standing on the dark floor, the images of eliminated players flicker off one by one. "Another one down. Efficient, but we need to speed up the clean-up."

The room buzzes with the hum of monitors and muted conversations from masked managers. The Officer strides towards the elevator.

The system scans his mask as he approaches.
System: "Identity confirmed."

The elevator doors slide open, and he steps in, selecting a floor. He ascends in silence, the dim red light of the elevator casting shadows across his mask.

He navigates the maze of pastel-colored stairs with ease, passing geometric arches and narrow corridors, eventually reaching his quarters.

Masked Officer: Sinks into the sofa, lighting a cigarette. "Always the same chaos, but this year feels different." He exhales a cloud of smoke, watching the monitor screens flicker with surveillance footage.

His phone buzzes. He picks up the receiver.
Masked Soldier #037: "Delivery team has collected the organs, sir. No interference from Number #011 this time."

Masked Officer: Leaning forward, stubbing out his cigarette in his beer glass. "Good. Keep an eye on her. I don’t trust compliance born of fear."

Masked Soldier #037: "Understood, sir."

He hangs up, his mind wandering back to the 33rd Squid Game.

Masked Officer: Thinking. "Player 111...a liability we let linger too long. And Jun-ho—he was too clever for his own good. But In-ho handled it. He always does."

he mutters to himself, recalling the words he once told Number #011.
Masked Officer: "The very first time I saw you, you were lying in that bed, like a zombie. I gave you a chance to start over. Don’t make me regret it."

He stares at the screens, the cigarette burning low in his hand.