The Light That Binds Us-Hwang Inho

Rae-a paced the perimeter of the room, her sharp gaze darting from corner to corner as she searched for any potential exits or vulnerabilities. Her steps were calculated, each one a deliberate attempt to uncover something the others had missed. The vastness of the room, with its towering walls and endless rows of bunks, felt oppressive, as if designed to crush any thoughts of escape. Yet, Rae-a's determination refused to waver.

Her hands grazed the edges of the bunks, the cold metal biting against her fingertips. No windows. No loose panels. Only a few well-placed cameras. Even the vents were small and out of reach. It was as if the room itself was alive, its silence taunting her.

The other players, however, were anything but silent. Chatter filled the air, rising and falling in chaotic waves. Groups had already begun to form, alliances forged from desperation and familiarity. Rae-a observed them all, her analytical mind noting the dynamics. There were the loud ones, boisterous and overconfident; the quiet ones, shrinking into themselves; and the opportunists, their eyes scanning the room as intently as hers.

It didn't take long for her to catch a few stares. One came from a hulking man who approached her with a smirk that seemed to stretch too far across his face. "Hey," he drawled, his voice deep and grating. "Name's Thanos. What's yours?"

Rae-a scoffed, her lips curling in disdain as she sidestepped him. "Not interested," she muttered, her tone cold enough to freeze the air between them. She left him standing there, his smirk faltering, as she continued her exploration.

Among the players, a few stood out. Player 456, an older man with a wiry frame, exuded a strange mix of desperation and determination. Rae-a's eyes lingered on him momentarily, intrigued by the way he carried himself—as if he were both out of place and exactly where he needed to be. Another was Player 120, a tall woman whose presence drew more glares than attention. Rae-a quickly noticed why: whispers followed her, cruel and pointed. "Why is he dressed like a woman?" someone hissed, as if it were an insult.

Rae-a's jaw tightened. She'd seen this kind of treatment before, and it sickened her. When the opportunity arose, she approached 120 with deliberate intent. "You're standing too close to the edge," Rae-a said bluntly, nodding toward the bunk where 120 leaned. "Makes it easier for them to push you off."

120 looked up, startled, before offering a small smile. "Thanks for the advice."

Rae-a's response was a curt nod. "Don't give them the satisfaction."

Before they could say more, a loud, synchronized clatter echoed through the room. Rae-a turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as a line of soldiers marched in. Their formation was precise, almost militaristic, and the sight sent a ripple of unease through her. She glanced at 120, who was watching them with equal wariness.

"Military training," Rae-a muttered under her breath.

120 nodded. "Yeah."

The soldiers stopped in a perfect line, their presence commanding the room. Their polished masks reflected the harsh fluorescent lights, hiding any trace of humanity beneath. A voice boomed over the intercom, sterile and cold, welcoming them to the game. The words seemed rehearsed, almost robotic, but the impact was undeniable. 

"All of you in this room carry crippling debts, standing at the edge of a cliff," the square-masked man announced, his tone cold and deliberate. The room remained silent, the weight of his words pressing down on every player. No one dared to speak or move.

"When we first approached you, you didn't trust us. That was expected. But as you've already seen, we kept our promise—rewarding you with money after playing a simple game. It was this trust that led you to willingly join us here, of your own accord."

Rae-a remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the masked man, her mind sharp and analytical. She didn't trust this man, nor does she trust the situation, but she's here. The reasoning behind that trust—voluntary or not—felt bitter in her chest.

"You now have one final chance to decide," the man continued. "Do you want to keep living as trash, drowning in debt, running from creditors? Or will you seize this opportunity we've offered?"

The lights dimmed suddenly, drawing everyone's attention upward. Rae-a, like the others, instinctively looked as a warm, golden glow fills the room.

From the ceiling, a golden piggy bank was slowly lowered, the polished surface shimmering under the dimmed lights.

"This is the piggy bank where your prize money will be stored," the man explained, his voice steady. "With every game you play, the prize money will accumulate here."

Rae-a's sharp eyes swept across the room, noting the awe on the players' faces. She felt the tension rise, the heavy silence thickened by desperation and greed.

"How much is the prize money?" someone called out, breaking the silence.

Rae-a pinpointed the voice—dark curly hair, black-rimmed glasses. He's stood a few paces away. Player 007.

"The total prize money for these games is 45.6 billion won," the square-masked man replied. The announcement rippled through the room, shattering the silence with murmurs of shock and excitement. Even Rae-a raised her eyebrows, wondering where the sum came from. It was certainly more than enough to life off.

"One of us will win it all?" the curly-haired man pressed.

The masked man offered a clipped response. "Details about the distribution of the prize money will be shared after the first game. However, these games will include a new rule—a special advantage."

"What kind of advantage?" Player 100 asked.

"You will have the opportunity to vote after each game. If the majority decides to end the games, all players can leave with the accumulated prize money."

The room buzzed with cautious optimism. Rae-a felt the atmosphere shift, hope sparking where fear had taken root.

Before the murmurs settled, the square-masked man gestures, and several masked guards enter the room. Without a word, they positioned large screens on the walls, and the lights dim further as a projection begins.

Onscreen, players are shown playing ddakji—frantic, tense scenes of slapping the paper tiles to flip the opponent's. Rae-a watched closely, recognizing some of the faces in the videos—players who had stood silently beside her moments ago. Their desperation in these clips mirrored the tension now saturating the room.

"This is how you were selected to participate," the square-masked man explained. "Each of you proved your willingness to compete for money and your capability to handle the pressure of a game."

Rae-a's her pulse quickened. A knot tightened in her chest as her mind raced. They must have footage of everyone—except me. Her jaw clenched slightly, and she forced herself to maintain a neutral expression.

Her thoughts shifted briefly to the woman she had stepped in for. Rae-a wondered if she, too, was recruited this way, coaxed into playing ddakji for cash before being swept into this nightmare. Rae-a had taken her place at the last moment, circumventing the recruitment process entirely. She studied the masked guards, searching for any indication that they've noticed. Have they realized there's no record of me playing their game? If they've noticed, why haven't they said anything?

"Wait—" a louder voice cut through her thoughts, drawing her attention to a man nearby.

Rae-a glanced over and sees him—the one who stood out during the introductions, Player 456. There's a haunted look in his eyes as he stepped forward, moving down a few stairs.

"You're saying..." His voice wavered slightly, a mix of disbelief and something heavier—heartbreak. Rae-a studied him carefully, sensing there's more behind his reaction than mere curiosity.

"...we'll still get the money even if we leave after the first game?"

The masked man nodded without hesitation. "That is correct."

Player 456 halted, turning to look back at the others behind him. Rae-a caught a glimpse of his expression, and for a moment, she wondered what brought him here—what's driving him to cling so desperately to this twisted chance.

Rae-a remained silent, her focus unbroken as she studied the soldiers. Their posture, the deliberate timing of their movements—it was all too practiced, too professional. These weren't mere actors. They were trained operatives.

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The transition to the Red Light, Green Light arena felt like a cruel contrast to the gut-wrenching reality that had been slowly sinking in. The vibrant colors of the playground, the childlike décor, everything about it screamed innocence, but Rae-a could feel the palpable tension hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. Players shifted uncomfortably, some trying to mask their fear with weak smiles, others fidgeting as if their nerves were at war with the rules that had been set.

As her eyes scanned the area, Rae-a noticed the cameras—their lenses gleaming ominously in the light, capturing every moment. They were everywhere. Strategically placed to ensure there was no place to hide. The rules were explained, but the words felt hollow. She wasn't listening to the explanations anymore; her mind was racing, trying to piece together what this game truly was. There was something fundamentally wrong here, something she couldn't shake off. It wasn't just the stakes—no, it was the system. The organized chaos. It felt too much like something she'd seen before, but she couldn't place it. Yet.

Her instincts flared when 456 spoke.

"If you lose, you die."

His words cut through the uneasy murmurs like a blade through fog. There was no hesitation in his voice, no humor. It was a statement of truth. Rae-a looked at him—really looked at him—sensing the conviction in his eyes. The desperation mixed with determination. This wasn't a joke. He wasn't a clown trying to lighten the mood. He was dead serious. And the chilling reality that followed in his wake was unavoidable.

Rae-a's gaze shifted across the sea of players. The nervous chuckles that followed 456's words were nothing more than a façade, a defense mechanism against the horrifying truth. But Rae-a wasn't laughing. She wasn't even blinking. The weight of the situation pressed down on her chest, and without missing a beat, she spoke, her voice low and steady.

"He's being serious."

Her words, though quiet, were absolute. She wasn't trying to comfort anyone. She wasn't here to be anyone's friend. Her eyes met those of a few players who had looked her way. Most were skeptical, dismissing her words aside from Hyun-ju. It didn't matter. Rae-a's focus wasn't on them. It was on survival. It was on the game, and what it promised: death.

The first shot rang out.

The sound shattered the tense silence that had fallen over the group. It was like a snap, sharp and unyielding. Rae-a's eyes darkened as the first scream echoed through the air, the sound of agony that would haunt anyone who heard it. The panic spread like wildfire. People scattered in every direction, some tripping over each other in their desperation to flee. The sight of one man's body crumpling to the ground, a bullet wound ending his life, sent a ripple of fear through the crowd. Rae-a didn't flinch. Rae-a didn't move. Her eyes narrowed, mind working rapidly as she calculated every possible outcome, every movement. Her years of training, her survival instincts, kicked in as if they had been waiting for this moment.

She watched the players around her, trying to make sense of the chaos as they ran for cover, panicked and uncoordinated, but all ending in the same result, death. Some of them didn't even seem to know why they were running—just that they had to escape, as if their lives depended on it.

And then she saw it.

A player behind her, clearly more afraid than the rest, lunged forward, shoving Rae-a with a violent desperation. The movement was sudden, and she had no time to see his face—only the raw fear behind the motion. But Rae-a's reaction was swift. Without even thinking, she subtly deflected the push, sidestepping with a fluid, practiced movement that left the man stumbling to the ground in front of her. She didn't even break stride.

But it was enough.

"Red Light!"

The man had broken the cardinal rule. He moved. And in that moment, as he tried to regain his footing, another shot rang out, cutting his efforts—and his life—short. Rae-a's jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. She didn't have the luxury of feeling sorry for him. His desperation had cost him. She couldn't afford to be like him, panicked and reckless.

The next few seconds felt like an eternity, with the looming threat of death hanging over every player. Rae-a pushed forward, each step deliberate, each breath controlled. Her mind was a singular focus: survival.

As the "Green Light" command came again, the players resumed their frenzied movement toward the finish line. Rae-a's body moved with precision, each step calculated, avoiding the same reckless rush that had led others to their demise. She wasn't running—she was walking, moving with the rhythm of the game, her every motion measured. She saw 456 ahead of her, still trying to steady the panic-stricken players around him. His frantic cries for them to stop moving seemed to fall on deaf ears as others continued to dash forward, fear overwhelming their sense of logic.

Her attention shifted back to the finish line, and she picked up her pace, realizing she was near the front now, with only a few others ahead of her. The end was in sight, but the tension still lingered, thick and oppressive.

And then, as Rae-a neared the line, she saw a familiar face—456. The man was still trying to help the others, but it wasn't just him anymore. 120, another player, had joined in. Together, they were supporting a man, barely able to stand, but alive. The trio moved with determination, inching closer to the line.

Rae-a didn't hesitate. She rushed forward, her hands steady as she helped pull the man upright, supporting him as they reached the finish line together. Her mind never stopped calculating, never stopped processing the danger. She knew they weren't safe yet—there were too many variables at play.

But just as they crossed the line, the man collapsed, unable to go further. Before Rae-a could react, a single, sharp shot rang out. The man's cries cut off abruptly, and Rae-a felt her stomach churn.

She looked up at the shooter, her expression unreadable except for the fire in her eyes. It wasn't fear. It was fury.

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In the control room, the Frontman watched the scene unfold. His gaze lingered on Player 089, her defiance standing out even among the chaos as she glares up to the guards in a seething rage.

"That's her?" he asked a square guard.

The guard nodded. "The one who broke the van window trying to escape."

The Frontman's intrigue deepened. He flipped through her file, his brow furrowing. The information was sparse, the demographics incomplete. Something about her didn't add up.

"Who is she?" he murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing as he replayed the moment her expression changed during the first shot. It wasn't fear. It was something far more dangerous.

And he intended to find out why she was here.