Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nobody on the team could believe they had pulled it off. But they were sailing away from the island successfully. The culmination of the immense dedication and efforts of hundreds of special agents and medical professionals, all working together to take down the underground murder trials. With the information And experience from Hwang Junho, they were able to stay hidden for long enough to rescue many of the players and shut down the games. 

The first few days of the raid had been quiet. The operators back on the mainland: communication specialists, strategists, field operations support officers, they were all listening in as their undercover agents spread out throughout the massive island compound. Not just detailing every room and protocol, but successfully extracting players deemed dead by the guards. Hidden in their red uniforms and their freaky masks, they had played pretend ever since intruding on the day of the mingle game. 

The team was huge, and as a result it was An incredible challenge to stay undetected in the middle of loads of real guards working for the twisted system they were investigating. As much as the manpower was important, lifting, dragging, carrying both the dead and the living— brainpower was just as important if not more. They had to think through every single move they made with great intricacy, following the strict direction of those back at base on land. It was a test of strength and willpower. It took more than anybody could imagine to stand back and let the games continue while they collected the information they needed. When it was finally time to reveal themselves during the jump rope game, the entire team was more than ready to get the hell out of there. 

Two ships left the island that night. One carrying the players, and the other carrying the now detained staff of the games. Both were packed full of agents, tending to the victims and keeping the perpetrators from struggling or fighting back. Both vessels are a sight to see. The players look past the eyes of the agents, refuse to answer questions, can’t really. They’re all traumatized, hurt, some even grieving new friends and old loved ones alike. It’s heavy, and the agents nearly cheer when the flickering lights of the mainland come into view over the water. The other ship’s staff is equally happy to reach port of course, having grown exhausted of the childish behaviour of the killers cuffed in their extensive brig floor. Brats. Murderous, senseless, remorseless brats. That’s all that could be said about them for now. 

When the ships both finally come in, they make sure to make port with some space between them. It is done deliberately so that when they are being ushered off, the guards can’t see the players and vice versa. The mainland team behind the operation is waiting at the harbour when the ships arrive. Red and blue lights flash from numerous emergency vehicles. Ambulances prepared for the injured, fire trucks, police cars. When they lower the ramp, the first priority is to tend to those who had been stabbed or shot. The undercover team had been equipped with many medical professionals and the tools they needed to save people in a tight spot, but those who were hanging on by a thread needed the paramedics, the hospital. Proper medicine. Some needed a proper OR. 

One officer in particular watches as the injured players are sent to various vehicles. Some carried, some carried on stretchers, some strapped to stretchers, some limping, and some seemingly fine aside from the haunted facial expressions. The officer rubs at her neck, sighs, and waits for things to settle so that she can begin asking questions. She looks down at her watch and sees that it has been just over an hour of loading off the injured. Some of the emergency vehicles have sped off with players inside, others have simply shut the back doors while the paramedics assess the situation. 

After the injured comes the dead. They load the unimaginable number of dead people away with a solemn and massive body removal team. A handful of funeral homes had to be contacted to utilize their removal services along with the police to get these people identified and the families notified. It was a scene out of a nightmare, the sheer amount of them. Dead away from home, across the sea, confused and terrified and having had to fight for their lives in a twisted glimpse of childhood. The officer looks at the ground until the dead are dealt with. Until they have moved onto removing the players well enough to speak to from the ship. 

There aren’t nearly as many of them. The dead far outnumber the living, and most of those who did survive are now on their way to the hospital. The officer is now left with a ragtag group of survivors, blood all over them and all of their eyes wide and horrified. Some of them are actually injured as well. The officer could only assume based on the lack of urgency, that these injuries must be of a lower priority. Sprained ankles and the like. She is quickly proved correct when she sees a young lady limp by with a purpling lower leg, swollen and painful. The officer scrunches up her face, overwhelmed with empathy for the girl as she is prompted by the paramedics to sit in an ambulance. 

Things have finally calmed down enough for conversation to begin. The officer first decides to reach out to a fellow team member she knew. One who had been present for the raid. A job she is frankly extremely grateful she hadn’t taken up. 

“How many were they able to save from the maze?” The officer asks her friend, who has a grim expression on his face. The strategists here tried to keep the entire team informed about what was going on there. Descriptions of the games and other such  important details for their work, but the officer didn’t know any more than that. The maze had sounded brutal. A giant game of deadly hide and seek tag. 

“Very few,” He responds. She nods and grips the notepad in her hand. “Most of their stab wounds were just too severe. We got to some of them in time, but the majority of the injured didn’t make it.” 

“And the jump rope game?” She prods again. Her friend looks more upbeat at this question. 

“They just barely got to start it when we finally got the go ahead to reveal the operation,” The officer says, as he itches at his beard. Then he throws a thumb over his shoulder at a disturbed looking individual sitting in the back of one of the many open ambulances. 

The person has a bob sort of hairstyle, and his face and clothes are splattered with blood. He is gripping a gleaming silver cross necklace with both hands. A paramedic is leaning into his personal space and seemingly having problems getting him to answer their check-up questions. The victim doesn’t seem to even really recognize that there is a person talking to them at all. This should be interesting then. 

“That guy was the only one to fall before we shut it all down. We moved quickly and spread out the net. Caught the guy from a pretty gruesome fuckin’ end,” The officer’s friend tells her. Both of them now looking over at the victim. “He got seriously lucky.”

“You would have just had to watch him fall if they hadn’t queued you to help?” The officer asks. Her agent friend gives her a frown. 

“We had no choice,” He admits. “If we wanted this whole thing to be a success, we couldn’t act early. We had to wait until we had men in the control rooms.”

”That meant sacrificing people?” The officer asks, gripping her notepad with a burning sensation licking up under her skin. 

“Just go talk to him while you have the chance. They’re gonna want to get these people to safe places pretty fast, here,” The agent waves her off, clearly much too exhausted to deal with any moral puzzle. She sighs and nods, heading over to the victim with the cross. 

The man stares down at the cross, digs a short fingernail into the crevices of the designs on top of it. He picks at it, frustratedly, teeth gritted, eyes wide and hair unruly. He looks a complete disaster. The officer calls over an equally important worker for this person to talk to. The prosecutor. There’ll be many of them on these cases, of course. But it’s a start.

The nearby firefighters are nice enough to set out some lawn chairs for them to sit on while they talk to this guy, who dangles his legs over the edge of the ambulance. Swinging them back and forth like he hasn’t just been rescued from a series of death games. 

“Hello Sir,” The officer greets. The man does not look up from the cross. “I’m in victim services, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.” 

The officer waits patiently for any sort of response. She does not get one. She tries again.

”This is one of the prosecutors that will likely be working on this case. She’ll be looking into what happened to you all over on that island, okay?” The officer says, gesturing to the prosecutor, who nods. The victim glances up.

”We were on an island..” The man says, in what the officer supposes is a question. It comes out more like a mumble. 

“Yes. Surely you remember you boarded a ship?” The officer prompts.

”Yeah but..” the man trails off and starts picking at the cross again. 

“Sir?” The prosecutor asks, trying to get his attention again. 

”I’m going to prison now?” The man asks, flatly. And it's then that the agent realizes he’s actually shaking. Shaking hard, like- fully trembling. Not scaredy trembles but a real health signal. 

“What? No.” The prosecutor tells him, before the officer can ask about the shaking. Probably good to address that first. “You’re not going to prison. We’re here to help you.” 

“Did you tell the paramedics what sort of pain you’re dealing with?” The officer asks, gently. It is a major part of her job to assess the immediate needs of the victim, of course. 

“Why am I not going to prison?” The victim asks. It’s a strange question. And maybe the agents that had been on-site a during the games would know why the victim is asking such a question, but the officer does not. She frowns. 

The prosecutor runs a hand through her hair. The officer scribbles down a quick note about survivor’s guilt resources. 

“Hold on, let's start over,” The officer decides. The prosecutor gives her a weird look. The victim is looking at the cross again. “Can you tell me your name?” 

“Namgyu,” Namgyu says, his hair hanging over his face, eyes squinting down at the cross. He looks angry.

”Namgyu. Great. Namgyu can you tell me-“ The officer starts. 

“Told him so many times. So many times. He got it wrong. Said it so many times his ears must have bled, I swear,” Namgyu rambles, picking at the cross with his nails again. His eyes, dark and wide, glisten with the ever growing buildup of unshed tears. He speaks entirely through his teeth, still shaking like a leaf. 

“Namgyu can you tell me if you need any pain medication at the moment? Are you in pain?” The officer asks. “We can’t help if you don’t tell us. Did you tell that paramedic what was wrong?” 

“You won’t arrest me?” Namgyu asks, still not looking up from the cross. A particularly violent tremble makes him kick. 

“We won’t and can’t arrest you,” The prosecutor confirms. “Were you given a substance? Is that why you’re worried?” 

“Nothing you were given in there is going to get you in trouble. We just want to help you, Namgyu,” The officer tries. And this reassurance seems to make some difference. 

Namgyu looks up at them, only moving his pupils and not his head, still tilted down towards the cross. He seems to think on it for a moment, still shaking.

“It’s withdrawals, yeah,” Namgyu tells them. 

“You’re sober?” The officer asks. 

Namgyu looks as though he does not appreciate that question.

“Where is Minsu? Where is that fucking worm? You need to tell me. He’s the reason I’m like this,” Namgyu spits out, dropping the cross. It swings back into his chest, knocking around a bit, the chain holding it in place right in front of the 2 in 124. The number is not only spread across his t-shirt, but also on the back and front of his sweater. All of the players had been given these numbered tracksuits. And all of them were covered in blood. Namgyu was not an exception, in fact, he may be one of the bloodiest of all. (And there were many that had multiple stab wounds, so that was saying something.)

“Hey hey, calm down. It’s nobody’s fault except the people who did this to you. We’re handling it. You’re okay now. You’re safe,” The officer tells him, reaching forward to try and see if contact would help. She intends to place a firm hand on his shoulder. He instead jerks away like she is going to shoot him. His eyes grow wide, the tears from before threaten to slip down his cheeks. He raises an arm over his face, a bracelet slides down from his wrist. She backs up and sits back down in the lawn chair. 

“You don’t get it,” He whispers, enraged. He lowers his arm. 

“I’m certain I don’t,” The officer agrees, with a short nod. The prosecutor looks between them, concerned. 

“Why don’t I grab some water for you, Namgyu?” The prosecutor suggests. “I’ll ask around and see what else might help those withdrawal symptoms.”

And she gets up and circles around to the front of the ambulance to speak to the paramedics. Leaving the officer alone. 

“So you were given a substance. Do you know what it was? Or are we misunderstanding? Were you a user before your kidnapping?” The officer asks. 

“Yes,” Namgyu tells her. 

“What would you use?” She continues, trying to be as casual about it as she can, looking down at her own notes instead of at him. Pencilling in many new ones as he begins to list. 

”Ecstasy, Ketamine, Heroine, others,” He rattles off. “I don’t know what I had in there, though.” 

The officer looks up from the notepad. He doesn't look sheepish or anything. Just angry and sad and out of it. 

“The withdrawals you’re experiencing right now are not a result of your substance use before the games then? You had an unknown substance within the confines of the games for the first time?” The officer asks, the question is extra specific just to be sure. Namgyu nods. 

”Keep up, lady, jesus,” He tells her. She shouldn’t be offended by this guy who is obviously in a bad state, but for some reason she still is. She watches as he itches up and down his arms, wrenching up the sleeves on either side of the unzipped track sweater to do so. 

“Who gave you the substance. And in what form?” The officer continues. Namgyu locks eyes with her and stares. Hard. 

“He’s gone so it doesn’t matter,” Namgyu tells her. “I won’t tell you.” 

The officer stares back. 

“Listen, I’m not trying to get anybody you love in trouble. If you happen to know one of the guards, whoever gave you this-“ 

“He wasn’t a guard! Wh- Do you know what you’re dealing with?!” Namgyu snaps, eyes wide and sparkling with angry tears. 

“Admittedly, no. We’re rushing through protocols right now trying to administer immediate care to COUNTLESS victims,” The officer explains. And she knows she shouldn’t be making excuses to the person who had just come from an overnight camp from hell— but it comes out of her mouth regardless. “Many of the people who will help you heal will never understand what you went through.” 

“You don’t need to talk to me like I’m an idiot. I’m so tired of being treated like a fucking idiot,” Namgyu drops his head into his hands, groans and gnaws his teeth together. He’s sweating so badly that it’s beading on his face and mixing with the dried blood. 

“I apologize,” The officer responds, quickly. She is throwing this whole interaction like a game of chess against her little brother. “Listen Namgyu. I’m just trying to start with figuring out if you are okay right now. In this moment. Do you need something else to deal with the withdrawals?” 

“What else could you possibly give me aside from water?!” Namgyu questions, fists clenched. The officer leans back in her lawn chair. “I don’t know what I took, so I don’t know what could help. And the only guy who knew is dead.”

“I’m thinking you should have been sent to the hospital with the injured. They should find out if something is still in your system,” The officer says. “Or they could help you with medical detox.” 

“No shit?” Namgyu mocks. 

“Do you feel like you’re almost over it or do you want me to send this ambulance to urgent care?” The officer asks. “Actually, can you tell me how long it’s been since you took a.. were they pills?” 

“I’m not going to the fucking hospital,” Namgyu tells her. The officer has a feeling that Namgyu will in fact be going to the hospital later tonight. She takes a deep breath. 

“Okay. I’ll ask one more time and then I’ll drop it, can you tell me what form the drug was in and how you got it?” The officer questions. Namgyu scoffs, his eyes still watery. 

“I- I don’t understand!” He says. “There was so much killing in there and you’re asking me about the fucking drugs? Don’t you have better shit to investigate?” 

“I’m not a detective, Namgyu. I’m here to help you specifically. I’m here to make a plan to assist you through recovery,” The officer says. 

“Are you saying if I don’t chill the fuck out you’re gonna put ‘psych ward’ in that plan?” Namgyu asks her. The officer almost laughs. 

“That’s not- no. No,” The officer shakes her head. “You are dealing with withdrawal sickness, you’re in shock, there are going to be long lasting effects of this experience. I’m here to determine what the best path is for you. Whether that’s a specific type of therapy or- whatever else you may need. Do you understand?” 

“And the prosecutor?” Namgyu asks. 

“They’ll be working on the case against the people who kidnapped you. She was not here to gain information to detain you,” The officer says. Namgyu’s shoulders seem to settle just a little bit. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” 

“That’s why you shouldn’t be asking me questions,” Namgyu tells her. “Until you know what the hell we just came from, you can’t know what I need.” 

“I’m not- I’m not arguing with you. That’s not what I’m here to do,” The officer says, taken aback. 

“I’m hearing a lot about what you’re here to do, and no sign of you actually doing it,” Namgyu says, kicking again with a shiver. A lot more sass than the officer usually deals with in these post-trauma interviews. “When do you give me clean clothes and- a fucking- I don’t know a fucking baby wipe? I’m covered in dead people.” 

“We’re.. right now resources are scarce, there are a lot of you,” The officer explains. She tried to ignore the fact that Namgyu is absolutely right. That he is practically shining with the blood plastered all over him. 

“Clearly. She ran off to get water a goddamn year ago now,” Namgyu points out. And the officer opens her mouth to respond, and does not find a convenient answer for that. 

“I- I’m sure she’ll be back very soon. And I assure you this whole thing will be over soon as well. Further questions about the experience will have to be asked at a later date. Our main concern is to make sure you are currently well,” The officer says. 

“Okay I’m fucking well! Let me go home and shower,” Namgyu says, shaking again. 

“They caught you with a net. Did you feel anything hurt with that fall? Anything you think may have been twisted or sprained? Any head pain?” 

“No. The fall didn’t hurt,” Namgyu says, sharply.

”And the impact that threw you off the bridge? You’re sure your ankles aren’t hurt? No bruising on your side?” The officer questions. 

“No.” Namgyu says, even sharper. The officer is certain that he’s lying, but it’s not as though she has a truth serum to administer. And it’s more than likely that he will be a lot more willing to accept help even as soon as the morning. Right now, literally fresh off the boat, he must be simply too overwhelmed. 

“Alright. Alright then.” The officer flips a page of her notebook. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling? What kind of emotions you might be dealing with at the moment?” 

“Are you fucking for real?” Namgyu asks her, a bitter expression on his blood-sprinkled face. “I’m not talking feelings.” 

“Just a one word answer is fine, Namgyu. Sad? Angry, maybe? You seem angry.” 

“I am angry. Of course I’m fucking angry. I did all of it for nothing,” Namgyu says. “I stayed for him and he died.”

”Stayed for who?” The officer asks. ”Christ?” 

Namgyu looks at her, with the most appalled look on his face. His eyes squinted with disbelief, his mouth open and jaw pulled back, almost with disgust. He scoffs, laughs a little. 

“What?” He asks.

“Well you seem so attached to your necklace. I thought maybe you pulled through this traumatizing experience for your love of Jesus,” The officer says, and as Namgyu continues to stare at her, almost like he wants to hurt her, she keeps talking. “I realize that must have been the wrong assumption.”

”Uh, yeah. Yeah. The wrong fucking- Are you serious? What kind of- ugh.” Namgyu looks back down at his necklace. ”No it’s. It belonged to a guy I knew.” 

The officer leans forward at the softer tone.

”This person was a friend?” The officer asks.

”Mm,” Namgyu confirms.

”Another player or someone from the outside?” The officer tilts her head.

”Both,” Namgyu responds. The officer nods, scribbling a plethora of information into her notes.

”So there were some of you that were accompanied into these games by people you knew from real life? You weren’t all strangers?” The officer asks.

”I’m not the best example,” Namgyu says. “There was a mom and son in there. Crazy shit. Pregnant girl too.” 

“Pregnant.. my goodness..” The officer says, as she continues to write. 

“And, I apologize for this next question— but, this person. The guy who gave you the cross. Did you see him die?” The officer asks.

”Yes. I saw fucking everybody die. Everyone is dead. We killed each other or got killed by the guards.” Namgyu tells her. There is a stunned silence for a moment or two, and suddenly, the prosecutor comes jogging around the corner. Her suit tie billows in the wind. 

“Here. So sorry for the wait. Somebody over there has a fucking baby,” The prosecutor says, wiping sweat from her forehead. She hands a water bottle to Namgyu. Namgyu snatches it and does not say thank you. 

“Why were you dealing with the baby? You’re a prosecutor,” Namgyu says flatly as he unscrews the bottle cap. 

“I stopped to ask a few questions,” The prosecutor says. 

“To the baby?” Namgyu snorts, raising the bottle to his lips. The prosecutor bristles. 

“If you’re feeling a little more settled with the water, I’d like to ask you a few things about your attackers,” The prosecutor says, grabbing Namgyu’s attention back to the point of their conversation. Namgyu doesn’t give them the go ahead. Only shivers. 

“Were you held at gunpoint anytime prior to the first game?” The prosecutor questions. Namgyu has to think for a moment. The officer lets her jaw open and close a few times at the bluntness of the question. 

“Mm no. I think they wanted it to be a secret. It was fun and weird at first,” Namgyu tells her, shockingly honest. “After that we were threatened many times. Last night I was thrown to the ground and they pointed the gun at my head.” 

“Okay, yes. And after the first game were you automatically given the opportunity to vote?” The prosecutor asks. The officer is furiously writing in her notepad. 

“… no? I think the one guy asked them to make us vote,” Namgyu says. 

“The one guy. Who’s the one guy?” The prosecutor asks. 

“456. Ask him all your questions he’ll have way fucking better answers. Guy said he won the games once already,” Namgyu tells them, suppressing a large shiver. He rubs at his arms again, and shuts his eyes tight. The prosecutor sits there for a moment with her jaw open. 

“A- alright. We’ll try with him. But can you tell me here first-“ 

“Okay. Namgyu. Thank you for answering those difficult questions. Let’s get back to your immediate care.” The officer says. 

“Wait I wasn’t-“ The prosecutor tries. The officer glares at her. Namgyu resumes his shaking and itching and picking at the cross. 

The officer proceeds to have him fill out a few different forms. She gets his full information that allows them to look him up and find if he has an emergency contact, insurance info, address. Everything they may need in order to send him to a detox team. With the state he is in currently mentally, there doesn’t seem to be many kinder options. The officer knows this man will not be happy to be sent to the hospital, but it will only be for a night. They’ll do some checks and perhaps give him Clonidine or something like that to lessen his symptoms. After that, the officer will come ask some more questions and determine if Namgyu will need to go through a more profound clinical evaluation. 

“What. What’s going on?” Namgyu asks, when they gesture for him to lay on the gurney. “What?” 

“It’ll just be a check. It’s not safe or ethical for us to send you off home without knowing what’s in your system,” The officer explains. “You’ll be much more comfortable with specialized care for tonight. And the hospital is much closer than your apartment.” 

“Are you fucking with me?!” Namgyu sits up in the gurney as the paramedics grab hold of either of his wrists, another attempting to calm him, hands out like a hiker subduing a mountain lion. “I said I’m not going to the hospital! I’m a fucking heroine addict I know how to deal with a few hours of withdrawal sickness! You LET ME GO-“ 

Namgyu’s writhing and wriggling quickly turns into hysterical kicks and swings. He tries and fails to escape from the ambulance with a team of paramedics holding him down. Whatever he believes he is capable of handling is clearly stronger than he thinks it is. Or at least, its hold on his mind and body after the high are stronger than he thinks. The officer bites her lip and sighs as the ambulance doors close over a still struggling Namgyu. She’ll see how he’s doing the next day. 

The rest of the night is spent asking similar questions to a handful of other victims. There are many workers just like her asking the same questions and making similar plans for the victims they are assigned. Since Namgyu is out of her hands for the moment, the officer makes herself helpful by aiding in the conversations with various others. She speaks to a woman by the name of Hyunju, who appears to have an impressive military history. She speaks calmly and answers the questions with great detail. She is a strong soul. It’s a palette cleanser after the less than great interaction with Namgyu. 

Hyunju is a stabbing survivor who had been pulled out by the undercover rescue team after the second to last game that was played. The hide and seek maze game. She had been stabbed in the back by a fellow player, and saved just in the nick of time by the immensely impressive medical personnel in the undercover team. She Is in recovery at the moment, in decent condition. And the officer couldn’t be more impressed with her ability to answer questions and provide great first hand insight in such duress. She was already helping the legal team build up the case in massive ways, right after escaping a nightmare. Not many of the other players were ready to share their experiences this way just yet. But, to be fair, many of them were on life support. 

The officer hears a lot of different horrific recounts throughout the night, and after a short rest in a hotel, it’s time to visit Namgyu in the morning. She first stops by to speak with the hospital staff that had been helping him since the previous night. They quickly handed her a few reports and gave their personal recounts of his behaviour and his improvement. They also provided her with the results of a mental health evaluation that had been done once he was more grounded later in the night. It was. Not great. 

The conversation with his new care team lasted quite a while as they tried to find a good plan for Namgyu, and after cross referencing with other victim services officers working with players, they finally came to agreement. The next step was visiting Namgyu and informing him of his next move. 

“You did this,” Namgyu squints as she walks in. The accusation, however true, is not what she expects upon entering. 

Namgyu’s hands are strapped down to the railings of the hospital bed. Likely a precaution taken after his tantrum the night previous. An understandable tantrum, considering the circumstances. And maybe it's actually quite unprofessional to refer to it as a tantrum at all, regardless of it being in her inner monologue or not. Curiously, Namgyu does not seem to have recognized the state of his hands. Or if he has, he hasn’t made it clear. 

“My job? Yes,” the officer says with a small smile. It’s cheeky, but she thinks this guy might appreciate that sort of thing over dramatic politeness. This is proven correct when he scoffs and looks down at the hospital sheets. The shaking seems to have lessened almost to nothing. And, maybe it’s the white bright hospital lights, but the sweating seems to have mellowed as well. 

“You seem to be doing better,” The officer says. “You understand this was to help you.” 

“How am I going to pay for some fucking uppity withdrawal treatment? I’ve been losing my mind here all night,” Namgyu says, eyes steely and serious. “I can’t enjoy feeling slightly better because I’m going to be drowning In bills. You know all of us ended up there because we’re hopeless worthless brokies, right? You trying to put me on the street?” 

“You don’t need to worry about that. This case is extremely important, incredibly elaborate, with so many victims. They are determined to provide massive financial aid throughout the recovery process for all of you,” The officer says. The cross sits next to the hospital bed, on a small table. “The games existing and luring people in for this long undetected, unlinked to any of the missing persons cases they caused— it’s at the very least a massive negligence issue in policing. I’m hearing lots of talk about making this right.” 

“I don’t-“ Namgyu shakes his head, annoyed. He shakes again like last night, this time not with sickness, but with anger. “I don’t fucking care. They’ll pay for this shit?” 

He gestured to the machines around him. The officer sighs. 

“Yes. I’m trying to say it’s not just going to be a relief fund. This is huge. You are one of many people who were wronged here not only by your perpetrators but by the system that allowed it all to happen under its nose,” The officer says. 

“Stop, stop it,” Namgyu tells her. “I really don’t care.” 

“Alright. You had a bit of a fit last night. Do you remember?” The officer asks. 

“Yes I fucking remember. Keep asking these demented fucking questions,” Namgyu threatens. The officer raises a brow. Namgyu thrashes in the bed and she takes a step back, mildly shaken. Namgyu laughs shortly. 

“You think I’m kidding. You don’t know what I’ve seen. What I’ve done. In under a week. I’m not trying to be mysterious or— or- fucking- scary, or threatening. I’m being honest,” Namgyu says. And his voice has a tremor, it shivers and wavers. His wrists shake as he speaks. “It was torture like you’ll never ever know. I feel it all. Forever.” 

His eyes are wide. The officer stares, but her expression is soft. She doesn’t want to provoke him, she knows he must be feeling some complex emotions. Many likely about the way he acted in the games as well. Not just as a person forced into a game that involves killing, but as a person in that situation on drugs they’ve never done before. 

“I don’t doubt it for a second. You can believe that I’m clueless all you want, but everybody who is working to help you has been adequately informed of the conditions you were surviving in. You need help. I’m part of that. That is all. This was the right thing. You look physically healthier,” The officer tells him. Namgyu flattens his mouth into a line. 

“You shouldn’t be trying to help me. You should’ve all let me fall, actually,” Namgyu tells her. “If you’d seen me in the previous game, you wouldn’t have bothered trying to catch me.” 

The officer stops and waits for a moment. Huh? But they HAD been there the day before. Does Namgyu think the undercover crew had just arrived when jump rope began? 

“The crew was there since just after the mingle game,” The officer informs him. “They saw whatever you’re thinking would’ve stopped them from saving you. And I can guarantee you that there are many others who were playing the game the same as you were.” 

“What?” Namgyu asks, eyes shooting up to meet her. He looks like he expects a gotcha moment. She only blinks back at him. “You all were in there since then? And only stepped in three days later?” 

“I was not a part of the team dispatched to the island, but I can confirm that the undercover group arrived the evening following the mingle game,” The officer nods. Namgyu stares. He is a stark streak of pale skin and black hair against the white hospital bed. His bloody clothes are no more, and the dried splatters of days-old deaths are gone from his face. The hospital gown he wears almost makes him appear ghostly. His stare is wild and frightening. 

“You watched so many people croak. You watched us kill each other. You watched him- my friend- You watched me play god,” Namgyu mutters to himself, not breaking his gaze away from the officer. The officer sucks in air through her teeth. 

”No. We watched your kidnappers play god. You all were forced to act out their fantasy world. Don’t pretend you would have happily done the things you did in there— out here. It’s not good to let it blend into your real life this way. But you can tackle that in the future in a proper therapy group. Which leads me to-“

”Stop- stop stop stop, stop rambling to me,” Namgyu says, going so far as to cover his ears with both hands. He squints his eyes shut and brings his knees up beneath the starchy hospital sheets. “You don’t know anything.” 

“Namgyu, your care team and I have decided the best course of action is for you to be placed in a mental health clinic,” The officer says. “We found one that is well suited to you and a few of your peers who went through the same experience.” 

“What? Hold on- what?! What? You’re sending me to a fucking insane asylum? Like I said yesterday?” Namgyu questions, rhetorically, utter disbelief crawling across his face in the form of a red flush. 

“It is not an asylum, nor is it for the ‘insane.’ It’ll only be a trial period, to see how you fare. If the specialists believe that you are well enough to reenter the world after a week, they’ll most certainly discharge you,” The officer explains, stiffly. 

”A fucking week?!” Namgyu echoes. “That’s longer than I spent in the games.”

“i understand your concerns, but i assure you that-“ 

“I can’t fucking believe this. First the hospital now— I mean- you’re sending me right back into an unfamiliar place full of twin beds. You think that's gonna be helpful?” Namgyu scowls. His voice getting louder with every word. The officer can practically feel the presence of nosy nurses listening in through the door. 

But actually, it's a good point. If the psych ward has rooms that resemble the room the players were kept in, it will likely be the opposite of helpful. The officer will be sure to check in on that and make sure the living areas are warm and comfortable. The officer doesn’t get to voice any of this, because Namgyu is too busy raging.

Namgyu attempts to raise an arm up, likely to make some big gesture to emphasize his anger. Instead, the bed rattles, and he looks down with furrowed brows to see that he is strapped to the hospital bed. He loses it. 

“Are you fucking joking?!” He shouts, shaking his wrists and subsequently the entire bed. He kicks as well, beneath the sheets. “This is fucking crazy! I’m going to fucking- i swear to god when i get out of this- i-” 

The rage fit does not help his case, and the doctors end up rushing in to settle him down. He’s knocked out just as the officer backs up to the doorway. Namgyu is halfway through a threat about knifing her when his chin bumps down onto his collar bone, his whole body sliding down as consciousness escapes. The officer frowns and heads off to call about the bed situation. 

It hadn’t taken long to decide on the right clinic. There is a psych center in the nearby university hospital that multiple of the game victims will be sent to. After a bit of asking around and verifying regulations, they decide that this will be where Namgyu will need to spend at least the next week. And after some extra poking around for the added comfort of the former players, the officer is certain that the bed area will be nothing like that of the island. She had seen a couple still images from security cameras, the hundreds of metal beds stacked nearly to the ceiling, all decorated with thin ratty blankets. It had looked cold and unwelcoming at best. Blood splatters all over the floor, strange paintings on the walls, white office lighting. The psych ward will have cozy plush duvets, warm yellow lights, large windows and an outdoor area, anything a former prisoner would wish for. Namgyu will likely have the healing week of his life. It will no doubt be even more comfortable than his apartment. 

At least, the officer tells herself this. 

The time of release will depend on how Namgyu does in the facility. There will be regular check ins from the officer, as his assigned victim services provider. And hopefully in no time he will be right to move on to outpatient therapy. It seems as though the drugs were not spread across many players, only a select few. Those few will all be treated at the same location, with a team that understands the situation thoroughly enough to provide proper care. 

The officer is sure that a week in the psych center will do Namgyu a lot of good. And if he needs to stay after that, such is life. After such an extreme situation, nothing can be predicted or expected of a survivor. The unique circumstances require unique care plans and the ability to adapt. It is also possible that Namgyu will get through a couple days in the facility only for staff to determine that he is safe to reenter daily life. They will find out soon. 

Chapter Text

        The nurse wasn’t allowed to know too much. Apparently whatever hell the new patients came from was very big and very classified for the time being. Even to workers like himself who had to tend to the after effects of said classified hell. 

       It is a very busy morning in the psych center when they all arrive. Each in different emergency vehicles, with seperate care teams from the hospital, and victim services officers as well. Usually their ward takes on only a select couple dozen patients at a time. Because the number of spaces in the center is so small, and the length of the stay is often dependent on the individual, the arrival and departure of patients almost never occurs on the same day. 

       That is to say: having to check in three new patients and keep them all apart from each other is next to nightmarish. It’s a lot of running around, a lot of reorganizing, and in this specific case— a lot of catering to the needs of these peculiar patients with their mysterious background. 

      Despite not knowing the details of their kidnapping, the staff is given the knowledge that it was in fact a kidnapping of some sort. They are told the basics. They were held for a week and the conditions were not good. As such, the center has to be made to look nothing like the place they were kept. Which, if the nurse is honest, was a little strange to hear. What kind of kidnapper provides his victims with individual beds? The victim services officers were very specific about that part. Do not allow them to sleep in a room with many twin beds close together. And no bunk beds. Okay then? 

      As basic of a request that might seem, it is not easy to meet. All of the rooms in the ward could be described that way. Twin beds close together. They are warm and cozy, of course, but twin beds in close proximity nonetheless. This does not meet the standards required for these patients, so two rooms are promptly transformed. 

      The nurse had spent almost the entirety of the morning running back and forth rearranging furniture to adhere to this temporary standard. One room will house two new patients, and the other room will house only one. They don’t have many small rooms suitable for only one or two people, so they need to first move around patients that had previously been occupying them. 

       Switching patients to new rooms is always hard enough, as usually they are used to their current surroundings. Happy where they are and therefore uncomfortable with the change. Not to mention their belongings, clean bedding, cleaned out dresser, all of this is important in moving someone out and prepping a room to be lived in by someone new. And of course, you can’t forget the deep cleaning. It only becomes harder when it is on a timeline. The three patients arrive only hours apart, all on the same day, with very little notice. It might be the busiest day of the nurse’s life. 

        From what he is told during the check in process, the two who are sharing the room are not to be introduced to each other until it is necessary. The nurse is told that it’s possible they interacted negatively during their kidnapping, and they will not be happy to share the space. Because they are not sure how this meeting will go, the shared room has been split with multiple divider screens and curtains. Hopefully this visual privacy will suffice for their short stay. 

        The third patient is lucky enough to have his own private room. It is tiny, but it is absolutely nothing like the description of the room they were held in during their kidnapping. According to the victim services officers, it had been massive, cold, full of bunk beds, and windowless. This is the exact opposite. As previously stated, the room is tiny. On top of that, the walls are pink, a nice warm colour. There is only one bed, and there is a large (locked) window to let the sunlight in. The patient that gets the private room is being rewarded for his apparently less than excellent behaviour on the way from the scene to the hospital. It was said that he had more violent tendencies following the kidnapping than the other two patients being checked in. 

While it may not be immediately helpful for the violent new patient to be alone, it is only what is most safe for now for the others living in the ward. 

         The nurse had just finished reporting to the head nurse on the preparations when the first patient arrived. Flanked by ward staff and their victim services officer, the purple-haired man is led easily up to the check-in counter. The process is relatively fast given that a lot of it had been prepared In advance for him. 

         To the nurse’s surprise, there are bandages around this patient’s neck. All the way up to just beneath his ears, covering what must be multiple wounds. The patient also pointedly does not speak at all. Makes no noises whatsoever. There must have been something that happened to his throat. In a place like this, having a voice is important. The nurse hopes that this patient will be okay with communicating some other way. If not, this is going to be an interesting week. 

“Hey there,” The nurse says, once the patient is guided to him. The patient gives him an unimpressed look, and makes no effort to respond in any way. Obviously the nurse was not expecting any verbal reply, but a wave would be nice. He should be used to the coldness of new patients by now. People who come here only come here because they are struggling. And this man has fresh wounds both physically and beyond. ”I’ll be the nurse regularly checking with you during your stay.”

The nurse waits a moment, gives the patient another opportunity to make some move of communication. The patient nay stares, eyelids droopy like he couldnt care less. The nurse clears his throat and gestures to the hallway.

”Let’s go ahead and get you settled in your room, yeah?” The nurse suggests. And they start walking down the hallway, the patient at the nurse’s side. When the nurse glances to the side, it almost seems like the patient is saving face in the admittedly awkward branded pyjamas by walking with both thumbs resting in the waistband of the pants. A makeshift hands-in-pockets pose. The cool guy attempt is lost on the nurse, who only feels bad for what the patient must be going through. The nurse is sure he’ll give it up eventually, when he realizes that there is nobody to impress in here.

They reach the door of the newly organized double room, split in half by dividers and curtains. The door swings open to reveal this patient, Subong, Subong’s side of the room. it is blank and waiting for him to become situated. 

The nurse smiles at Subong, and waits for him to enter the room on his own accord. Subong looks at him and raises a brow, before pursing his lips and walking inside. He slowly looks around, taking in the minimalism. The nurse stands at the door and watches as he scans his new space. 

Subong turns to the bed and, seemingly without thinking, throws himself down onto it. Flops onto it like a kid home from a long day of playing at the park. He lays there for a moment, on what must be a much softer bed than the one of his kidnapping, and sighs. The nurse waits patiently for him to adjust and be open to hearing more of an explanation about his stay. 

After a second or two, Subong flips himself over so that he lays facing the ceiling. Then he folds his hands over his abdomen. His hands are- well. He has tattoos that seem to trail all over him. Long thick lines that might turn into something readable beneath the pyjamas, but the parts the nurse can see now only poke out on his hands and neck. His fingernails are also painted a variety of bright colours. And, of course, the purple hair. It is easy to admit that this is one of the more eccentric looks the nurse has seen in his career.  

“Can i help you with anything, Subong? There will be a sort of orientation and general discussion with some other staff and fellow patients tomorrow, but for now I’m looking to just help you get acquainted with this place,” The nurse explains, kindly. Subong looks over at him, not lifting his head to do so. Then, he raises his hands up just slightly, and mimics a paper and pen. One palm facing inward acting as the notepad, other hand holding an invisible writing tool and scribbling into the palm. The nurse nearly jumps a foot in the air.

”Of course! Let me go and grab that for you Subong! I’m not sure why you hadn’t already been provided a notepad to write on! You’ll need that to speak to us for now while you heal, yes?” The nurse says, and watches as Subong nods, eyes already having left the nurse to look back at the ceiling. 

The nurse dashes out of the room and back down the hallway towards the entry desk. He scrambles around to the inside of the desk and pushes past his coworker to dig through one of the drawers. 

“What are you doing?” Another nurse asks, peering over his shoulder into the junk drawer. The nurse grunts as he scans the piles of coloured paper clips.

”The new patient needs something to write on. He can’t talk without messing up the healing process,” The nurse explains, finally extracting a good pen and small notepad. 

“Can you give a pen to him? Maybe a marker is better? Wide tip? Then he can’t hurt himself,” The nurse’s coworker suggests, taking the pen from his hand and replacing it with a marker. The nurse nods, thankful that his coworker had thought of that. He couldn’t imagine giving his patient something to harm himself with on his first day here. The nurse rushes over to the patients room.

He walks in, hand out to offer the communication method to Subong. 

He is met with an empty room. 

“Uh- ah! Oh no!” The nurse jumps, his chest becoming uncomfortably hollow with the knowledge that he had just let this happen. He had left the door open in his hurry to get the pen and paper. The patient could be anywhere.

”Subong!” The nurse calls down the hall, his shout earning some concerned looks from both other staff members and other patients cleared for free roam. Subong was brand new here, at the very least, he didn’t know any good hiding spots yet. It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.

”Subong!” The nurse calls again, turning a corner and and peering through the window of each patient bedroom on his way. The new patient is nowhere to be seen. The nurse’s heart pounds, sweat drips down the side of his face, gleaming under white hallway lights. The coral painted walls pulsing in his vision, waving around and mocking his immediate mistake. Subong hadn’t even been inside the room for more than a minute. 

The nurse turns a corner and sees the water cooler, placed strategically at the most scenic hallway. Big floor to ceiling windows let all of the courtyard’s sunlight in, and the big trees and gardens push their greenery against the glass, flickering in the wind and livening the place up. At the water cooler, Choi Subong stands casually with a paper cup to his lips. 

“Subong! Subong,” The nurse sighs, relief coursing through him instantly. He leans over against the wall to catch his breath, then walks the rest of the steps over to the cooler. Subong takes the cup from his mouth and lifts it under the dispenser again for a refill. The cooler bubbles and groans with the additional water expelled. The nurse huffs. 

“Subong, you can’t just leave like that. You don’t know your way around here yet,” The nurse says, as gently as he can. Subong doesn’t even turn to face him, only finishes his water and proceeds to fill it again. The water cooler creaks. The nurse sighs. “I’m sorry. I know it’s difficult to be so restricted, especially after what you experienced. But this will help us help you get better. For now, we should head back to your room and get you comfortable.” 

Subong finishes his second refill and slowly crumples the cup up. He stands with it in his hand for a second, almost long enough for the nurse to actually urge him to throw it away already so they can get moving. 

But then. Subong backs up several feet down the hallway, glancing behind himself so as to not trip or bump into somebody. The hallway remains empty, and Subong remains upright, but it's nice that he checked. It’s notable, actually. Many patients here, especially those suffering after traumatic situations, lack good spatial awareness. Subong then raises both hands up above his head and hops, tossing the crumpled up paper cup into the bin from an imaginary three point line. 

It goes in, and it doesn’t hit the rim. It cleanly falls in the middle of the bin atop the rest of the wet paper. And, the nurse watches blankly as Subong does a silent cheer for himself. Both hands balled into fists pumping in front of him, and although no words come out— he mouths ’yes!’ 

The nurse can’t help it. He’s immediately charmed. He thinks Subong’s stay here will be good. The best thing anybody can do for themselves in a place like this is find joy in mundane things. 

“Follow me back to your room and I’ll get you set up with the notepad you asked for,” The nurse tells him. And, miraculously, Subong has no issue doing exactly as requested. Subong follows at a leisurely pace behind him, the nurse glances back to watch the way he carries himself. He seems laid-back, almost aggressively cool. Subong quite literally leans backwards slightly as he walks, hands once again at his waist band, the nurse squints as he watches the character come to life. The nurse wonders what kind of life this guy leads. What he must do in his spare time. What he might do for work. It’s intriguing, to say the least. 

The nurse can’t help but think that Subong may be a little old for this kind of act. Maybe just a little past that stage of life. The stage where you play up your charisma and try extra hard to make sure there are no cracks in anything. The exterior is indifferent, and the nurse knows that Subong must be more than that. He doesn’t read as someone so passive. That’s something to pry into during some of the upcoming group therapy sessions. Who knows, maybe the nurse is jumping to conclusions assuming its an act at all. Some people just have that air about them.

“Here you go,” The nurse says, with a smile, when they reach Subong’s room once more. Subong sits down on the bed and looks up questioningly, as if having forgotten his request for the notepad already. The, what looks to be genuine confusion on his face as it is handed over to him makes the nurse pause. Brain fog? Maybe? The hospital did inform them that Subong was found with trace amounts of some new street drug still in his system. It’s entirely possible that he is a consistent user dealing with some of the side effects. 

“The notepad you asked for? To communicate?” The nurse reminds him, shaking his hand with the notepad and marker in it. He feels bad instantly for doing so, wiggling it like a treat or a jingly toy in front of a cat. Subong only seems to think for a second before nodding and taking the notepad and marker from the nurse. 

“It was a good idea. Please don’t hesitate to write anything you feel you need to tell us,” The nurse says, gesturing to the notepad as Subong scans its empty pages. He flips through them as though expecting to find something inside. It waits blank for him. Subong looks back up at the nurse and nods, and then looks away and readjusts himself on the bed. He swings his legs up so that he is laying instead of sitting. 

The nurse watches as Subong brings one knee up and places the notepad against his thigh. Then, with both hands free, he removes the cap on the marker, puts the cap between his teeth, and immediately gets to writing. The nurse watches. Waits. Expecting Subong to at some point turn the notepad to face him, maybe with the previously blank pages harbouring some big questions about his stay in the ward.

Subong does not flip the notepad. In fact, he doesn’t slow down or stop writing at all. Once a page is full, he flips to the next one and continues. The nurse is more than confused. 

“Subong, was there something you wanted to tell me? Or ask me? With this new option of written communication?” The nurse prods. Subong looks up, and jolts, as if having forgotten the nurse was even in the room. The nurse raises both brows. 

Now aware that the nurse is waiting, Subong still does not finally turn the notepad over as expected, he only waves his hand dismissively. Telling the nurse to leave.  

“….Yes I can- I can leave you be. But may I ask what it is you’re using that for, if not to communicate?” The nurse pokes, one hand already placed on the doorknob, to signal to Subong that his request for privacy is not being ignored. ”If you’re comfortable sharing, that is.”

Subong does not look up at him until he has finished scribbling another phrase. Eventually, he looks up and stares at the nurse, as if considering how to explain it.

’You could write your answer?” The nurse suggests. “That’s what i thought you wanted the notepad for.”

Subong makes an understanding face, mouth open as if to say ‘Ahhhh.’ He nods and then flips to the next page of the notepad. Where he writes only two words. He then finally turns it around to face the nurse. The lined page now decorated with the diagonal shitty printing of ‘song lyrics :D’  

The nurse doesn’t have to ask any questions about Subong and the strange air he carries. Any and all suspicions about a career are wiped away when one of the newer nurses excitedly chats to everybody at the welcome desk about her favourite rapper. It’s a few hours later, and they’re waiting patiently for Subong’s roommate to arrive from the hospital. The newbie is organizing some paperwork when she sees Subong’s image on his file. The small picture of his unimpressed face in the corner of the page. The discussion exploded from there. 

“I can’t believe it! He was missing for like, at least a few days! Usually people spot him at the clubs every night! When he disappeared everybody was talking about it,” The newbie explains. The nurse eyes her with poorly concealed curiosity. Silently urging her to continue. She does. “I’m a big fan. He goes by the stage name Thanos. Recently I think he was in kind of a music slump? But there are a lot of people like me that were really looking forward to his next drop!”

The newbie frowns, looking down at Subong’s file again.

“Now I just hope he’s okay,” The newer nurse says, her eyebrows upturned with concern. “He came with that warning from the hospital about that weird kidnapping?” 

“Yes,” The nurse confirms. “I wonder if it’s classified because it involves celebrities? Maybe that's why we’re only on a need-to-know basis.”

”I don’t think the other two are celebrities, though,” The newbie responds, moving Subong’s file aside to look at the other two who should be arriving today. Minsu and Namgyu. 

“Maybe we just don’t recognize them? I didn’t know who Thanos was,” The nurse says, with a shrug. The newbie bites her lip, as if considering whether or not her response is appropriate.

“I wouldn’t really expect you to know who Thanos is,” The newbie says, with a laugh. The nurse rolls his eyes. “I keep up with this stuff, though. And I have no clue who these two are.”

They both look down at the other two files, both images staring up at them with vastly different expressions. Minsu, the one they’re expecting soon, looks frightened out of his mind. The photo had to have been taken immediately following his rescue, because he looks a disaster. His bangs are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his pupils blown up, his lips pulled back to reveal teeth in an uncomfortable grimace. He looks terrified and super high. The nurse has to admit, he does not look like the celebrity type. 

The next person, the patient who gets the private room, Namgyu— he looks angry. Angry is putting it lightly, really. He looks furious. He stares at the camera with a slight blur chasing him through the frame, as though he had refused to stand still for even a moment to get it done. The state of him also implies that the photo had been directly following rescue. His face is smeared and splattered with blood. His eyes wide open and enraged, lips tight in a threatening small frown. His long hair drifts to the left with what must be movement. Like he’s either dodging the camera or winding up to hit the cameraman. He also does not look like the celebrity type. He does, however, look like the type to get the private room. 

“I suggest you don’t call him Thanos in here,” The nurse says, lightly, to the newbie. Who immediately blushes with embarrassment. 

“Right! Right. Of course. I wouldn’t,” The newbie assures him, with several quick nods. 

“I would.. avoid bringing up the career or anything you knew about him prior at all, actually. Don’t discuss anything like that unless he brings it up himself. At least for now,” The nurse instructs. The newbie nods again. 

“And, maybe you should keep your hopes up about a new drop,” The nurse says, earning a puzzled look from his coworker. She tilts her head. The nurse clears his throat. “I brought him a notepad and marker to write down any questions he had for me. Since his throat is healing.” 

The newbie nods, listening intently. 

“He didn’t have anything to say to me. He only started writing down lyrics,” The nurse tells her. The newbie gasps.

“Really?!” She asks, excitedly. 

“Yes, but calm down. I wouldn’t bring that up to him either. It’s a great outlet that we should let him keep private,” The nurse tells her. The newbie nods again, her signature move.

“Of course! Of course! Wow..” The newbie says, turning back to her task of organizing the files. 

It’s not a half an hour later when Minsu arrives. He enters in much the same fashion as Subong did, helped by a few hospital workers and a couple policemen. His victim services officer stops to discuss his stay with some of the other nurses, and the newbie is sent to help him get settled in his room. 

Minsu does not look as crazed as he does in his photo. He no longer looks to be on any mind altering substances, but he does still harbour the frightened expression. it almost looks as though his eyebrows are permanently stapled in the upturned position. The fear on his face only accentuated by the full-body shivers he seems to have. Either from withdrawals or the fear. Or maybe both. It should be expected of someone rescued from a nearly week-long kidnapping. 

The newbie is a good match to help him calm down. She gently welcomes him and leads him away towards the second door of Subong’s room. The one on the other side of the divider. Hopefully they’ll be able to keep the two split up for the time being. The newbie has already been told to refrain from using Minsu’s name inside the room, in case Subong hears. They were told by hospital staff that it is more than likely that even these two, who were cleared to share a room, had negative interactions during their kidnapping. It is best if they are not aware that the other is staying in the same place. 

The nurse watches the newbie walk away with Minsu. Minsu almost a cartoonishly direct narrative foil to Subong. Curled in on himself like a kid with no friends in highschool, hunched and shivering with every step. The exact opposite of Subong in every way. Not a single cool bone in Minsu’s body. He is the much more common image of a person post-traumatic event. He looks a lot more like everybody else that comes to this place. Subong is a major outlier. 

The nurse doesn’t get the chance to go check and see if Minsu and Subong’s arrangement will work, because the third patient’s arrival is only minutes after Minsu’s. And it is not pretty. 

“Let me GO!” The third patient screams upon entering the ward, shaking with the effort of his attempts to rip both arms out of the hospital workers’ grip. He is held by three people at once, an unfortunate way to be guided into his home away from home, but it seems it would not have been the move if not for his behaviour. The nurse watches with concern as Namgyu makes it harder and harder for the staff with each step. Pulling and dragging them every which way, pushing against them, even trying to throw his body at one of them to escape. ”I’m not staying in a fucking insane asylum!” 

“Please watch your words. There are other patients—“ One of the hospital staff tries. They in turn get Namgyu stomping his foot down onto their own. They hiss in pain as Namgyu frowns deeply and raises his knee to do it again. 

One of the other hospital workers grabs him and tugs him away, causing him to stomp down on nothing, missing his target. He shoots a glare at the staff member responsible, and then starts another struggle for freedom. 

“Hello Namgyu,” the nurse greets. Namgyu does not stop to say hello back. He only continues to struggle. His victim services officer pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, fed up. The nurse isn’t sure that that's an appropriate behaviour in front of the patient. 

“He’s going to be troublesome. But he has been through a lot, so please understand that this is what he needs. I’ll be back every day to meet with him and you,” The victim services officer says, setting an immediate expectation for a problem patient. The nurse gives a flat smile.

”This is what we do. If there was no trouble there would be no reason for this place to exist,” The nurse assures. 

“Shut up,” Namgyu spits, from where he is still being held by three workers. Some of the nurses from the ward hurry to take over for the other hospital staff. The police officers both have grim expressions on their faces. The nurse wonders idly if these officers have any insider knowledge about this whole classified kidnapping thing. 

“We’ll take good care of him,” The nurse says. The victim services officer only nods, before rushing up to the desk to speak to some of the other ward staff members. 

“Namgyu,” The nurse says, walking over and stopping a safe distance away from Namgyu. Just out of kicking range. The other ward nurses hold him tightly, but not unkindly. Namgyu huffs and gasps for air. The nurse imagines it's been a constant fight the whole way here. Maybe even since the rescue. ”You’re here only temporary. And it's to help you heal. I’m certain that you’ll blink and you’ll be back to normal daily life in no time.”

Namgyu stares him down, at least settling slightly in his escape efforts. If only to catch his breath. The darkness that pools under his eyes is only one of many concerning signs on him. He looks completely out of sorts. He looks like he needs a good sleep, and maybe a hug. 

“Can you just trust us for now?” The nurse requests. Namgyu’s face does not change, his eyes do not soften. He does not say yes. But he also does not kick or squirm. 

“I swear to god, if I have to pay for this-“ Namgyu starts.

His victim services officer immediately turns around from where she’s speaking at the desk. She looks angry.

”We’ve been over this! You will not have to pay for this stay, Namgyu,” The victim services officer says, as though it's the millionth time she’s said it today. 

“Sure, You say that now. And then I get a bill in my jank ass mailbox that my fucking descendants living in the year three thousand will still be fucking paying,” Namgyu says. 

“You planning to have kids, Namgyu?” The victim services officer asks. Namgyu’s jaw drops.

“Fuck you! Some fucking help you’ve been. Rude bitch,” Namgyu mutters. 

“You can’t be talking like that here,” One of the ward nurses holding him scolds. Namgyu does not answer. Only glares straight ahead. 

“That’s a conversation that can wait,” The nurse decides to move forward and attempt to take Namgyu from the other ward nurses. He gently places a hand on Namgyu’s shoulder. ”Here, can I show you to your room?” 

“Do I have a choice?” Namgyu asks, finally succeeding in ripping his arms away from the ward nurses. They let him go of course, as the nurse moves to take him down the hall. 

“Not right now. But I guarantee you there is a lot more freedom in here than you're expecting. This isn’t prison,” The nurse says.

“Probably should be,” Namgyu says, under his breath. They start the walk to the room.

”Pardon me?” The nurse asks, wondering if he heard that correctly. 

“I’ll be back to check in tomorrow, Namgyu! Don’t give these poor people such a hard time! You are here to get better!” The shitty victim services calls from the welcome desk. Then she turns and immediately returns to speaking with the rest of the staff.

The nurse looks sideways at Namgyu, still one hand firm on the patient’s shoulder. It’s entirely possible that he’ll just start bolting at any moment.

Namgyu’s enraged expression has not faded. Nor has the tension in his entire body. Like he is just ready to spring into fighting or running. Like he’s just waiting for the chance. Subconsciously, the nurse tightens his grip on Namgyu’s shoulder as they walk.

Namgyu’s hair sways back and forth, and it looks a lot nicer than it had in his file photo. His face as well, despite the pale anger, is clean. His hair appears soft, drifting by in silken strands with every small movement. It has some personality to it that almost seems laughable when compared to the hard shell of a man the nurse is seeing currently. His hair shines, obviously having been washed in the hospital. It glimmers, really, beneath the white hallway lighting. Namgyu’s livid facial expression is almost a hilarious contrast to his frankly gorgeous hair. The nurse tries not to smile. 

Success comes in small bites, as they reach the door to Namgyu’s room with not even a single attempt to run away. The nurse wonders if it had just been a whole lot of bark and zero bite. 

“Here we are,” The nurse says, and he reaches down with one hand to open the door, his other remaining on Namgyu’s shoulder. “Listen, I’m not your assigned nurse. I’m sure you’ll meet him tomorrow. But for now, if you have any questions— feel free to ask me.”  

“Just let me in already,” Namgyu says, coldly. And the nurse swings the door open and moves his hand from Namgyu’s shoulder to his upper back. Puts just a tiny amount of pressure to urge Namgyu to enter. He does. The room is very very small. The afternoon light shines in through the matching tiny window, revealing the dust in the air. Namgyu waves a hand around as if that will get rid of it, and then he turns and sits down on the bed. 

Having learned from Subong, the nurse comes in and closes the door behind him. Strangely, Namgyu looks up with a glint of fear in his eyes. Only for a second, before it transforms into anger again. But the nurse catches it. 

“You can always speak to any of the staff members. Even if they’re not your assigned nurse. We’re all here to help,” The nurse explains. “Tomorrow we’ll have a group discussion where we can talk about why you might be here.”

”The cross,” Namgyu responds, looking down at his lap. 

“Hm?” The nurse asks. And it’s sincere. He’s not sure what Namgyu just said.

’The cross. You have it. Give it to me now?” Namgyu says. 

The nurse stares down at him.

”…I’m not sure what..” The nurse tries. Namgyu’s angry expression twists into something worse.

”Yes you do you have it! Give it back! They took it from me for the transfer but they said they’d give it back! Give it to me now!” Namgyu shouts, his shoulders coming up and his fists clenching. The nurse gapes.

“I.. wasn’t informed about a.. what is it, its a..?” 

“The cross! The cross! Give me the cross!” Namgyu shouts, reaching out to grab at the nurse. The nurse jolts back just in time for Namgyu’s swipe to miss. Instead he sort of falls forward with the wasted energy. Namgyu glares up at him, truly intimidating. The nurse ducks out of the room and locks the door. 

The nurse stares at the door for a second, listening as Namgyu immediately comes up to it and starts to pound his fists against it.

“Give it back to me, it's mine! It’s mine you can’t just take that! It’s not yours!” Namgyu shouts, maddened. ”I dropped it by accident— it's still mine! I WANTED TO GO LOOK FOR IT. YOU DIDN’T LET ME!” 

What the hell is he talking about? With every sentence Namgyu’s yelling grows more broken, it starts to sound a lot more like crying.

“You have to give it back to me! You have to give him back!” Namgyu says, his fists on the door having turned into open palmed smacks. The metal does not budge, of course. Only clangs and rings with each hit. 

Give him back? 

The nurse heads back over to the welcome desk, only to find the victim services officer digging in her coat pocket. She retrieves a silver chain with a bulky and excessively decorated cross pendant on it. She purses her lips and raises it up to hang in the air in front of the nurse. The rest of the staff, obviously having heard the screaming and crying, stare blankly. They blink, wide eyed, as the victim services officer hands the cross over to the nurse. 

The nurse nods in thanks, and opens his mouth to ask what the importance of this thing is. The victim services officer doesn’t even give him the chance to ask. 

”We don’t know either. He wouldn’t answer any questions about it. We just know it belonged to someone else he was friends with in the games and he seems to care a lot about-”

The victim services officer cups a hand over her mouth and gasps.

”..games?” The nurse questions.

”I’m so sorry. That’s classified. I meant- I was referring to his kidnapping,” The officer says, attempting to brush over the slip up. Games? 

”So it belonged to his friend?” The nurse asks, for additional confirmation. The officer nods. 

“I believe that’s what he said, yes,” The officer says.

”Should we take it off the chain?” The nurse turns to ask his hire ups behind the welcome desk. The head nurse brushes a thumb against her chin thoughtfully. 

“Better safe than sorry? It’s not known if he has self-harm tendencies but we best only allow him the pendant for now,” The head nurse says. 

The nurse nods and turns to head back to Namgyu’s room, removing the large cross pendant from the chain as he walks. The continued chatter of Namgyu’s care team and the ward staff fades behind him as he walks. 

When he passes Subong’s door, he glances inside to see if he and Minsu have united their space. Subong lays on the bed and writes still, and his mouth is not moving In any way to imply a conversation happening in the room. The dividers remain in place. It seems as though they are still apart. Maybe not yet realizing they know each other. When the nurse passes Minsu’s door, Minsu sits on the bed and listens to the newbie nurses spiel. Seemingly completely unaware that Subong is on the other side of the dividers. 

Finally, the nurse reaches Namgyu’s door again. There is no more banging or slapping happening on the other side of the door, but the nurse stands there for a moment listening just in case. When the silence lasts long enough, the nurse finally enters, quickly shutting the door behind him. He is greeted with Namgyu curled up on the bed, knees to chest. His head is buried in his knees, arms curled around them, hugging himself. It’s a pose the nurse has seen a million patients take on.

The nurse opens his palm and reveals the cross, chain removed and hidden in his other hand. 

Namgyu lights up. he lifts his head instantly, then scrambles to the edge of the bed to snatch the cross out of the nurse’s hand. 

Namgyu does not say thank you. But he cradles the cross in both hands as though it is a gift from god. He brings one finger up to gently caress the encrusted detailing at the top, brushing over some mysterious dents in the artwork. His eyes grow glossy, the patches below his eyes where one would apply blush are blotching a natural pink with the suppressed tears. A single drop falls down Namgyu’s cheek and lands on the cross. Namgyu hurriedly wipes it off with the sleeve of his ward pyjamas. 

It had to have been a long several days in captivity. 

Namgyu does not look up again at the nurse, for the minute he stands there. 

The nurse gets the message and exits. 

Chapter Text

Minsu’s room in the psych ward is not anything special. But he is frankly glad to have a room at all for now. He knows that as soon as he gets out of this place he is back to square one. No money. No apartment. It has taken a while for him to remember that, though. To remember who he is and where he is. What was even going on in his life when he got picked up by that van full of gas and unconscious people. Nothing seems to matter anymore, least of all an apartment scam. Nothing matters after seeing what Minsu saw. Doing what Minsu did.

He can feel himself coming to his senses again after the rush of being extracted from the games. It is only now, with his body under the freshly cleaned warm blankets of his temporary home, that everything starts to come back to him. There are a million gaps in the last several hours of his life. He doesn’t really remember much of being in the hospital. Or much of the rescue. 

 He hadn’t even realized they had been on an island, or that he was on a boat, until they got back to mainland SK. Minsu remembers the lights of all of the emergency vehicles, and the crash of distant cargo ships already being loaded up as the middle of the night turned into early morning. The crowd of hysterical players crying and asking various healthcare workers and officers if they were truly safe. The baby screaming. The sun coming up over the water as the ambulance doors finally shut and he was taken to the hospital. 

The many hours of nighttime into morning spent being uselessly questioned/tended to at the harbour, the details of the conversations are all nearly completely gone from memory. Minsu can only hear the noise of the police officers, the echo of Semi’s pained wails, Namgyu’s begging. It all happened so fast. One moment, he felt himself turning into something different. He stabbed that shaman woman, he threw the cross onto the platform with the intent of killing Namgyu. Minsu couldn’t recognize himself. And then, he heard the insects and the howl of wind coming up over waves and through dense trees. He remembers being practically carried down a rocky pathway to the beach, then loaded onto a small lifeboat and paddled out to a much larger rescue vessel. 

It doesn’t sound real when he recounts it in his brain. It doesn’t seem real when he describes it to himself. Is it real at all? Had he fallen in the street and hit his head really hard? Was the last week of his life a cruel hallucination? Is that why he is in the psychiatric ward? 

Minsu is curled up under the covers, shivering even with adequate warmth. It is the evening of his first night in the ward. 

At the very least, it is much better than the bedroom at the games. It is warm, it is colourful, it is not TOO colourful. It’s not absurdist or creepily artsy. No freaky drawings on the walls. No hanging bodies. No towering metal bunk beds. There's no strange stairwells or twisty hallways. It’s just cozy and well-lit. 

It seems that his room is not entirely visible, however. Minsu realizes quickly after the nurse leaves, that there is another patient on the other side of a couple of large curtain dividers. He hears the subtle breathing, albeit slightly rough, of a second person in the room. It sounds as though the person has smoked their whole life, or they have a bad injury. 

One of the curtains is standard hospital white, the other is patterned with small animal drawings. Minsu takes a long twenty minutes examining all of the little creatures sewn into the curtain. And while he does so, he tries to see if there is a gap in the dividers for him to slyly peer at his roommate. There is no gap, and if he wanted to take a look, it would be incredibly obvious. Minsu doesn’t want to make his roommate angry or invade his privacy over a bit of curiosity, so he crawls back into bed and calls it a night. He is sure he will meet his roommate tomorrow. 

Minsu winces as he is unwillingly reminded of Namgyu peering over the bathroom stall, giggling and swiping at him from above. Is being a creep with no regard for your peers contagious? Minsu looks down at his palms, uncomfortably aware that he would have had no desire to look through gaps in the curtains a week ago. Will paranoia like this follow him through his whole life now? He is sure moments like this will not be contained to a stay in the psych ward. Will he scope out his whole life now as if he is being hunted? As if there are gunmen around every corner? As if even his peers are to be feared? 

At first, if he is entirely honest with himself, the pink scrubs that the nurses wear catch him a little off guard. It’s like some kind of fight or flight kicks in the moment he sees their full-body coloured getup. And then, he relaxes as soon as he sees their uncovered, kind faces. Well-meaning. He wonders if anybody else from the games has been sent to a place like this. If they are struggling similarly with any reminders of the horrible place they came from. Will he deal with moments like that when he is discharged? Will he be unable to look at someone wearing pink? Someone wearing a tracksuit? Someone wearing shapes on their clothes? Would all of that take him back? 

The evening seems to last forever. He realizes not long after trying to submit himself to sleep that he can hear something else along with the rough breathing of his roommate. He can hear some aggressive writing. The brush of some sort of marker against paper, sometimes hard enough to sort of squeal or squeak. It keeps him awake.

It must be nearly morning when his roommate finally stops writing. Minsu knows because his room has become less comfortably dark and is now fuzzy and blue with early light. His roommate thankfully only snores softly, and Minsu feels a relieved rest pull him down. 

“Good morning, Min- uh- new patient!” The nurse says, a few hours later. Minsu’s room is a charming yellow again, the pink walls only deepening the warmth of the light. And as Minsu rolls over and rubs his eyes, he sort of wonders why the nurse isn’t using his name. Maybe they are trying to keep identities private? Concealing Minsu’s name from his roommate? The second thing he considers is how lovely it is to wake up without trumpet concerto. 

“I’ll be waiting right outside your room to give you your first proper tour,” The nurse says, with a smile. 

Minsu takes a deep breath and rights himself, taking in the reality of this arrangement with the clear mind of a full sleep. He feels more sober now, more normal. He’s sure he was fine after his short stay in the hospital too, but now he felt much better. The sweating had stopped and the obscene guilt and maddening confusion that had been giving him tremors was much less prominent. His brain was now filled with the fuzzy feeling of this warm bed, his cheeks pink and hair mussed. He felt clean, too. Changed by the now two nights it had been since his stay in the games. 

Minsu wonders, as he gets up and out of bed, why his roommate hasn’t been spoken to by a nurse yet. Maybe his roommate was woken up earlier than Minsu, and is already gone from the room. Minsu can’t hear any loud noises from beyond the dividers, so he supposes maybe that's the truth. Minsu slides on his slippers and hesitantly opens his door. He is greeted by the nurse that had woken him, smiling and waving slowly. 

“Morning,” Minsu says, hesitantly. The nurse nods and gives him the same greeting. 

From there, Minsu is taken on a guided tour through the psych ward. The pink walls are not exclusive to the welcome area, he finds. The colour is consistent throughout almost the entire section of the building. Barring the entertainment room, the pink is always there. Minsu isn’t sure how he feels about it. He thinks he would feel more normal if the walls were white or grey, but he supposes the psych ward was not built and painted with survivors from a place full of bright colours in mind. He is sure every other person admitted here feels happier with the warm colours. It just feels slightly too reminiscent of the strange stairwell area that had led them to each game. Specifically the photobooth area from the start. Before they knew what they were getting into. It had seemed so joyous and whimsical. Minsu isn’t afraid to admit he had thought they might have been secretly on TV. 

Minsu finds himself sort of curled into the middle of the hallways as he walks behind the nurse, unable to lean against or touch the pink walls. He also subconsciously keeps his distance from the staff, and the other patients. It’s not that weird for him, he thinks he probably would have done the same had he come here before his experience at the games. Minsu is not the kind of person that would make friends in a place like this.

Then again.

He had thought the same thing when he wandered around that second game room, digging his shoes into the sand and preparing to be teamless and dead. The rainbow circles on the ground mocking and childish. And Semi had come and spoken to him. A friend, if only for one day. A friend he couldn’t save.

”And finally, this is the garden— Minsu?” The nurse’s voice fails to interrupt his stream of bad thoughts. He only sees Semi, Semi and her blank dead eyes staring up at the ceiling. Maybe even up at Minsu if he squints hard enough, up to where he had been peeking over the railing of the bunk bed. Watching her be attacked and killed. The nurse’s spiel completely muffled by the memory. Her screaming, Namgyu’s deranged grunts of effort as he stabbed her over and over. 

Minsu hadn’t even been brave enough to watch it all. And he hadn't been brave enough to look at her for long. In the morning, she had been gone. He hadn’t even been brave enough to watch the gunmen take her. Lay out her still body in those pink-ribboned boxes, like a gift. He felt that if he didn’t watch it happen, maybe it hadn’t happened at all. 

“Minsu?” The nurse asks again, finally close enough and loud enough that she breaks through. Minsu jolts. 

“There you are,” The nurse greets, her hands folded in front of her with poorly hidden concern. One of her thumbs rubs at the top of the opposite hand. ”Everything okay?”

”..mm,” Minsu nods. Unable to really say yes out loud. It’s not really okay, is it?

”Don’t worry. The tour will be over right after this. I’m just going to take you through the gardens quickly, and then you can have some time to yourself,” The nurse explains, gesturing to the large glass door and windows next to them that lead to a courtyard full of greenery. Minsu nods again. “After some free time, I’ll take you to one of the therapy rooms for a group meeting. You’ll meet some of the other patients and talk about how you’re feeling.” 

That doesn’t sound good at all. But Minsu nods again, eager for this conversation to be over. For the nurse’s watchful eyes to leave him. Her patronizing gaze cutting deeply into his damaged head. 

The gardens are beautiful. They are larger than he had previously thought, and the sunlight comes in from more angles than just directly above, due to the slanted rooftops. Beneath the trees, the light spots on the ground in great blotches of yellow. Gold glowing on the pavement and in the grass. Minsu doesn’t smile, but the warmth of the sun feels healing. 

The nurse tells him a few things about the plants here, and how the gardens are open whenever he wishes to be with nature. She says that it is the most popular place for patients to relax, so it is unlikely to ever be empty, unfortunately. Once she is done with her spiel, she says she will be in the entertainment room, and that she will come back to fetch him in two hours for a group meeting.

Minsu takes the time he has to sit on one of the benches and breathe. The fresh air is so lovely. He had missed it so much. This euphoria is much better than the spiral that the pills had sent him on. How Thanos or Namgyu ever found joy in those things is beyond Minsu. How much they had to do regularly for those to be enjoyable, it was hard for him to wrap his head around. When he took them, it was a nightmare. Whatever small bouts of happiness sprung from the carelessness was quickly snuffed by massive waves of horror and confusion. 

He sits on the bench, breathes, forces himself not to think of Semi. 

Instead, he finds himself thinking again of Thanos and Namgyu. Those idiots. Jumping and skipping around like children, reckless and dangerous and completely apathetic. How did the drugs do that to them? It had almost seemed to bring them together. It had stoked this demented fire within them, watered these crazy flowers. And they had slithered around each other, stayed together like magnets, putting their madness together to make something truly horrendous. Smiling, giggling, and winning. Dancing and playing and joking. At the time, it had seemed to be just the effects of the drugs doing that to them.

Minsu had thought that the drugs alone had made them like that. Clingy and cheerful and ridiculous. But, almost competent and capable. Fearless. He thinks, after having tried them himself, that it can’t have just been the drugs. It had to have been more than that. The drugs in proximity to each other. That weird friendship they had nurtured in their short time together, a fucked up little pair of crazies. Probably not the type of language that is encouraged in a place like this, but Minsu watched the two of them kill people with zero remorse. And then hang off of each other like a couple in the honeymoon phase. 

Minsu knows that he must be in his head again, because he sees Namgyu picking at his nails across the garden. Sitting on the pathway with his knees up to his chest, frowning down at his hand. Minsu blinks. Blinks again. Brings both fists up to his eyes to rub, hard. 

Namgyu remains. Minsu sighs and decides he is almost certainly in the place he needs to be. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

He looks away from ‘Namgyu’ for several minutes. Instead staring at the flowers flicking back and forth in the shallow breeze. Only so much wind can come down in the courtyard. The flowers, a bright purple, waver with an unsettling pattern, almost shivering like they’re uncomfortable. The flowers. 

Minsu stares at them for a while. Thinks he must have seen a patient with long black hair and muddled up their face in his mind. He’s sure of it. He looks up again, looks to ‘Namgyu’ who still looks like Namgyu. Minsu looks back down at the flowers. 

Minsu looks up again, and he sees that ‘Namgyu’ is sitting next to another bundle of the same purple flowers. He is not longer fiddling with his nails, but instead the petals on one of the flowers. Minsu watches with one eye, almost feeling like he can hide by looking away. His head is turned to face the plants still, but he keeps his one eye on ‘Namgyu.’ He watches as ‘Namgyu’ first gently rubs at the petals, then, with a grimace on his face, plucks a few of them off. Then, furiously rips at them, letting tiny pieces drift down to the path between his legs. 

Minsu sees a nurse approach ‘Namgyu’ and say something to him. Causing him to look up. It’s clear from the nurse’s body language that he is chastising Namgyu. He points at the flowers and then at the ripped petals on the ground. Then at Namgyu. ‘Namgyu.’ Minsu is appalled that his brain hasn't corrected itself yet. Shocked that he is still seeing this other patient as his murderous ex-teammate. The nurse scolds Namgyu for picking at the flowers, and the nurse leans down and pulls the remaining flower petals from ‘Namgyu’s’ hands. 

Minsu can’t help it. He finds his head fully turned again to face ‘Namgyu.’ He watches as the nurse attempts to calm him down as his hands fly up from the flowers to instead pull at his own hair. Violently. Namgyu’s fit is not only physical, Minsu can hear from where he’s sitting as Namgyu cusses out the nurse. Shouts about ‘it’s done it’s over it’s gone’ and some other nonsense. Minsu isn’t sure why his mind is conjuring up such a sight, but Namgyu’s pained grovelling reminds him of when he had begged Minsu just before falling in the jump rope game.

Dying just before they were rescued. Namgyu had fallen only a second before the guards suddenly turned on each other. Even the thud of his body against the ground was not heard over the gunshots and yelling. And Minsu had been taken outside, free, having just popped a pill, and killed someone. 

Minsu supposes hallucinating Namgyu in this place of healing must be his mind punishing him. Telling him what could have been. As Namgyu’s fit ends and the nurse squats down to his eye level. Comforting Namgyu with a hand on his shoulder and another hand pointing at the flowers again. No doubt explaining more kindly why they shouldn't harm the plants. 

And Minsu squints to see past the nurse as Namgyu’s angry breakdown turns into desperate tears. And Minsu watches as, funnily enough, this mocking image of Namgyu pulls the cross from the waistband of his psych ward pyjamas. THE cross. 

Minsu shakes his head angrily. He wills the images away. Slaps half heartedly at the side of his head, waiting for ‘Namgyu’ to disappear. 

Why couldn’t he see Semi here instead? That was a punishment he could at least perceive as a wish. In all honesty, Minsu doesn't want Namgyu here. He doesn’t want him to have had a chance. As much as he regrets being the one to have killed him, giving in, matching his apathy— Minsu did not want Namgyu to make it out of that place when Semi couldn’t. It would not be fair. 

But dying… the way Minsu had made him die. This was not fair either. 

Minsu looks down at the flowers again, looks past the purple ones this time, to see the yellow ones that sit in a smaller bundle behind them. Just like the painted floors of the jump rope room. The floors Namgyu must have landed on. The floors his body must have smashed apart on, strewn all over. Minsu winces, covers his mouth with his hand and gasps. He had really stooped down to their level. Became everything he hated. Became just the same as the monsters who had been playing with him the whole time. When Namgyu had pressed X, finally, if only to end his own pain— Minsu had pressed O. 

Minsu is ravaged by the flashing image in his head, of Namgyu’s face when the voting board changed to accommodate Minsu’s decision. His disturbed expression, mouth open, eyes flat and unbelieving, as Minsu left to the circle side. Minsu thinks of Namgyu’s limping, wilting figure trudging up the steps to the jump rope game, breathing hard and heavy. Like a man walking the steps to the gallows. Face pink with sickness. Minsu remembers staring at him with meaning. Staring at him with intent. Made sure Namgyu knew. Saw. Understood that Minsu had wanted to end him. 

Minsu wipes his hands down his face, now coated with a thin layer of sweat. He looks up again at where his hallucination had been. 

The nurse is gone. 

Namgyu remains.

Namgyu is looking up. Staring. Straight at Minsu. 

Their eyes meet. And any belief that this was a hallucination suddenly leaves Minsu’s body. He feels a primitive fear vibrate all through him, his hair stands up, his skin goes cold. He is frozen as he watches Namgyu place a hand on his knee, pulls himself up to his feet, and stomps towards Minsu. With as much intent as Minsu had sent his way before jump rope. 

Minsu’s whole body shakes, but he cannot move. He stays glued to the bench like an insect caught in a trap, his lips wobble with words he cannot expel, and tears well in his eyes as Namgyu grabs the collar of his pyjamas. 

“Minsu. Minsu. Minsu!” Namgyu grunts, like it’s taking everything out of him to even utter Minsu’s name. Like it's causing him actual pain. “This can’t be real.”

Minsu brings both of his hands up to Namgyu’s arm, and he attempts to pry Namgyu’s hand from his collar. Namgyu’s fingers only squeeze tighter on the fabric, tugging him upward, almost off the bench.

”Y-you’re dead,” Minsu says, weakly. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” Namgyu asks, a fury in his eyes that Minsu isn’t sure if he has ever seen before on anyone.

Minsu’s eyes bounce down to where Namgyu’s free hand is tensed up at his side. Clutched in it, is the cross. Namgyu follows his gaze.

”Oh of course. Of course you’ve got your eyes on that. You little junkie. We really transformed you didn’t we?” Namgyu smiles, twitchily. The anger stays. His jaw is clenched. Minsu tries to shake his head. “Don’t lie, Minsu. Don’t lie. You changed! You had your share, and you wanted more.” 

“You’re just like me. You’re here with me, aren’t you? You stupid fuck. You’re hopeless. Couldn’t even kill me yourself,” Namgyu growls out. His words rough with the throat of somebody who has been screaming and crying. Minsu finds the uncertainty of Namgyu’s real-ness come creeping back in. This feels like a conversation his mind would make up. 

“I did.. I did kill you,” Minsu croaks. A weak argument when someone is standing right in front of you, seemingly alive. 

“Did the drugs fucking fry your brain?” Namgyu asks, letting go of Minsu’s collar and letting him fall back against the bench. Namgyu’s fists are both clenched at his sides now, shaking with the desire to do more. “It’s pathetic. It’s fucking pathetic. You couldn’t even let me have the last one. You knew it was going to kill me. And you couldn't let me have it. Couldn’t even offer me that much. Evil fucking idiot who fucked up his own brain by taking what wasn’t his.”

”They weren’t yours either!” Minsu says, a sudden bout of bravery at being unchanged. It doesn't last for long, because Namgyu rushes forward and pins him against the bench this time. 

“You don’t know anything.” Namgyu hisses. “You don’t even know what’s going on. You don’t know where you are. Fucked yourself up that bad. Mashed your brain up into nonsense because you couldn’t handle reality.”

”You’re….” Minsu gasps. “One to talk.” 

The cross clatters to the pavement. 

And the feeling of Namgyu’s hands around his throat feels so real that it just must be. The pressure can’t be mimicked by his sober mind. There's just no way that what is happening right now isn't real. Namgyu squeezes. His fingers press into Minsu’s throat, it feels like he’s choking on something. 

“Namgyu..” Minsu says, and it comes out like a whistle. 

“You wanted to kill me. All because you liked that stupid bitch. You didn’t have any better reason. Just a girl. A fucking girl. You pathetic pervert. You fucking desperate virgin,” Namgyu slams all of the insults out one after the other while Minsu’s vision swirls. 

Minsu can’t even defend himself now. Can only sit through it and hope he doesn’t pass out and die as Namgyu continues to ramble out some far reaching assumptions about Minsu’s character. About Semi. 

“You stole my shit and you baited me with it. Used it to fucking kill me. You’re deranged. You’re fucking twisted. I bet you were real sad to be rescued. Sad you couldn’t see my fucking corpse burst all apart in little chunks on the ground.” Namgyu says, as though he hadn’t done a million worse things. As though Minsu hadn’t watched him go on a killing spree after Thanos died. “So disappointing, isn't it Minsu? That a little idiot gets to live and the only person you care about doesn’t.” 

Minsu isn’t sure what he’s referring to. His brain too foggy to wrap his head around why Namgyu would call himself a little idiot. When he realizes he is in fact talking about Minsu. Namgyu is angry that Minsu lived and Thanos didn’t. 

“If you hadn't voted X. We wouldn’t have had to talk to you in the bathroom. MG Coin wouldn’t have came in to fight your fucking battles for you. Thanos wouldn't be dead.” Namgyu chokes out, like it hurts him to say it. And Minsu knows his vision is fading, but he swears he sees tears in Namgyu’s eyes. How was Thanos and Namgyu cornering Minsu in the bathroom Minsu’s fault?! 

Suddenly, right when Minsu thinks his time has come, the nurse who had been scolding Namgyu before comes to rip him off of Minsu. 

“Namgyu! Oh my- Jesus- oh my god..” The nurse grabs both of Namgyu’s wrists, which shake with the effort to escape and go back at Minsu. Minsu, who feels at his own throat, which must be bruised. He leans back against the bench and sinks, deflates, coughs, and breathes in deeply. Another nurse comes to his side to make sure he is okay, while the male nurse from before angrily tries to make sure Namgyu can’t do anything else.

Namgyu rages, throws his arms up and scrambles forward, stopped with the nurse’s entire body. Like a wall. Both arms still held hard with the nurse’s hands. The nurse pulls Namgyu’s arms down to his sides, then, together in front of him. He holds them together like Namgyu is being cuffed, and the nurse is saying something to him, must be telling him to calm the hell down. Minsu can’t hear it because he’s too focused on the oxygen coming back to his brain. He can’t even really hear the nurse tending to him, her soft voice familiar, perhaps the same one that had been touring him. 

“The cross! Give me the-“ Namgyu yells, like he is being bathed in hot coals, like the nurse is doing something horrible to him. The nurse holding him gestures with his head for a third nurse to come and grab the metal cross from the ground. The third nurse holds it for Namgyu, and says that she will walk with them to his room and make sure it is returned to him. Namgyu squirms. 

Minsu watches as he sucks in more air, as Namgyu’s wide-eyed anger stays visible only in facial expression and body language, and no longer any movement. He only stands and trembles as the male nurse angrily talks to him and begins to drag him out of the gardens. Namgyu stiffly walks with him, angrily staring down at where his hands are still being held. 

Minsu’s breaths are shivery from the near death experience, his stress levels finally dropping after the attack. He feels the nurse examine the bruises on his neck. His vision still blinks in and out. 

Minsu is taken to a medical wing of the psych ward. The mini hospital within the hospital. Apparently there are several branches that operate in here solely for the patients of the psych ward. A separate cardiology wing exclusive to the psych patients. Minsu feels a little special as he is guided to sit on a raised check-up bed and wait for the doctor. 

The doctor informs Minsu, after a short examination, that they will be providing him with pain killers and ice packs. They will be adding a humidifier to his room to assist with the pain he may have while breathing. And he will have to do regular checkups so that they can monitor any issues he may have with breathing, swallowing or speaking post strangulation. Minsu doesn’t think it was that bad, but when they mention something about making sure there is no damage to his brain, he remembers that he was without oxygen for long enough to nearly black out. 

Naturally, after all of that, and how seriously it was being taken, Minsu assumed that Namgyu would be strategically kept away from him. That they would never be allowed to be in the same place at the same time. 

Instead, against all logic, Minsu is brought to the group meeting (a little late due to his attack and subsequent checkup) and he is greeted by Namgyu’s face in the circle of patients. Are they joking? Is this place serious?

Minsu really can’t believe his eyes. He thinks that any moment, Namgyu will be removed from the room so that Minsu can sit down and engage in the meeting. But no such precaution is taken, and Minsu is guided to sit down in a chair across the circle from Namgyu. 

Minsu finally sees the small comfort they have provided him in the form of straps around both of Namgyu’s wrists. They have strapped him down to his chair. Minsu almost laughs. His face stays blank for his own safety. 

“Welcome to the meeting Minsu,” The psychiatrist says, as the counsellor next to her nods. The psychiatrist holds a clipboard, and the counsellor sips on a mug of coffee. ”We are sorry that you had to miss the first bit of discussion, but right now we are just sharing some past experiences.”

”We had introductions for new people at the start of the meeting,” The counsellor says, a disclaimer. He glances over at Namgyu, who Minsu assumes must be the only other new person. Minsu wonders how that introduction went. “But since you missed it, why don’t you go ahead and introduce yourself to your fellow patients.”

Minsu stares, not overly enthusiastic about this prompt. But eventually he swallows and tries. 

He realizes, a second into trying to speak, that his throat actually hurts SO badly. Are these hospital workers sadists or something? Who sends a strangulation victim to a conversation-heavy group therapy session? Are they trying to kill him. Minsu licks his lips and clears his throat, and he sees Namgyu across the circle fighting down a grin. How messed up does a person have to be? He must recognize the pain on Minsu’s face.

”I’m. Minsu,” Minsu says, choppily. His two words jolted and rough. Namgyu fully smiles. He knows he’s hurt him. 

“Alright well. Welcome to the meeting, Minsu. We’re all glad to have you,” The counsellor says. 

Several of the other patients, the ones who must be more used to this stuff— they nod in agreement. And they smile. They look at Minsu with genuine kindness and understanding, as though they know how bad it feels to have to be here. 

Minsu has a feeling they have never known a hell like the one he just came from. 

The pain of having the only person who may understand be the deranged psycho with the fucked up haircut. The only person with the same experience, Namgyu. It is a pain Minsu thinks strangulation could never outdo. 

Minsu is humbled quickly. 

A girl in the group talks about her experience with an abusive ex boyfriend, who never allowed her to say no. Following her story is a younger girl who talks about the night her family was beaten to death in front of her by debt collectors. Then, an older man talks about his childhood kidnapping where he was kept in a garage for forty days. During each story, the staff members pause to ask about how that moment affected them, what they have been doing to get over that, or to move on with it. The stories last a lot longer when accompanied with the therapy-talk. And there is a constant effort from the counsellor to have the other patients contribute to the topics. They talk about how each story affects their current lives, and then what coping strategies may be most effective. After the old man, there is a prompt from the staff members for others who experienced a kidnapping to share their thoughts. 

At first, nobody speaks. 

Then Minsu sits through two more heartwrenching stories from other patients about their kidnappings. The whole way through, Namgyu only blinks and stares down, having apparently lost interest in staring at Minsu. He doesn’t bother trying to escape the wrist holds. He looks completely done, and he doesn’t look like he cares at all about any of the horrible experiences being shared. Minsu supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything else. 

Then, just before they are about to switch topics, Namgyu decides to include his and Minsu’s unique kidnapping experience to the conversation.

”I was taken to an island. Stripped and dressed in numbered clothes, referred to by number. Held at gunpoint and made to play kids games,” Namgyu rambles. 

The circle is quiet for a long moment. Like the counsellor and psychiatrist don’t know what to tackle first. The other patients seem shocked too, their saddened and surprised faces all coming to be at the same time. 

“Wh.. how do you feel that that experience has-“ The counsellor starts. But Namgyu goes on.

”And I made a friend and then everybody was killed and he died too,” Namgyu says. A string of words with barely any space between them. And he says it so monotonously, that Minsu has no problem hearing it. The bluntness from Namgyu seems to counter any threat of a flashback coming on. Minsu feels nothing. Sees nothing. He only hears Namgyu’s emotionless and ultra basic recount. 

“Namgyu. We’re so sorry to hear about that,” The counsellor says, with a great amount of true empathy. Her lips are tight and her eyes are big. Minsu guesses empathy must be required for a job like this, but only so much. 

“What can you tell us about how you’re feeling now? What parts of the experience do you feel are impacting you the most currently?” The psychiatrist asks. Namgyu is silent for a while, before he decides to stare again at Minsu.

His hard eyes are sharp across the empty circle, Minsu feels them pierce his skin. 

“I feel angry,” Namgyu says. 

“That’s understandable, certainly. Are there specific things that you feel angry about? What was done to you? The lack of control?” The psychiatrist asks for elaboration. 

“I feel angry that some people made it out, and others didn’t,” Namgyu says, with absolutely zero effort to conceal what he is trying to say. Only repeating the same things he was saying when he was attacking Minsu. 

“You wish your friend made it out? It feels unfair? This is a common feeling when we lose someone we love,” The counsellor says, nodding with understanding. 

Namgyu freezes, and his eyes shift slowly from Minsu over to the staff members. He doesn't confirm or deny. 

”No pressure to share any more, Namgyu. We’re happy that you said anything at all,” The counsellor says, with a small encouraging smile. “We’re all here to get better. Getting it out is one of the first steps. And sometimes it's a step that can be repeated forever. It is very important not to bottle it up.” 

“Is this kindergarten?” Namgyu snaps, suddenly. 

“Of course not,” The psychiatrist says, visibly taken aback. 

“I feel angry that I made all the right decisions. That I was ruthless. And other people were still worse than ME.” Namgyu says. “And that he didn’t make it.” 

Minsu thinks of Thanos, thinks of Namgyu hanging off of him, thinks of how Namgyu’s entire personality was altered after Thanos died. Thinks of how everything about him changed, down to his hair, his grooming. Minsu thinks he understands, suddenly. 

Namgyu had changed just as Minsu had. After Thanos. After Semi. They were similar that way. 

”I was bad before,” Namgyu says, honestly. “I’ve always been bad. It always felt like fighting back.” 

Minsu knows his mouth is ajar, knows he must look pretty silly. But Namgyu sounds sincere, right now. 

“I was fighting. But nothing was happening. It just got worse and worse and worse. And people I thought could never fight, fought harder.” 

Minsu knows Namgyu is talking about him, but Namgyu is no longer looking his way. He speaks directly to the staff members, maybe only being honest because he thinks it might let him crawl out of special treatment sooner. Minsu can’t imagine Namgyu’s stay ending after this week. Not after the stunt he pulled in the garden. If he thinks being honest will help him, Minsu won’t butt in. 

“It makes me so angry that I played along. When it was going to end that way anyway. It feels pointless. We were going to be rescued, and he died for no reason.” Namgyu stays, obviously talking about Thanos.

And, if Minsu is being true, Thanos’ death wasn’t just pointless in the context of the rescue. It was pointless in the context of the games too. He died in the evening in a conflict only between players. He didn't even die to the people that had captured him. The same as Semi. Pointless, and arguably worse. Long painful deaths. Not bullets to the head and the knowledge that they made it as far as they could have. 

“Again, the loss of a loved one can be hard to comprehend,” The counsellor speaks up. “We often try to find ways to explain it or make it make sense, but death can be unfair and inexplicable.” 

The psychiatrist nods. “Nobody is judging you for searching for answers that you may not find. Nobody is judging you for being angry.” 

The meeting ends, and Minsu is led out of the room seemingly a long time before the staff are wanting to take Namgyu out. Minsu still does not understand why they were allowed to be in the same therapy session, if one could even call it that. Minsu doesn’t feel very.. therapized. 

The nighttime approaches fast, and Minsu has showered and cleaned up before he knows it. The light flicks off in his room and the nurses say their final good nights. Minsu wonders what tomorrow will be like, and if he is still in danger in this place. Namgyu’s bit of honesty in the meeting did not really instill any hope for a friendship between the two of them, if anything it reestablished Namgyu’s burning hatred for Minsu. But it also let Minsu in on Namgyu’s feelings about Thanos. There seems to be some real grief there. 

Minsu sighs and tries to settle into bed, unable to really clear his mind properly for a sleep. His neck hurts, and he really wishes that he had asked for more pain meds before bed. 

Minsu hears footsteps behind the dividers of their room. He jumps, startled by the sudden noise in the dark room. What does his roommate have to shuffle around for? What is he doing? 

Suddenly, one of the curtains hanging from the dividers, the one with the animals on it, is pulled back. His roommate peeks into Minsu’s side of the room, and waves.

His roommate. With purple hair and big bandages on his neck.

Minsu gulps when he realizes it. If Minsu was shocked to see Namgyu, this is a whole other feeling. Namgyu’s going to lose his mind. The thought lasts only a moment, because the next one is spent trying to beat down the uncontrollable fear that suddenly builds up within him. Thanos, who had been severely injured in a fight that only started because of Minsu’s vote, is standing right here. Locked in the same room as him. Minsu feels his entire body freeze solid.