Choosing differently

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Gone? What do you mean she's on business?" Gi Hun said, looking at Jun Ho with a raised eyebrow. The rain kept pouring, soaking his clothes and making him shiver slightly. The relentless downpour blurred the city lights, casting a somber glow around them. Gi Hun's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of information he had.

Jun Ho's face was a mix of frustration and worry. His usually composed demeanor was cracking under the weight of his concern. "Her location is off... She doesn't answer my calls, my texts, or anything. She also got a card. Like my brother's. I found it in her drawer," he said, holding up two identical cards. The cards were slightly crumpled, the edges worn from being handled with anxious fingers.

Gi Hun's eyes widened slightly as he looked at the cards, thinking back to his own. The distinctive design, the ominous feeling it had given him when he first saw it. Where was it, anyway? He couldn't remember. His mind flashed back to the moment he received it, the strange encounter that had led to so much chaos. The cards in Jun Ho's hand seemed to pulse with a menacing energy, a reminder of the danger that lurked behind their innocuous "She doesn't answer her phone while traveling. She comes back fine every time. My sister probably took that from me anyways," Gi Hun said dismissively, though he had the card before he last saw her. He was a bit oblivious, not reading into the signs that something might be seriously wrong. The rain continued its relentless assault, drumming on the pavement and creating small rivers that flowed around their feet. Gi Hun's clothes clung to his body, the cold seeping into his bones, but he tried to shake off the growing unease.

Jun Ho's expression turned to one of desperation. His eyes were wide, and his voice trembled with urgency. "Gi Hun, this isn't just a business trip. Something's wrong. My brother went missing the same way. They both got these cards, and now they're gone." He held up the cards again, his hand shaking slightly. The cards seemed to hold an ominous power, a connection to a sinister force that had already claimed too many lives.

Gi Hun sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him like the rain-soaked air. He didn't want to get involved, but he couldn't ignore the fear in Jun Ho's eyes. The desperation was palpable, cutting through Gi Hun's dismissive attitude like a knife. He shut the gate with a heavy clank and walked inside, trying to push the troubling thoughts away. The house was dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the turmoil outside.

He mumbled to himself, trying to convince himself that his sister was fine. "She's fine. She always comes back. She always does." His voice was barely audible, drowned out by the relentless rain pounding against house.

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With the Frontman

The frontman sat on his luxurious leather couch, the dim lighting casting shadows across the room. A glass of champagne rested in his gloved hand, and his mask, a symbol of his authority, remained firmly in place. Two square guards entered the room, their presence imposing as they clutched their guns close to their bodies. The tension was palpable as they approached, stopping at either end of the couch.

"Sir, how may we be of service?" one of the guards inquired, his voice steady but respectful.

The room was filled with the soft, melodic strains of "Fly Me to the Moon," the song's gentle hum creating an eerie contrast to the tense atmosphere. The frontman didn't bother to acknowledge the guards with a glance. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

"I would like you to keep a close eye on guard 013," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. He adjusted his glove with a deliberate motion, the leather creaking softly.

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. The frontman continued, "You can tell a couple of other guards as well. I don't want guard 013 anywhere near the game room. Do we have that clear?" His tone left no room for negotiation; it was a demand, not a request.

The guards exchanged a brief glance, understanding the gravity of the order. They nodded in unison, their postures rigid and attentive. The frontman's unwavering stare remained fixed ahead, his mind clearly calculating the next steps in his intricate game of power and control. The frontman did what he wanted with no questions rarely being asked. His word was law, and his commands were executed without hesitation.

"Her brother is in the games," he stated with a cold, calculated precision. "Do anything in your power to make sure she doesn't find out."

His voice was rough, carrying the weight of absolute authority. The guards stood at attention, absorbing the gravity of his words. They knew that failure was not an option, and the consequences of disobedience were severe.

"You can be dismissed," he added, his tone brooking no argument.

The guards nodded sharply and exited the room without a word, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished floor. As they shut the door behind them, the frontman remained seated, the soft strains of "Fly Me to the Moon" continuing to play in the background. His mind was already moving to the next piece of his intricate puzzle, each decision meticulously planned and executed with ruthless efficiency.

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Doona had been given different tasks lately, which was strange for her; she usually handled the killings of players. Her usual haunt was the players' room, but for some reason, she hadn't been there at all recently. Instead, she had been given strict instructions not to engage in her usual duties. Instead, she was assigned other jobs, such as delivering food to other guards and helping prepare the food for the next game, which was Dalgona.

She found herself spending more time with the square guards, a sign that she might be on the verge of moving up a rank. This realization made her extremely cautious, ensuring she was on her best behavior. Emotionless. Guarded. She couldn't afford to make a single mistake.

At this moment, she was standing outside the frontman's room with two square guards, all of them armed. The room was eerily quiet, the only sounds breaking the silence were the occasional gunshots from downstairs, where players were engrossed in their deadly games. The tension was palpable, each shot a stark reminder of the stakes involved. Doona stood still, her face a mask of indifference, her mind focused on the task at hand, knowing that any lapse could cost her dearly. The players who came back are fools. She hasn't even seen any of them this year, but she knows it's just like the last. Doona has become unfazed by the sound of a shot; this place has made her... different. Two years ago, when she first arrived, she was shaking as a circle guard, collecting the bodies. Now, she has become someone else. Not Doona.

The sound of at least nine or ten guns going off, blasting down the hallway, echoing and hitting metal, almost makes her jump. The frontman swings open the door, wearing his black mask as per usual with his suit, signaling them to follow him. He walks quickly towards the room down the steps. All the guards in the hallway stop to let him pass as they follow him into the room with blue wallpaper adorned with clouds and various equipment you would see at a park. And blood. Blood everywhere. On the walls, the floor, even the slide.

How many players remained? The scene is chaotic, a stark contrast to the eerily quiet hallway. Doona's eyes scan the room, taking in the carnage. The frontman moves with purpose, unbothered by the gruesome sight. She follows closely, her mind racing yet her face betraying no emotion. Doona holds her gun tightly, following right behind as all the guards move out of the way, most of them triangle like her. The Frontman pulls out his black gun and shoots a guard who didn't have a mask on. She watches, clutching her gun tightly, standing behind the Frontman with the other two square guards. "Remember, once they find out who you are, you die," he says, his voice deep with his changer. No one in the room moves; all the guards stand still. The Frontman turns around and walks out, and she follows, as do the other guards. Circle guards start to come in with caskets for the bodies.

The tension in the air is palpable, each step echoing in the silence that follows the Frontman's words. Doona's grip on her gun tightens even more, her knuckles turning white. The scene is almost surreal, the playground equipment now a backdrop to a grim tableau of death and duty. The circle guards move with practiced efficiency, their faces hidden behind masks, as they begin the grim task of collecting the bodies. Little did she know, Jun Ho was just in the same room as her.