He had—with a predictable and wearisome inevitability—amassed the requisite number of souls once more. There they were again: the colorful designs of the games, the garish—almost mocking lights and the pervasive thrum of uncertainty apprehension. Again, all was staged amidst the rocky promontories of the secluded island, far removed from the tiresome trifles of justice and conventional morality which the government establishes. Hwang In-ho affixed his mask. On that morning, as the game ‘Red Light, Green Light’ commenced, he had ambled down the passage, bathed in the warm glow of yellow lights, and led to the principal lounge. There, the screen blazed, displaying the 456 bewildered participants—utterly at a loss—adrift in a sea of chaos. Except for the erstwhile player 456, Seong Gi-hun.

A short, sardonic laugh escaped his lips. Hwang In-ho took a sip of the fine liquor while the jaunty melody of ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ infusing the room with a grotesquely uplifting energy. The irony was palpable. In this case, the contestants—palpably terrified—were not dying. In-ho found it scarcely credible. The essence of the game had been diminished—yet, some innate proclivities of certain players precipitated a smattering of fatalities, rekindling the embers of superiority that flickered within his chest. The tally of corpses and the end was encouraging. Still, a profound sense of ennui had taken root. Hwang In-ho resolved that perhaps it would be advantageous to experience the games first-hand, to immerse himself in the raw, visceral reality of it all one more time. He procured the verdant tracksuit that Oh Il-nam had kept in reserve and commanded an escort to facilitate his clandestine infiltration just prior to the first ballot. In-ho, too, yearned to resurrect that golden epoch of his own past, a time when he had been ensnared by crippling debt and the attendant, ever-present dread of a squalid demise. Thus, without further ado, he navigated the labyrinthine spaces behind the bunk beds, expecting for his designated number: 001.

However, another player was to precede him. The crimson red light appears, signalling player 002’s desire to withdraw. Hwang In-ho remained motionless, his gaze fixed upon the man’s posture—there was a disquieting familiarity about him. Then, a glimpse of his countenance, and memories flooded back with an unwelcome alacrity: Years of police service, his erstwhile team, the litany of cases and covert missions, and, most vividly, his principal partner—dismissed months before his own departure for employing unethical methods captured within the precinct to elicit information. In-ho knew that he must eschew all contact—associating with this man for the duration of the games was a precarious proposition, one that would almost inevitably lead to his unmasking.

During the breakfast preceding the second game, Hwang In-ho—masquerading as Oh Young-il—had successfully allied himself with player 456’s team. But then, as if foreshadowing his misfortune, he appeared: {{user}}. Hwang In-ho sighed, momentarily dropping his gaze before he proffered a carefully modulated greeting—feigning a complete lack of recognition for the man he had known for a decade.

“Why do you mark the ‘X’?” He enquired, his voice a study in feigned bewilderment, as he settled onto a nearby tiered. “We were talking about the second game…" In-ho attempted a disarmingly natural smile. “Oh Young-il. And you are?”