In other words, hold my hand

Episode 2

Hell

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ℍ𝔸ℕ𝔸 sat in the dimly lit room, the silence pressing down like a suffocating weight. The survivors—those who had made it through—were scattered across the benches and floor, their faces hollow, their bodies trembling. No one dared to speak. Not a cough, not even the clink of a shoe dared disturb the fragile stillness. It was as if the horror of the first game had stolen their voices along with their breath.

Hana lowered her gaze, staring at her hands. They trembled faintly, though she tried to steady them. She could still feel the phantom tug of the bleeding man who had clutched her ankle. She rubbed her palms together, as if she could wash away the memory, but when she lifted her hand to her cheek, the dried streak of blood on her fingertips was proof that none of this was a nightmare.

Then the lights above flickered, and the silence shattered.

The heavy iron door creaked open, spilling stark white light into the room. A tall figure stepped inside—the square-masked guard. Behind him marched eight triangle-masked soldiers, their rifles gleaming as they spread across the room in rigid formation.

The players scrambled to their feet in unison, Hana among them, her heart thudding as the door shut behind the guards, sealing them in once more.

"You have all made it through the first game," the square-masked man's voice boomed, flat and mechanical behind his mask. "Congratulations. You are moving on."

The words hung cold in the air.

One of the triangle guards tilted his head slightly, his visor reflecting the crowd as though searching for someone. Hana stilled. Though the mask gave away nothing, she felt it—that heavy, unseen gaze boring directly into her. She held it for only a breath before Joon-Seok's quiet exhale reached her ears, grounding her again.

The square-masked man raised a hand, and the massive monitor above them came alive. The numbers ticked down in merciless red: 456... 402... 350... 300... 250... 201.

"Out of 456 players," the man declared, "255 were eliminated. 201 successfully completed the first game."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the survivors. Some covered their mouths. Others looked ready to collapse. Hana stared up at the screen, her stomach twisting, her eyes wide as if the number itself were written in blood.

A voice cracked the silence—raw, trembling, desperate.

"Please, sir!"

All eyes turned. Player 212 stumbled forward, tears streaking down her cheeks. She fell to her knees, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. "Sir, I'm so sorry. I swear I'll pay what I owe. I'll pay it!" Her sobs shook her thin frame. "Please... I have a baby at home. They don't even have a birth certificate. I don't even have a name for my child. Please, let me leave!"

Her cries echoed, breaking something in the room.

Another voice rose—a man's this time, pleading, "Please. I'm begging you. Let me go. I'll find a way to pay it all, I swear."

And then another. And another.

Players dropped to their knees like dominoes, desperation overtaking fear, their voices tangled in the air, begging, bargaining, clawing for mercy. Hana's eyes flicked toward the triangle guard once more—he was still facing her, unmoving, as though his mask had locked onto her alone. Beneath the steel façade, she felt the weight of his gaze linger, almost protective, almost... dangerous.

The square-masked man raised his hand, silencing the chaos. His voice cut clean through the cries.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding," he said. "We are not here to hurt you or collect your debts." His tone was steady, void of empathy. "We are here to give you a chance."

A scoff rang out from Player 119, his voice shaking with fury. "A chance? We play some kids' games, and you shoot us down like dogs. That's the chance you're giving us?"

Murmurs rose again.

Player 271 stepped forward, his eyes glistening. "We may be in debt, sir... but that doesn't justify killing us all."

"This is just a game," the masked man replied, his voice unflinching.

A bitter laugh tore through the tension. Player 369 spat on the floor, his voice rough with grief. "Killing everyone out there was a game to you, huh?"

The square-masked man didn't waver. "They were simply eliminated for breaking the rules. If you follow the rules, you will leave this place safely... with the prize money we promised."

"Just keep your damn money! I don't care!" Player 066's voice cracked as he stumbled forward, his face streaked with tears. "Let me just go home. That's all I want!"

The words struck something in the others, and the room began to stir. Murmurs, rising at first in fragments—"He's right... let us leave... we can't do this"—until the air was thick with indistinct chatter.

"Let us leave!" someone shouted from the back.
"Let us go!" another voice added, desperate, breaking through the rising din.

The sound was swelling, becoming restless, angry, on the verge of chaos—until the square-masked man raised his voice.

"Consent form, Clause 1," he said, his tone sharp and cold. Instantly the chatter faltered. "A player is not allowed to stop playing."

The silence lasted only a breath before Player 119 scoffed, stepping forward. "Come on! You think you'll get away with this, huh?" He jabbed a finger toward the masked figures. His eyes were wide, feral with fear and rage. "The police will come. They'll bust in here any minute now. You hear me? They'll be here—since we all disappeared!"

A ripple ran through the players. Heads turned, hopeful, uneasy. Murmurs broke out again, louder this time, like a wave rolling across the room.

"Yeah!" another man shouted, emboldened. "I bet they've tracked everyone's phones already! You think you can hide this?"

"Look at us—all your hostages. You're doomed if you don't let us go!"

The room was tipping, chaos ready to erupt again. Voices overlapped, panic and fury building into something dangerous.

"You're all dead!" Player 119 screamed, his voice echoing.

The square-masked man moved before anyone could react. He pulled a sleek black handgun from his holster, raised it, and fired.

The deafening crack tore through the room.

The shot slammed into the wall above Player 119's head, showering him with plaster. Every player dropped instinctively, hands over their heads, screams swallowed into silence as the triangle-masked guards instantly levelled their rifles, barrels gleaming, sights aimed directly into the crowd.

The square-masked man lowered his gun slowly, the silence sharp enough to cut skin. His voice, when he spoke, was calm. Almost casual.

"Consent form, Clause 2," he said. "A player who refuses to play will be eliminated."

The words hung in the air like a blade.

Hana's heart hammered against her ribs. Her body moved before fear could root her still. She pushed herself to her feet, her voice steady but loud enough to carry.

"Consent form, Clause 3!" she called, the words slicing through the silence. All eyes turned toward her. Her pulse thundered, but she stood firm, meeting the masks without flinching. "If all of the players agree to stop playing, the games can be terminated. Isn't that right?"

For a moment, silence stretched. Then the square-masked man inclined his head.

"You are correct."

Hana nodded, her breath tight in her chest, but her voice did not waver. "Okay then. Let's all take a vote. If the majority wants to leave, we get to go home."

A hushed murmur rolled through the players. Hope sparked in their hollowed eyes, flickering uncertainly.

"You're correct," the masked man said. His tone remained steady, cold, as though they were discussing business rather than life and death. "We will take a vote to decide on the termination of the game."

The players stirred, standing slowly, their gazes flicking to one another. Hana's chest rose and fell quickly. She felt the weight of eyes on her—not the players this time, but one of the triangle-masked guards. His visor reflected the dim light, but Hana felt it—his gaze locked on her, sharper than the barrel of his gun.

The square-masked man raised a hand. "Before we vote, let me announce the prize money for the game, as previously promised."

He pulled a small remote from his coat and pressed a button.

The overhead lights cut out, plunging the room into shadow. A single spotlight snapped on above, drawing every pair of eyes upward.

A massive glass piggy bank descended, gleaming in the light. From the ceiling, a chute opened, spilling stacks of crisp bills into the transparent belly of the pig. The sound of money tumbling echoed like rain.

The players' gasps filled the air. The crowd turned, staring, hypnotized by the sight. Captivated like moths to a flame, their fear cracked under the gleam of wealth.

The masked man's voice carried over the spectacle.

"A total of 255 players were eliminated during the first game," he said. "One hundred million won is at stake per player. Therefore, 25.5 billion won of prize money has been accumulated so far."

Gasps and murmurs again—this time different. Hungrier.

"If you wish to give up on playing," he continued, "the 25.5 billion won will be sent to the bereaved families of the late players—100 million won each. However, you will all return home empty-handed."

Hana's lips parted, her throat tight. Empty-handed. After everything.

From the crowd, a woman's voice rose. "Excuse me?" Her tone trembled with equal parts awe and greed. "So then... if we complete all six games, how much do we get?"

The masked man turned his head toward her, unshaken.

"Since there were 456 players, the total prize money is 45.6 billion won."

The number hung in the air like a spell, sinking its hooks into every desperate soul in the room.

"And with that," the man said, his voice final, "we will now begin the voting."

︻芫═───

"As you can see, there are two buttons in front of you."

The square-masked man's voice echoed through the silent room, metallic and measured. Hana's eyes drifted to the narrow station ahead—two large buttons embedded into a steel desk: one glowing green, marked with an O, the other a deep red, marked with an X.

"If you wish to continue playing," the masked man continued, "press the green button with the O. If you wish to stop playing, press the red button with the X instead. After you finish voting, move to the other side of the white line and wait. Voting will be done in reverse order of the numbers on your chests. Player 456—please cast your vote."

Hana turned her gaze toward Gi-Hun, who stood motionless among the players. The room seemed to tighten around him—hundreds of eyes pressing in as he swallowed hard and stepped forward. Each of his footsteps echoed against the cold floor.

He stopped before the console, staring at the two buttons as if they might bite. The room held its breath. For a long moment, he didn't move—then, slowly, he raised his hand and pressed the red X.

A low tone sounded, and the large monitor flickered to life above them. A single mark appeared beneath the column for O.
X: 1.

Gi-Hun exhaled shakily and walked across the white line. The others watched him, a ripple of whispers passing through the crowd.

"Player 455, please cast your vote."

Hana felt her pulse quicken. For a brief second, her eyes flicked toward the guards—their black rifles glinting under the harsh light. Then, she stepped forward.

The voting station seemed larger up close, humming faintly, waiting. She stared at the two buttons. The green one almost seemed to pulse, tempting her with the promise of money—money that could pay her mother's hospital bills, the debts hanging over her life like a noose. The red one meant freedom... and the same hopeless struggle that waited outside.

Her fingers trembled before she reached out and pressed the X.

A click, then a soft beep.
X: 2.

Somewhere near the back, Joon-Seok exhaled quietly beneath his mask. The sound was small, almost imperceptible—but in that heartbeat of relief, his grip on his rifle loosened.

The masked man called out the next number, and the process continued. One by one, players stepped forward, the room filling with the low electronic hum of votes being cast. With every press, the tension wound tighter.

Hana watched the numbers climb on the board.
O: 4.
X: 6.
O: 12.
O: 19.
O: 30.

The side for "Continue Playing" began to surge ahead. Murmurs grew restless; hope and panic danced uneasily between the players.

When Player 212 finished voting, she brushed past the others, muttering under her breath. That was when a voice shouted from the far side.

"Have you all gone crazy? We have to leave! We can't keep putting up with this insanity!"

The voice cracked with desperation, echoing off the metal walls.

Player 212 turned sharply. "And what if we leave? What actually changes?" she snapped. "It's just as bad out there as it is in here, dumbass."

Her words cut through the room. Heads turned, some nodding, others glaring.

"She's right!" Player 322 added, stepping forward. "If we stop right now, that only helps the ones who are dead. They'll get a hundred million won each, not us. We made it through! They're out! That money is ours!"

A hush fell, heavy and uncomfortable.

Then, Player 369 spoke, his voice trembling. "Please... think about what just happened out there." His eyes darted toward the floor, where blood still stained the fabric of their shoes. "Come on. Let's go."

Hana's chest tightened. She wanted to agree. She wanted to believe leaving meant safety. But in her mind flashed her mother—lying in the hospital bed, weak and pale—and the red FINAL NOTICE stamped on her overdue rent envelope.

Before she could think, Player 322's voice rose again, breaking the silence. "Where am I supposed to go, huh?" His voice cracked into something hollow. "Out there, I don't stand a chance. I do in here. No—no, I've got nothing out there. Come on, let's finish this thing! I'd rather stay and keep on trying in here than go back to the bullshit out there!"

He grabbed his head in his hands, shaking, on the edge of breaking.

Player 119 lunged at him, seizing his jacket. "You jerk! You got some kind of death wish? Go die alone! Don't drag everybody else into this, you little shit!"

Player 322 shoved him back, both shouting over each other, the sound of fear and rage clashing in every syllable.

"What the hell are you doing?"
"Who are you to decide for us—"

Click.

The metallic cock of a rifle froze them both.

A triangle-masked guard stood just a few steps away, the muzzle of his gun inches from their heads. His voice, when it came, was calm and mechanical.

"We will not condone any act that impedes this democratic process."

The two men went still, hands raised, their anger dissolving into terror.

"Now," the square-masked man said, his tone even colder than before, "let us resume and continue voting."

The crowd quieted. Hana's eyes lifted toward the monitor.

O: 52
X: 50

Her heart sank.

The game was balancing on a knife's edge.

And somewhere across the room, Joon-Seok's hand tightened around his rifle again—because if the next vote tipped the scales, they would all be trapped inside the nightmare he already knew too well.

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By: SilverMist707