Archive of Our Own ^omega

Chapter Text

Blood drips from between his fingers, warm and viscous. He presses his hand more firmly against the hole torn into his side, listening to the loud, staccato rasp of his own breath echo in his ears. The world blurs around him in a kaleidoscope of green and blue and gray and brown—forest, sky, river, ruin. There is a wildfire of agony spreading beneath his skin and through the blaze of it, he knows, with perfect clarity, that he is dying.

That shouldn’t be surprising, really, since so many of them came here to die. So many of them have died already. He’ll be a statistic for audiences to lament or gossip about: Contestant 67, deceased. They’ll burn his body in a crematorium back in Hwaseong and hand the ashes to his next of kin like it’s a consolation.

A face appears, gradually shifting into focus: dark hair, worried eyes, a pinched mouth and furrowed brows.

Zhang Hao, his addled brain gasps like a prayer. Zhang Hao.

A hand covers his own, applying more pressure, getting blood all over dirtied skin. Zhang Hao’s lips move but he can’t make out the words. He’s underwater, drowning somewhere at sea. He’s dying, dying, dying, bleeding out on a forest floor.

Zhang Hao yells something, if the wide stretch of his mouth is any indicator. More hands land on his body—his shoulders, his legs, his forehead. He can’t make out any faces except for Zhang Hao’s and he wants to reach up with his free hand to cup Zhang Hao’s cheek but his limbs are too heavy. He wants to apologize but there is too much blood pooled in his mouth, spilling down his chin.

I wasn’t supposed to leave him like this, he thinks in despair.

Because, after all, this is a love story.

*****

It begins five weeks ago in the floating city of Hwaseong—home to over ten million people, descendants of refugees who fled the uninhabitable, disaster-riddled surface of Earth centuries ago. It begins in a large processing center, surrounded by ninety-eight other boys and immaculate, white-robed attendants, who beckon him forward. Sung Hanbin—or contestant 67, according to the number emblazoned on his black jacket—please step onto the mark and smile for a photo.

Or maybe, it begins before that. Maybe, it really begins in a cell.

You don’t have to do this, Seok Matthew says from the shadows of it, and he sounds young—words laced with an anger that Hanbin doesn’t know how to fix or temper. An anger that feels permanent, like a chasm cleaved into the earth between them.

The stone floor emanates a chill that seeps through Hanbin’s clothes and skin, sinks aching into his bones.

It’s too late, he says and knows that it isn’t the answer that Matthew wants. It’s too late now.

Back in the processing center, the camera flashes in Hanbin’s face—a brilliant, blinding flare. They fit a collar around his neck that might eventually be used to kill him. They ask him to sign forms consenting to his own cremation, accepting his own potential death. He is one of ninety-nine contestants in the cavernous building, all looking for an escape that the games might provide them.

For those with red armbands like Hanbin’s own, it’s a pardon from their crimes, a chance to avoid exile or execution. For those in blue, it’s a way out of the crushing poverty of the Lower Wards. The prize money will pay medical bills for a sick relative; will let them buy a house in the coveted Central or Upper Wards; will make sure they never go hungry or cold again.

Ninety-nine boys will go into the arena down on the surface and only nine will come back out. Their survival and their deaths will be entertainment for the curious masses of the city. When Hanbin scratches out the characters of his name, his hand trembles, smudging the digital ink across the screen.

WEEK 1

Awareness comes slowly: rough ground beneath him, leaves rustling from a cold wind that also brushes harsh fingers across his face, and when he blinks open grit-crusted eyes, a sea of blue gradually coalesces into a cloudless sky far overhead. It shimmers with a similar atmospheric field to the one that surrounds Hwaseong, but instinctively Hanbin knows that they’re no longer in the city.

Tall grass flutters at the edge of his visions, far more untamed than anything Hwaseong would allow.

The arena. They must already be in the arena.

Hanbin sits up with a low groan. The last thing he remembers is boarding a ship with Matthew at his side, then being pricked in the neck by his collar and now he’s in the middle of an overgrown plaza—brick cracked and punctured by flora, crumbling skyscrapers and towering trees filling the horizon line, a glimmer of water between some of the buildings because the river spilled past its banks when the Old World died and drowned a section of the city. He doesn’t see anyone else near him and panic stabs his chest, sending him scrambling to his feet.

Have they begun? Where is Matthew?

Suddenly, a klaxon blares from unseen speakers, startling him so badly that he claps his hands over his ears and his head pulses, still trying to recover from the knockout drug the collar administered. The sky ripples and text appears in bold lettering across the artificial blue: WELCOME, CONTESTANTS. Pictures follow—the ones they just took in the processing center. Hanbin’s own smiling face stares down at him like an eerie ghost.

From the hidden speakers, a pleasant female voice echoes through the plaza and the empty, ruined city.

“Welcome, contestants, to the games. All of you should now be awake. You have been spread across the arena, which covers a large section of former Seoul. The boundaries are marked by a protective barrier. Attempting to cross this barrier at any point during the games will result in disqualification. Supplies have also been scattered throughout the arena, including food, weapons, and other necessary survival gear. We encourage you to make use of what you can find. There are other important materials hidden, which can be collected. Keep your eye out for them.”

Hanbin struggles to focus, making notes in his head as he crouches and rubs his temples to stave off the building migraine. Hidden supplies—that should be his first priority, along with figuring out where the hell Matthew is. And whatever these other collectible items are. Something important enough for them to mention in the opening announcement.

The female speaker continues. “Your first challenge will be seven days from now. You must survive in the arena until then. The location of the challenge will be revealed twenty-four hours before it begins. You will be expected to make your way to the correct location by the start time in order to participate. Failure to participate will result in a loss of points, which could harm your chances of survival.”

Seven days. Hanbin heard about rumored threats in the arena, beyond difficult, dangerous terrain and unpredictable weather. The organizers have to balance keeping the games interesting and challenging with not allowing contestants to die too quickly, decreasing the entertainment value. He’s nervous to witness how exactly that will play out, but one thing at a time.

Supplies. Find Matthew.

“We wish you luck, contestants. Let the games begin.”

The klaxon sounds again. Hanbin sucks in a deep, centering breath, and takes stock of his surroundings. The plaza is large and mostly circular, ringed with rusting flagpoles topped with tattered strips of cloth that were probably once brightly colored but have faded to a dull, rotting brown. They still flutter faintly in the warm breeze, making the poles creak in weathered protest. At the far end of the plaza sits the ruins of a white concrete memorial building—wide steps leading up to a glass atrium that has been pierced through by a determined tree, reaching flowering branches to the sun.

That seems like a good place to start searching for supplies.

Hanbin takes off at a jog across the plaza, glancing around for any other signs of life. The arena is huge, he remembers from watching past games, so he has no idea how far apart contestants might have been placed. How far Matthew might be from him.

He doesn’t see anyone else in the immediate vicinity, but something hovers in the corner of his vision and when he turns his head, he comes face-to-lens with a hovering camera bot—a small floating orb with a red eye blinking at him like a threat.

So they’re recording already. And back in Hwaseong, thousands of people are probably tuning in to witness the start of the games, live streamed to all of their private screens. Hanbin dips his head in a tiny acknowledgement, flashing a faint smile, but decides to ignore the camera beyond that, picking up his pace. The sun is high overhead, suggesting that it’s midday already, and he doesn’t want to waste any light. The camera zooms after him like a silent shadow.

Maybe eventually he’ll start thinking of it as a little friend instead of something ominous.

Ha.

Once he reaches the top of the steps, Hanbin discovers that the door to the atrium has collapsed beneath the weight of one of the tree’s large branches and other debris, but he’s able to carefully worm his way through a gap between the bark and the remnants of the metal door frame to safely make it inside. The tree is bigger than anything he’s seen on Hwaseong, taking up most of the atrium, and he’s surprised to hear twittering birdsong from the branches and the rafters of the domed roof. Other life endures, even when humanity could not.

Broken glass crunches beneath his boots as he carefully moves further inside, wishing he had a weapon for any threats that might be lurking in the shadows. Several long tiled hallways branch off from the atrium and it looks like the building is at least two stories high, though the stairs to get up to the second floor are blocked by more debris.

Hanbin spots an information center off to one side of the atrium and decides to look there first. The desk is still intact and crammed in one of the broken cabinets behind it is a backpack. Hanbin works it carefully free, noting the durable material, and shifts so that his “friend” can get a good angle as he unzips it, finding a few nutrition bars, a small med kit, a flashlight, and a pocket knife inside.

“Well,” he says, grinning up at the camera. “That’s a pretty good start, wouldn’t you say?”

He shrugs the backpack onto his shoulders and spots something else sitting in the cabinet where the bag was: a green circular token, almost like a coin.

“Huh,” he murmurs, taking out and turning it over in his palm. It’s stamped with the mugunghwa on the back, just like his jacket. “I’m guessing we’re meant to find this?” The bot doesn’t answer, of course, just floats closer to record the token.

Hanbin shrugs and puts the token in a pouch in his bag. The games change every time, but there is usually a scavenging element to keep the weeks between challenges interesting. This time it must be collecting tokens, which will probably be converted into points to help against elimination.

“Alright,” Hanbin says, vaulting back over the counter. He wants to find Matthew, but he also can’t be reckless. One thing at a time. Matthew will be okay, he has to believe that. He smiles at the camera again, trying to appear charming without coming off as too cavalier. “Let’s see what else this building has to offer.”

The camera dutifully follows him for hours as he locates a bow, nearly two dozen more tokens, and a bigger hunting knife. Then, it drifts around him as he perches on the roof of what probably used to be an apartment building and watches campfires go up throughout the arena. He has a view all the way to the massive river and its floodplain to the south and the woodland and mountains to the north—overgrown parks that have all merged together into dense forest. To the east and west are the sprawling remains of the city: husks of skyscrapers and maze-like streets and empty, cracking highways.

He counts the campfires in the immediate vicinity: twenty total, though the closest looks to be at least half a kilometer away. It’s a small relief—less chance of being robbed in the night if no one is nearby. The temperature has dropped enough that the chill seeps through the thin layers of Hanbin’s jacket and shirt, prickling sharp against his skin.

He decides that he can weather a night without risking a fire and giving away his location.

It’ll be just like the winter when the environmental controls broke yet again in the Lower Wards and plummeted all the districts into freezing temperatures for over a month before the city deigned to fix the situation. He slept curled up with Matthew on pallets in their tiny apartment, dressed in every piece of clothing they owned and still wracked with constant shivers. He remembers pressing his fingers to Matthew’s neck every morning to check his pulse, terrified that he might have died in the night.

He drops from the ledge and curls up in a ball on the hard concrete of the roof, tucking his knees into his chest. The camera zooms closer, focused on his face, and he tries to muster another smile. His brain is alert and anxious, worried about Matthew, worried about other contestants, worried about potentially freezing to death, but his body is exhausted and still weak from the remnants of the knockout drug the collar pumped into his system.

Right now, his body is winning the war, eyelids growing heavy.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles to whoever is watching and lets himself drift into uneasy sleep.

****

He meets the boy who will become Zhang Hao the next morning. Right now, he is simply 38—based on the number on his jacket—and he remains calm even with an arrow pointed at his head.

“We don’t want any trouble,” the boy says, speaking for himself and his blond companion. He has prominent ears and sharp eyes, and a foreign accent slows his Korean just enough to be noticeable. He holds a knife like he knows how to use it.

The street they’ve encountered each other on is narrow, lined on both sides with squat crumbling buildings slowly being consumed by creeping overgrowth. Hanbin drew a weapon purely on instinct, refusing to ignore a potential threat, and now he keeps the string of his bow pulled taut.

“Neither do I. I’m just passing through.”

“Okay,” 38 says. “How about you put down the bow and I’ll put down the knife, then?”

“On three,” Hanbin agrees with a nod. “One…” he slowly begins to lower the bow and contestant 38 mirrors him. “Two … three.”

He puts the arrow back in his pack and drops his arm fully to his side. 38 stashes the knife in a makeshift holster strapped to his thigh. The blond boy, contestant 39, lets out a shaky exhale of relief and squeezes 38’s shoulder.

“There,” 38 says. “Now we’ll get out of your way.” He gestures for Hanbin to pass them on the street.

“Wait,” Hanbin says, deciding to take a risk. “Have you seen another boy? About this tall,” he raises a hand to Matthew’s approximate height. “Light brown hair, contestant number 64?”

To his disappointment, both boys shake their heads.

“No, sorry,” says 38, sounding genuinely apologetic. “You’re the first person we’ve seen.”

Hanbin keeps his expression neutral and dips forward in a quick bow of thanks. “Then, I’ll keep moving. Good luck.”

“You, too,” Number 38 says with a nod of his head. His companion remains silent, regarding Hanbin with a stoic, calculating gaze.

Hanbin continues up the street, aware of their eyes on his back until he turns another corner out of sight. Only then, does his heart finally slow.

*****

He meets a boy who shares his name later that same afternoon. The neighborhood stays quiet as he winds his way towards the larger highway and the skyscrapers—just birdsong and the occasional small animal moving along the ground or through the trees. He tries not to let it lull him into a false sense of security, keeping his weapon in hand. He should probably also try to fashion a holster for the hunting knife like 38—keeping it tied to his backpack makes it too hard to reach in a pinch.

“Well,” he says to his little camera companion once they’ve finally reached the empty highway, scanning the surrounding buildings. “Where should we start?”

The bot hovers behind his shoulder, capturing his view of the distant flooded district at the south end of the highway, the edge of a forest to the east, more buildings and forest to the north, and a plaza with a bunch of high-rise apartments to the southwest.

“Do you think those apartments look stable?” Hanbin asks, trying to assess if the decaying skyscrapers are structurally sound. Maybe if he just searches the lower floors….

A sudden bang startles him so badly that he jolts, nearly tripping over his own feet. Another metal screech follows and Hanbin drops into a crouch, drawing an arrow from his pack as he searches wildly for the source of the noise.

When a second screech comes, he pinpoints it to the east, a little further down the highway and close to the forest. He shouldn't investigate. He should run the other way as fast as possible, but what if it’s Matthew?

“Fuck,” Hanbin mutters under his breath and moves forward in a crouch, using the rusting husks of abandoned vehicles as cover.

Another clang, metal against metal, and then a screech and a dull whir. The thud of something hitting the ground, close enough now that it sets Hanbin’s teeth on edge. He peers around the edge of an old truck to see a boy with red-tinted hair standing in the middle of an open section of highway, clutching a makeshift spear that he’s driven into a hunk of metal at his feet.

Hanbin debates showing himself, but when he shifts his weight, he accidentally hits a loose piece of stone, sending it skittering across the asphalt. The other boy looks up with wild eyes.

“Who’s there?”

“Not an enemy,” Hanbin calls and slowly steps into view—arrow purposefully pointed at the ground. “I heard … something. Came to check it out. What happened?”

The other boy wipes the back of a shaky hand over his mouth. The fading red in his hair gleams in the afternoon sun like the water on the horizon line. His jacket labels him as contestant 55.

“I don’t know,” he says, lowering his guard slightly. “This thing attacked me.”

Hanbin creeps closer, peering down at the hunk of metal. It takes shape into a creature of some kind—an elongated neck, what might be a long tail, two spindly legs, and a white-plated head with one bulbous eye. Standing it would probably come up to Hanbin’s thigh, roughly the size of a large dog.

“What the fuck,” Hanbin breathes, stunned.

“It came out of nowhere,” 55 says, leaning on his spear. It’s mostly a long piece of metal that he’s sharpened into a point on one end and tied strips of cloth for a grip on the other. The tip has gone through the creature’s neck, pinning it into the ground and nearly severing its head. “Tried to blast me with this wave of bright light out of its eye.”

Right. Okay.

Hanbin nudges the creature with the tip of his boot. It doesn’t stir. “Well, I figured we wouldn’t be alone out here,” he says. “I just didn’t expect … machines.”

“Me neither,” 55 says and wrenches his spear free. The sleeve of his jacket has a small tear right through his red armband, revealing a thin strip of bloody skin. “Good for salvage, though.”

Hanbin hums in agreement. 55 crouches in front of the machine, using the spear to pry some of the casing off and expose the wires and metal underneath. He gazes up at Hanbin, wary and fierce. “It was my kill.”

Hanbin finally sheathes his arrow and lifts a placating hand in surrender. “I’m not going to take anything.” He glances at the sky, where the sun is beginning to set, and an idea slowly forms. “But it’s going to be dark soon.”

“So?” 55 asks, mostly focused on gutting the machine for parts.

“So how about an alliance? Just for the night?” This might be another stupid idea, but Hanbin really doesn’t want to spend another night alone curled up on freezing earth and hoping he doesn’t get ambushed.

At 55’s dubious glance, he lays out his argument. “You saw how many campfires were in this area. There are going to be contestants that will prefer to get supplies by stealing them. It’s safer in numbers, at least after dark.”

“How do I know you won’t steal my stuff?” 55 asks.

“A risk worth taking?” Hanbin offers and is rewarded with an expected scowl. “I’m Sung Hanbin,” he tries, hoping that a name will be seen as a display of trust.

55’s eyes widen. “I’m Park Hanbin,” he says, tapping his own chest.

Hanbin almost laughs. What are the odds? “Well, then we won’t betray each other. Hanbins should stick together.”

Park Hanbin shakes his head, but his resolve is crumbling.

“Besides,” Hanbin pushes. “You could also betray me. I’m gambling here too.”

The other Hanbin mulls this over for a moment, elbows deep in machine guts. “Fine,” he says. “Just for the night.”

Hanbin keeps his internal relief off his face and nods. “Good. We can look for a place nearby.”

“Once I’m finished,” the other Hanbin says, turning his attention back to the creature. Hanbin knows better than to offer help so he idly stands guard and tries not to worry that a third day in the arena is approaching without any sign of Matthew.

*****

That night, they build a fire in the corner of an abandoned building, choosing a spot where the ceiling looks least likely to cave on their heads. Park Hanbin sorts through the pieces of scrap metal he extracted from the machine with surprising efficiency.

“Delver?” Hanbin asks, wondering if this is another thing they share.

“For a while,” Park Hanbin says. “The pay wasn’t good enough to keep throwing myself into dangerous ruins.”

Hanbin laughs—a bitter thing. The pay isn’t good enough anywhere, but he sees Park Hanbin’s point. Trawling the ruins of earth’s tumultuous surface for valuable salvage isn’t a job with a long life expectancy. Hanbin liked the adventure of it and the commission he got whenever he found something good. He didn’t like the peril, the frequent injury, or the ghostly echoes of a dead civilization haunting the buildings he was exploring—hundreds of remnants of life that ended brutally.

He feels them here too, but they’re easy to ignore when the threat of his own death is much more immediate.

He eyes the hovering camera, resting his chin on his folded knees. “Do you have anyone watching back in Hwaseong?”

Park Hanbin pauses, clearly debating how much to tell him.

“I have a few,” Hanbin says, a peace offering. “But the most important one ended up down here with me.”

“Taerae,” Park Hanbin says quietly. “Taerae’s watching.”

“A friend?” Hanbin asks.

Park Hanbin shakes his head and throws a few more sticks onto the fire. “Something like that.”

They don’t talk for the rest of the night.

*****

Two days later, Hanbin wakes at dawn to a brilliant blue pillar of light in the sky, cutting through the paler golds, pinks, and reds of sunrise. They’ve managed to make it pretty far west in their hunt for salvage and tokens, which have been far more abundant than Hanbin was expecting. The terrain is becoming more swampy and the air more humid. The foliage here is thick, more jungle than temperate forest, and nature has subsumed far more of the city—vines covering the skyscrapers, smaller buildings reduced to pieces of rubble, streets entirely erased.

The beacon looks to be rising from the southeast, either at the edge of the flooded district or within it. Hanbin nudges Park Hanbin awake, who glares at him for a moment before spotting the beacon. His eyes widen, the remnants of sleep disappearing, and together they leave the protection of the forest, venturing onto the highway to get a better look at the beacon.

“It doesn’t look too far,” Park Hanbin says, scrambling on top of a pile of rubble that was probably once a building but has been eaten by nature until only this one piece remains. “We can definitely make it by sunrise tomorrow, if we start moving now.”

Hanbin nods, swallowing down his persistent worry about Matthew. Matthew will see the beacon and make his way there too. Matthew will be fine. They’ll meet up before the first challenge and everything will be fine.

“Let’s get moving, then,” Hanbin says, turning his attention to breaking down their camp.

Park Hanbin swiftly joins, dispersing the remains of their fire, emptying the cooking pot they’d been collecting rainwater in to wash with and handing it to Hanbin to tie to his pack, since it was technically Hanbin’s find. Hanbin gives him a grateful smile that predictably isn’t returned and also makes sure that his bow is within easy reach. They’re probably going to start running into more players, now that everyone is headed in the same direction, and Hanbin doesn’t want to risk losing hard-earned supplies or tokens right before the first challenge.

“I guess we’re sticking together today?” he asks Park Hanbin as they set off down the highway.

This is where they’d usually go their own ways, not wanting to share salvage, and reconvene at a planned rendezvous point near sunset, but now their priority is getting to the beacon and there is safety in numbers, even if they haven’t encountered any more machines or seen many other players.

Hanbin would rather be cautious.

Park Hanbin sighs, grudging. “Just for today.”

“What do you think the challenge is going to be?” Hanbin wonders. “They’re sending us to the flooded district so something with water?”

“Maybe,” Park Hanbin agrees. He shields his eyes to look at the beacon again. “It’ll probably be something simple, for the first challenge.”

“Deceptively simple,” Hanbin adds, because the games are rarely as they seem.

“Yeah,” Park Hanbin says, expression grim. “Exactly.”

*****

Hanbin’s boots sink into the mud all the way to the ankle and he grimaces at the brackish water that brushes his knees, soaking the legs of his pants. This forest is partially submerged, and the trees have adapted, rising from the water on pylons of massive, tangled roots. Growing up, Hanbin heard stories of the Cataclysm that ended the Old World: a string of natural disasters that brought erupting volcanoes, roaring tsunamis, and swelling ocean and rivers that swallowed entire cities whole. In the centuries since, the earth has calmed enough for some of the water to recede, but it’s still strange to think that this was once a neighborhood with apartment buildings and carefully manicured parks.

The only evidence now is the pieces of rubble that sometimes reach desperately above the surface, as though pleading for help from the uncaring swamp.

“I think we’re close,” Park Hanbin says, grimacing when he takes a misstep and the water surges to his waist.

Hanbin nods in agreement. He can see the growing points of light breaking through the thick barrier of trees, signaling that they’re reaching the edge of this particular swamp. Unfortunately, the closer they get to the edge of the trees, the deeper the water becomes. By the time they’re back in open air, it’s up to Hanbin’s chest and rising. At least now, he can see the bridge and the beacon, glowing even brighter in the early evening gloom. The bridge sits just above the water level, mostly intact, though both of its end points look submerged, with a little strip of old highway serving as a ramp out of the river. Parts of skyscrapers also rise from the water like sleeping behemoths.

“Shit,” Park Hanbin says—mouth a grim slash across his face. “We’re going to have to swim.”

Hanbin swallows down a curse under his breath because Park Hanbin is right. There’s no clear land path to the start of the bridge, everything is still drowned by the old, vicious flood.

“Then we swim,” Hanbin, tightening the straps of his pack. Fortunately, almost everything he’s carrying is waterproof.

Park Hanbin mirrors him, securing his pack more tightly across his shoulders and waist.

“Give me your jacket,” Hanbin says and when Park Hanbin reluctantly passes it over, Hanbin ties it to his and extends one end back to Park Hanbin. “We need to stay tethered together. In case there are bad currents.”

Understanding dawns on Park Hanbin’s face and he ties the sleeve to his pack, tripling the knots just to be safe.

“Alright,” he says and actually reaches out to nudge Hanbin’s shoulder in a surprising display of camaraderie. “Let’s do this. Don’t die.”

“Worry about yourself,” Hanbin retorts, but nudges Park Hanbin’s shoulder in return.

Hanbin wades into the river first, taking the lead. The water rises to his shoulders, neck, chin, and then his feet can no longer touch the ground. The current picks up, forcing them to fight against it as it tries to sweep them east towards the distant sea. Hanbin grits his teeth and urges his body to rise to the challenge, to forget the exhaustion and the malnutrition of the last few days. As a delver, he dove into sunken buildings and navigated precarious underwater caves and ruins.

He can do this.

Time enters a strange slipstream as they swim, as Hanbin’s arms and legs start to burn and he tries not to choke on the water that gets into his mouth and nostrils. The tether between him and Park Hanbin holds and the skyscrapers loom closer, closer, closer. Hanbin spots a streetlight barely keeping its head above water and seizes the opportunity to catch his breath, looping an arm around the pole and snagging Park Hanbin to pull him in too. Park Hanbin gulps in air, pressing his forehead to the cool metal.

“We’re almost there!” Hanbin shouts above the rush of the river, pointing to the bridge only about two dozen meters away now.

Park Hanbin nods. “Let’s go!” he shouts back, and they push off the pole together, using the momentum to cut through the current.

They close the gap between them and the bridge meter by painful meter. Finally, just when Hanbin thinks his legs are going to give out, he brushes against the asphalt of the destroyed highway and the railing of the bridge. He gasps in relief, hauling himself out of the water and making an undignified crawl onto dry land, collapsing onto his stomach on the bridge.

Park Hanbin slumps into his view, laying down next to him with his eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. Hanbin reaches over a weak hand to pat his arm.

“Victory,” he wheezes.

Park Hanbin snorts, coughs. “Now just the hard part left, right?”

Right, Hanbin thinks. Now the hard part.

CHALLENGE 1

After a week of relative isolation, Hanbin finds it disconcerting to see so many people gathered in one place. It’s almost sunrise and the bridge is already full of occupants—all looking as wet and miserable as they felt. His clothes are still damp and his limbs ache from the swim through unforgiving currents to the bridge.

In the blooming daylight, he scans the haggard faces around him for any sign of Matthew, anxiety rising when he can’t find him. He sees the blond and the handsome boy that he first met at the beginning of the week, but not Matthew.

What if he didn’t make it, an insidious voice wonders, which he stubbornly ignores. Matthew had to have made it.

As sunrise renders the sky and the turbulent river a serene painting, the column of light rising from the center of the bridge morphs, turning into a large dark screen where words appear.

CHALLENGE START

05:00

The timer immediately begins counting down and Hanbin tries to shift his attention to what’s ahead. He can try to find Matthew after, before the contestants disperse again.

Another block of text materializes beneath the timer:

CONTESTANTS, GATHER AT THE NORTH END OF THE BRIDGE

AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS

At his shoulder, Park Hanbin taps restless fingers against the spear he’s still carrying. “This is going to be fun,” he says grimly.

Hanbin does one last scan for Matthew, before Park Hanbin impatiently tugs on his arm. The other contestants are all hesitantly making their way to the north end of the bridge, eyeing the countdown and each other with equal wariness. Of the ninety-nine contestants in the games, Hanbin guesses that only about seventy-five have made it to the bridge ahead of the deadline.

Please let Matthew be one of them.

He takes a spot near the railing and Park Hanbin stays close, glancing around at the other players with calculation instead of desperation. Suddenly, he goes rigid, straightening as his eyes blow wide and stunned and horrified.

“Taerae?” he murmurs in disbelief.

Hanbin follows his gaze to a boy standing a few meters away who looks to be about Park Hanbin and Matthew’s height, with disarmingly soft features and fluffy hair still damp at the ends from a swim to the bridge. His armband is civilian blue and his jacket labels him as contestant 53, and Park Hanbin looks like he’s been shot through the stomach.

“Taerae,” he breathes again and starts forward, weaving a purposeful path through the crowd towards the other boy.

Taerae, Hanbin remembers with a jolt. The friend who was supposed to be watching. Taerae turns, spots Park Hanbin, and a range of emotions flicker across his face in rapid succession: wariness, sadness, determination, but no surprise. Meanwhile, Park Hanbin’s own shock has morphed into anger. He grabs the front of Taerae’s damp jacket with one trembling fist and shakes him, hard.

“Yah, Kim Taerae, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“Competing,” Taerae says calmly. “Same as you.”

Park Hanbin’s mouth twists into a snarl. “You aren’t supposed to be here! I’m only here because—”

The blare of a horn drowns out the rest of Park Hanbin’s sentence and the screen near the middle of the bridge flickers as the countdown hits 0:00. Hanbin turns and spots a familiar face in his peripheral, stepping up to Taerae and Park Hanbin with a frown and a cautious expression.

Matthew. The relief ripples through him like a grounding exhale, a sigh in his lungs. Matthew is here—tired and haggard but whole. He also spots Hanbin and for a second relief also breaks over his face before he settles back into the stoic mask he’s been wearing since they were arrested. Still, Hanbin will take that fleeting emotion and grasp it with both hands, a tiny indicator that Matthew doesn’t hate him, not entirely.

“Hyung,” Matthew says but there is no time for an actual catchup.

Hidden speakers crackle with brief static feedback and a female voice speaks—the same one Hanbin heard after waking up alone in the plaza. Young, deceptively pleasant. Almost soothing.

“Welcome, contestants, to the first challenge of the games. And congratulations on surviving your first week in the arena.”

The screen flickers and changes, showing a digital replica of the tokens that Hanbin has piled in his pack.

“By now, you should have found a number of these scattered throughout the city. As you might have guessed, they are worth points. One thousand points each. There may be other, more valuable ones also hidden as the games continue, so keep looking.”

Hanbin does rapid math in his head. One thousand points each multiplied by the 112 tokens he’s found over the last six days equals 112,000 points.

“We have been keeping track of the tokens you’ve found so far and established your current point totals,” the voice continues. The screen ripples again, changing to their faces. “These are your current rankings.”

Hanbin quickly finds his ranking as the screen slowly cycles through all the players: 17. Not bad, but not nearly good enough. Matthew is 20th. Park Hanbin has managed to rank above him at 14. His friend Taerae is 23rd. The handsome boy is at 10th and his blond friend is at 25. The current top contestant is someone named Lee Hoetaek that Hanbin hasn’t run into yet. Right below him are a Kim Hyojong and a Kim Hyunjun. At the bottom of the top nine is a strong looking boy called Park Gunwook.

“Challenges,” the female voice explains, “are the best way to change your rank. If you win this challenge, you will be granted 250,000 points. If you lose, there will be a punishment, which you will choose once the challenge is over. The amount of points you can win in a challenge may also increase as the games continue.”

Hanbin’s mouth drops open. He knew challenges would be the most important aspect of the games, but that is so many points that it’s startling. Beside him, Matthew blinks up at the screen with wide eyes, a determined set to his jaw.

“In this challenge, your goal is to make it to the marker at the other end of the bridge.” A column of blue light erupts from the far of the edge, incandescent in the still-hazy morning light. “The first twenty contestants to make it across the line will receive the reward. But move carefully.”

Move carefully? Hanbin wonders. It can’t be a straight race, that seems too simple.

The speakers crackle again and a new voice echoes across the bridge—still female but younger, a child, singing a familiar song.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida.”

Oh. Move carefully. Hanbin almost wants to laugh. The first game is one he’s pretty sure they all played growing up. During his brief time in an orphanage, Hanbin remembers the children all being encouraged to play this in the small, barren yard, in spite of the winter chill.

There are probably motion detectors on the bridge to disqualify players. It’s strange, playing with a disembodied voice and not someone you can see turning around. Hanbin still starts forward, grateful that Matthew moves with him. A handful of players have sprinted ahead, creating a widening gap between themselves and the rest of the pack, but Hanbin knows from experience that too much speed means you’ll have trouble freezing when you need to.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot … seumnida.”

Hanbin skids to a halt just as the voice finishes speaking and the column of light flashes. Sure enough, up ahead several of the players are unable to halt their momentum, swaying and stumbling. A light on their collars flares and Hanbin watches in horror as they’re hit with something that drops them to the ground, writhing and shrieking in agony, clawing pointlessly at their necks.

“Shit,” Matthew breathes.

“Mugunghwa … kkoci….”

Hanbin jogs forward, trying to stick to the middle of the group of players. Park Hanbin appears to his left, Taerae next to him, and he exchanges a grim smile with Hanbin.

“…pieot seumnida.”

More players drop, screaming. Hanbin estimates that at least sixteen are out now and they’re about a third of the way across the bridge. He breathes in. Hold. Out slow. He can do this.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida.”

Directly in front of him, a boy he doesn’t know sways a little too much and drops with a cry. Hanbin glances down at him in sympathy but also uncharitably wants to tell him to be quiet. It’s getting hard to hear the girl’s voice over all the yelling from downed players.

“Mugunghwa…”

Hanbin leaps over the boy. They’re almost at the halfway point and the group is thinning. No one has pulled too far ahead yet, probably saving their energy for a mad dash at the end. Matthew is mercifully sticking close to him, though Park Hanbin and Taerae have fallen a meter or two behind when Park Hanbin paused to keep Taerae from falling. Hanbin hopes they’ll make it, but he selfishly isn’t going to stop to help them.

“...kkoci pieot seumnida.”

Hanbin skids to a stop, realizing with a start that contestant 38—Zhang Hao, the board said his name was—is on his right now and they’re on the front edge of the pack. Zhang Hao also holds himself impressively still, barely flinching when a contestant on his other side collapses with a piercing scream and keeping his gaze fixed on the column of light that now nearly fills the horizon. They’re past the halfway point and Hanbin guesses there are only about forty contestants left of the original seventy-five.

Too many, his brain grumbles and he winces.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida.”

Up ahead, one boy nudges another, throwing him off balance and eliminating him. Hanbin grimaces, though he was expecting these kinds of tactics. A large boy, whom Hanbin recognizes as Park Gunwook, who’s appeared between Hanbin and Matthew also witnesses the incident with a dark, angry frown.

“Mugunghwa kkoci…”

Gunwook sprints forward, catching up to the boy who caused an elimination and grabbing a fistful of his jacket. The boy gasps in surprise and tries to yank himself free, but it’s like he’s fighting against a mountain.

“...pieot seumnida.”

Gunwook drops the boy and he’s eliminated by the time he hits the cracked asphalt, clawing at his collar. Hanbin suppresses a rush of grim satisfaction. He likes Park Gunwook, he decides, even if he’s definitely going to be a problem later on.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida.”

They only have a quarter of the bridge left and the air is thick with groans and cries. This part of the bridge is more unstable, with gaps where pieces have broken off and fallen into the angry river below, making balance precarious. Hanbin stares at the rushing water beneath the toes of his boots and pushes down the fear clawing up his throat.

No panicking. Not when they’re so close.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot…”

Hanbin jumps the gap, running at full speed. Only a handful of contestants are ahead of him, including Park Gunwook and 93, Lee Hoetaek. Zhang Hao has kept pace with him on his right, but when he tries to stop, he trips on a broken piece of the bridge jutting up through the asphalt.

Without thinking, Hanbin reaches out and grabs his jacket, steadying him.

“...seumnida.”

Zhang Hao’s gaze flickers over to him in shock and Hanbin offers a faint smile in return, feeling like an idiot and aware of Matthew glaring at him from his other side. Maybe this makes him too soft, he doesn’t really care. Zhang Hao is a familiar face and Hanbin doesn’t want to see him in agony like so many boys around them.

“Mugunghwa…”

Hanbin lets go of Zhang Hao and pushes his exhausted body to the limit, running as fast as he can across the last few meters between himself and the finish line. Park Gunwook disappears into the column of light, then Lee Hoetak, and a number appears near the top of the column, rapidly ticking up as more contestants make it to safety.

“…kkoci pieot seumnida.”

Hanbin stops, so close to the light that if he fully extended his arm, he could brush his fingertips against it. The counter reads 10. On his right, Zhang Hao gives him a tiny nod, and on his left, Matthew glares at the column like he can make it shift closer to them by sheer force of will.

“Mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida.”

Hanbin half runs, half stumbles through the light barrier and into safety, gasping as his legs threaten to give out from a combination of relief and overexertion. He turns to Matthew and can’t resist pulling him into a hug, even if Matthew is still mad at him.

“We made it,” he breathes.

Matthew sighs against his chest but doesn’t pull away and that’s a victory all of its own. “We made it,” he echoes.

The voice continues, another round, and Park Hanbin and Taerae both crash through the barrier with twin exclamations of triumph. The counter ticks up to 18, then 19 as Zhang Hao’s blond companion also makes it to safety. Zhang Hao rushes to him, gripping his shoulders and tipping their foreheads together as he whispers what might be congratulations or an apology, if the guilty expression on his face is any indicator.

One more chant and a contestant that Hanbin thinks is called Kim Jiwoong staggers across the finish line. He immediately turns with a horrified expression on his handsome face, locking eyes with another boy just on the other side of the light column. The column shifts from blue to red and the boy on the other side smiles, sad and reassuring as Jiwoong mouths what looks like no.

“Challenge complete,” the first female voice says, still gratingly pleasant. As though they just took a stroll through an Upper Wards park. “Congratulations to the twenty winners. 250,000 points will be added to your current total. Please wait in the safe zone.”

Matthew curls anxious fingers into Hanbin’s sleeve and Hanbin trades a wary look with Park Hanbin.

Time to see what the punishment is.

“To those who have lost,” the woman continues. “You must now face a choice. You can choose from three options.”

The red column disappears and three large circles of light form on the ground.

“One, you can choose physical pain, administered through your collar.” The first circle shifts from white to yellow.

“Two, you can choose to give up half of the supplies that you have collected over the past week.” The second circle turns a sickly orange.

“Or three, you can choose to give up fifty thousand points from your current total.” The final circle deepens to a blood red.

“Stand in the circle of your choice. You have thirty seconds.”

Hanbin knows what he would choose. Pain, always, over the loss of supplies or points, which could be far more permanent. Better to endure physical suffering than put yourself at risk of elimination or even more at the mercy of the harsh elements of the arena. Kim Jiwoong’s friend seems to have the same idea, immediately marching over to the first circle and planting himself in the middle of it with a stoic, determined expression on his face.

Other boys hesitate. A few drift to the third circle and Park Hanbin shakes his head in disbelief.

“Idiots,” he scoffs, which Hanbin can’t help but agree with.

However, in the end most of the fifty-five remaining boys end up in circles two and three, with only fifteen choosing to endure physical pain. Hanbin wants to yell at them, for either their cowardice or their stupidity. They’re really willing to chance throwing the whole game just to avoid a little suffering?

“Very well, your choices have been made,” The female voice says cheerfully. “Circle two, please collect half your supplies and leave them on the end of the bridge. Failure to comply will result in disqualification and your points will be reduced to zero. Circle three, fifty thousand points will be deducted, as promised. Circle one…”

The voice pauses and the fifteen boys in circle one suddenly jerk their hands toward their collars. One of them screams. Kim Jiwoong’s friend merely squeezes his eyes shut, trembling gloved fingers hooked around the metal.

“This burning agent is nonlethal but will last for the next eight hours. We wish you strength.”

A third boy in the circle sobs, then shifts and retches, bile dripping onto the asphalt.

“Fuck,” Matthew says, mouth slack in horror.

They made the right choice, Hanbin thinks, but that’s hard to voice, watching tears drip down the face of Kim Jiwoong’s friend and the sorrow and dismay carved into Kim Jiwoong’s face. Watching the cameras zoom closer to capture every detail of the contestants’ suffering, to be eaten up by all the viewers back in Hwaseong.

“You are all free to go,” the voice announces. “Good luck over the next week.”

Hanbin hesitates, debating which direction they should go in. It might be good to head south of the river, rather than back to the territory they’ve spent the last week in—presuming that Matthew also came from that direction.

“I want to go south,” Matthew announces with a defiant expression that also says Hanbin is free to tag along or go his own way, but Matthew won’t be accepting any suggestions or orders from him.

Hanbin bites back the retort that rises unbidden on his tongue, the part of him that wants to inform Matthew that he’s acting like a petulant child. That Hanbin made his decision and he won’t regret it, no matter how much Matthew tries to push him away, and he has experience that Matthew doesn’t. He has a better chance at keeping them both alive out here and Matthew should get over his damning pride and listen.

None of that would be well-received, would only drive Matthew further away.

So Hanbin pastes a pleasant, empty smile on his face and says, “Sure, let’s go south.”

Matthew eyes him, mouth pulled into a mulish frown, but he doesn’t argue, merely swallows down whatever barbs he might have wanted to throw and nods.

Good, they’re both capable of diplomacy.

Hanbin glances around for Park Hanbin and finds Zhang Hao instead, regarding him from a few meters away with a wary, inquisitive expression. As though he’s trying to peel back all of Hanbin’s external layers and expose some kind of truth underneath. When he notices Hanbin looking, he murmurs something to his blond friend and approaches.

“Thank you,” he says, stopping in front of Hanbin with a dip of his head. “For your help back there.”

“You’re welcome,” Hanbin says and then, on impulse, “do you want to join us?”

He feels Matthew startle next to him, but he just smiles, trying to look welcoming.

Zhang Hao frowns, dubious. “Why?”

“Alliances are important,” Hanbin replies. “And I think we could make a good one.”

Zhang Hao seems capable and so does his friend. And right now, there is still strength in numbers.

Zhang Hao assesses him again, then shakes his head. Hanbin decides not to examine that disappointment that sparks in his gut.

“Thanks, but we’re fine on our own.”

“Then good luck,” Hanbin says with another smile and small bow of his own. “Zhang Hao-ssi.”

If Zhang Hao is surprised by the use of his name, he doesn’t show it. “Good luck,” he simply says, bowing back. “Sung Hanbin-ssi. Until the next challenge.”

As Zhang Hao leaves, Park Hanbin appears, dragging Taerae along with him and looking angry instead of celebratory.

“We’re going south,” Hanbin informs him, nodding to the closest edge of the bridge. “You coming?”

“Yes,” Taerae says before Park Hanbin can offer an opinion. Park Hanbin glowers at him and he ignores it, seemingly unaffected by Park Hanbin’s ire.

“Great,” Matthew says, offering Taerae a fleeting smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It still seems they know each other and Hanbin wonders if they arrived at the challenge together.

So many strings forming, tangling them all together, filling with blood that will soak the arena when they’re severed.

Together, the four of them leave the bridge behind.

WEEK 2

Park Hanbin is much sharper than him, Hanbin thinks. From his dark eyes to the plane of his cheekbones to the angle of his jaw to the coiled, lethal grace in his limbs—all blades, as dangerous as the spear across his back. In contrast, Taerae is placid on the surface but Hanbin detects a lurking anger, like a volcano bubbling on an ocean floor, preparing to erupt.

“I didn’t want you here,” Park Hanbin snarls.

“I know,” Taerae says. He’s seated cross-legged in the dirt, letting Park Hanbin pace around him like a predator stalking prey. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Park Hanbin makes a furious, wounded noise—all animal. “This was my mistake,” he snaps, pausing to loom over Taerae and through the anger Hanbin can see terrible devastation. “My problem to fix. You didn’t need to get involved.”

“I wasn’t going to let you do this alone,” Taerae says, blinking up at Park Hanbin with a stubborn set to his jaw and eyebrows. “You would have done the same for me.”

Park Hanbin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again, unable to counter Taerae’s argument.

“Taerae,” Park Hanbin says helplessly, so much rage and sorrow packed into the single utterance of Taerae’s name.

“I made my choice, Hanbin-ah,” Taerae says, finally standing. He puts his hands on Park Hanbin’s shoulders. “There’s no going back now. So we’re just going to have to survive together. And you can be mad at me about that, I don’t care. It won’t change anything.”

“I hate you,” Park Hanbin says and it sounds like I love you.

Taerae smiles, soft and sad. “If that makes you feel better.”

Park Hanbin and closes his eyes. He lets out an exhale that sounds like surrender. “It doesn’t,” he grumbles. “So we’re just going to have to survive together.”

Taerae nods. Pats Park Hanbin’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit.”

For a moment, Park Hanbin looks like he wants to punch Taerae in the face, but it passes quickly. “We should get moving,” he says, glancing over at Matthew and Hanbin. “We’re burning daylight.”

“See you at sundown?” Hanbin asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “We can meet at that building.” He points at a skyscraper that rises taller than the rest of its neighbors. “And decide where to camp.”

Park Hanbin nods. “Yeah. See you at sundown.”

And then he and Taerae vanish into the trees, leaving Hanbin alone with Matthew and no idea what to say.

He decides the best course of action is to sink into survival mode and checks the position of the sun through the canopy.

“We still have a couple hours of daylight. We should try to find more food, preferably hunt, while we can. We can focus on finding more tokens tomorrow.”

Matthew lets out a controlled breath that Hanbin knows means he’s trying to keep his temper in check.

“Okay,” he says and his voice comes out steady and collected, giving none of his inner thoughts away.

Hanbin can still see through him. After seven years together, they’ve turned transparent like thin paper held up to the scrutiny of each other’s light. And Hanbin should say something, he knows. He’s the hyung.

“I know you’re mad at me—”

“We should hunt now,” Matthew says, cutting him off. “Like Park Hanbin said, we’re wasting daylight.”

Hanbin can’t keep a frustrated frown off his face. “Seokmae-yah….”

“Let’s go, hyung,” Matthew says, refusing to give Hanbin an opening.

Hanbin forces himself to let it go. Arguing will just lead them in circles, wasting time.

“Okay.” He points deeper into the forest. “I think we stand a better chance of finding game further in, away from the main ruins of the city.”

Matthew nods and straightens. Hanbin can only detect a little bitterness in his voice when he says, “then lead the way.”

Hanbin decides not to call him on it and heads into the forest at a brisk walk, bow in hand. The foliage grows more dense, as though over the last few centuries lonely trees have shifted closer and closer until their branches and vines entangled to form a singular thick canopy. Even their roots push up through the earth in large tangles and the underbrush stretches wild and untamed through the gaps between their trunks. It feels like a different world than the bridge, than the streets of the ruined city where Hanbin woke up.

One they’re unwelcome in. One that has thrived without them.

Hanbin slows his pace as the canopy blankets the world in shadow. “Stay low to the ground,” he murmurs, sinking into teaching mode on instinct. “And keep quiet. Watch your step.”

Fortunately, Matthew also obeys on instinct—too used to following Hanbin’s directions. Hanbin, who showed him where to hide when he caught Matthew stealing at fourteen and an angry shop owner started chasing them. Hanbin, who got him his first job in the Lower Wards. Hanbin, who coaxed him through self-defense moves until Matthew had him pinned in the dirt and he could feel a grin stretching his cheeks.

Seven years, and this dynamic has become ingrained in them—one familiar thing. With Matthew at his back, Hanbin notches an arrow, sharp eyes scanning the forest for movement.

“Two o’clock,” he whispers, nodding towards a boar snuffling through the bushes, rooting around the base of a tree.

Mercifully, Matthew holds himself very still, clutching his own bow.

“We’re going to get closer,” Hanbin says in a soft, steady voice. “You go left to flank it.” Hanbin points in the direction he wants Matthew to take. “I’m going to aim for the head. I probably won’t be able to take it down with one hit, so be ready to shoot right after me. If it starts to run, chase it. If it charges, climb.” Hanbin gestures to the thick branches above them.

Matthew nods. Hanbin can see the last of his messy feelings disappearing beneath an icy layer of focus as he stays in a crouch, creeping into position. Hanbin raises his bow, drawing the string taut. Matthew mimics him, touching the anchor point on his cheek. He’s never tried to hit a moving target, but Hanbin is confident that he taught Matthew well and they’ll get to eat something besides awful protein bars tonight.

Hanbin shoots. The arrow pierces the boar’s eye. It shrieks in anger and pain, staggering, and Matthew fires seconds later, aiming for its neck. Hanbin is already notching another arrow by the time Matthew’s strikes flesh, sinking in deep and eliciting another roar. The boar starts to turn in their direction and Matthew rushes to pull another arrow from his quiver as Hanbin shoots again, another hit to the head.

But suddenly a different roar rattles the leaves—deeper, with a metallic note to the sound—and the ground shakes beneath their feet. The boar squeals, pivoting to run, and something huge crashes through the trees, throwing Hanbin to the ground. He blinks, stunned, and sees a glimpse of four metal legs, clawed feet like a cat’s, and a mouth stretched wide to reveal two prominent, fanged front teeth.

“Run!” Matthew shouts, boar forgotten, and Hanbin scrambles to his feet as another deafening roar fills the forest.

Climb, Hanbin thinks, aiming for the largest of the trees nearby—one so massive that it could probably fit an entire house inside the column of its trunk or amongst the span of its branches. They’ll never outrun the machine on foot.

Matthew clearly has the same idea because he’s already hauling himself up to the first branch, turning to extend a hand to Hanbin. Hanbin grabs it, letting Matthew yank him up just as the machine snaps at his legs. He pulls them up, slamming his boots on top of the machine’s feline-shaped head and using it as leverage to boost himself to the branch. Matthew keeps climbing and Hanbin follows his path as the machine snarls and slams its heavy body against the tree. The trunk groans, branches shake. Hanbin nearly loses his grip, but manages to grab a new branch before he falls, wincing as the rough bark opens bloody scrapes across his palm. Matthew perches several branches above him, near the top of the canopy, and watches him with worried eyes.

Hanbin regains his balance, glancing down to see the machine bracing its front legs against the tree, trying to reach him. But he’s managed to climb just high enough to be out of range and its jaw snaps uselessly a few inches beneath him.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, Hanbin joins Matthew on his branch, and they both huddle against the thick trunk, panting. On the ground below, the machine paces an angry circle around the tree, snarling.

“Do you think it can bring the tree down?” Matthews whispers.

“It’s huge,” Hanbin whispers back. “I think we’re safe.”

He shifts into a sitting position and tries to get a better look at the machine. It looks like a giant tiger, with ridges along its neck and three long, thin antennae extending from its back like a strange plumage. If Hanbin were to stand next to it, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even clear its legs, and as it stares up at them with beady, red eyes, he shudders and looks away, trying to make himself smaller and less visible amongst the leaves of the canopy.

“That thing is massive,” Matthew murmurs to him, also peering down at it with a mixture of curiosity and terror. “Like I thought I heard stuff moving in the forest a few days ago, but nothing like this.”

“Park Hanbin and I ran into a machine a few days ago,” Hanbin says. “But it was much, much smaller than this and Hanbin was able to take it out by himself. This is….” He shakes his head. “The arena is getting more dangerous.”

“So you think they’re going to get bigger than this?” Matthew asks, horrified.

Hanbin wishes he could offer reassurance, but realism is more important. “Probably.”

“Fuck,” Matthew mutters. The machine is still circling. “How long before it gets bored, do you think?”

“Not sure,” Hanbin says, settling in. “We might be here awhile.”

Matthew curses again and also tries to find a more comfortable position. At least the branch is wide enough that they can sit side by side.

“Hyung,” Matthew says, a plaintive note creeping into his voice, “I really wanted that boar.”

Hanbin smiles, accepting Matthew’s olive branch. He rests his head on Matthew’s shoulder and says, “Me, too, Seokmae-yah.”

And for a moment, in spite of the terrifying machine keeping them trapped, everything feels okay again.

*****

It’s absurd, but Hanbin actually starts to doze off in the tree as the hours stretch on and the shadows lengthen. He can still hear the rumble of the creature below them, camped out at the base of the tree, but his body is exhausted and demanding, forcing his heavy eyelids closed.

He doesn’t expect to wake up to the forest on fire and the creature shrieking. Flames lick at its armor casing, crawling along its exposed coils, and as it thrashes the fire spreads to the surrounding underbrush. Through the growing haze of smoke, Hanbin sees a familiar figure perched on a rock outcropping at the edge of their little clearing, notching another flaming arrow with a determined expression on his face.

Zhang Hao.

He fires. The arrow thuds home in the machine’s vulnerable casing. It roars again—fury and agony powerful enough to shake the trees—and takes off at a sprint, crashing through the trees and spreading more fire in its destructive wake.

“Hyung!” Matthew shouts in alarm.

They need to get out of here, before they’re trapped for good.

“Go!” He gives Matthew a light push. “Climb down!”

Another glance at the outcropping reveals that Zhang Hao has vanished. If it wasn’t for the very real fire all around them, Hanbin would think this a strange fever dream. He shakes himself out of his stupor and focuses on escape, dropping from branch to branch as quickly as he can. The smoke is thick and all-encompassing, making it difficult to see and choking his lungs. He pauses on the last branch to tie his jacket around his nose and mouth, then jumps the last meter to the ground, landing in a crouch.

Matthew grabs his arm, hauling him to his feet. “Run!”

They sprint in the opposite direction of the fire, crashing madly through the forest. As they run, something else strange happens: the sky that was clear only a few minutes ago is suddenly overcast and heavy with dark gray clouds. Hanbin startles as a few raindrops land on his face, followed by a downpour.

Is this a response to the fire?

Now drenched, they finally leave the forest behind, heading in the direction of the ruined downtown to the west. The rain stops within fifteen minutes, but the sun is setting and nightfall brings the cold with it, exacerbated by their wet clothing. They need to get warm, so by mutual agreement, they ignore the agreed upon rendezvous point in favor of heading for the first shelter they can find.

They build a fire in the cavernous lobby of what was probably once an office building and strip as much as they can, setting their clothes aside to dry.

For some reason, Zhang Hao chose to help them. This is the fact that sticks with Hanbin through a sad dinner of protein bars, through relocating Park Hanbin and Taerae later that night, and into the next day when he reluctantly parts ways with Matthew to focus on scavenging.

The game masters said that more valuable tokens were hidden in the arena and Hanbin has deduced that more valuable probably equals much harder to find. So he carefully picks his way up the floors of the remains of a skyscraper not far from their camp, trailed by his faithful camera bot and trying not to think about the fact that one misstep could potentially send him plummeting to his death.

This was probably an apartment complex, and some of the rooms still have furniture: a rotting desk, a rusting bed frame, a molding sofa. Hanbin reaches the twelfth floor by hauling himself up through a hole in the ceiling of the eleventh, and tells himself to focus on searching instead of the image of Zhang Hao rising from the forest with a notched fire arrow like some kind of avenging angel.

It was brilliant—Hanbin hadn’t considered fire at all. And Zhang Hao took off before Hanbin could thank him.

Hanbin shakes his head and inches his way into an apartment with the back wall blown out, revealing a dizzying view of ruins, forest, and the distant gleam of the river. There’s a cabinet perched right on the edge, as though in defiance of the building decaying around it, and Hanbin carefully opens each of its compartments, grinning when he spots a blue token in the final one.

He holds it up to the camera. “Success. Guess that means we should check the rest of the floors, huh?”

He finds two more tokens on the twelfth floor, one on the thirteenth, two on the sixteenth, and three on the nineteenth. There is almost nothing left of the roof, but Hanbin still ventures onto it, wanting to check the overgrown corners. Of course, this requires him to traverse a narrow beam that is the only path to the far side of the roof, bridging a gap created by collapsed concrete. He holds his breath as he steps onto the beam, testing to make sure it will hold his weight. The camera circles, as though daring him to fall.

But he was a delver, and even though he’s higher up than he normally ventured, navigating ruins has become a second nature. He crosses the beam in four swift strides, arms out to maintain his balance, and barely resists the urge to wink at the camera.

That would probably be too cavalier.

As he’s crouching to search through the tangle of vines consuming the edges of the roof, the sound of a bell suddenly echoes, making him jerk in surprise. The bell tolls again, coming through hidden speakers, and a holographic image materializes in the sky, hovering above the arena.

It’s a boy that Hanbin doesn’t recognize who looks around Matthew’s age, maybe a little younger. His name is Choi Seyun—contestant 84, ranked 45. Another word flickers in red characters under Choi Seyun’s name: DECEASED.

Their first death.

The bell rings one final time before silence returns, draping over the arena like a thick blanket. Hanbin bows his head in brief respect for the fallen contestant and wonders how he died. The machines? The river? Did he fall from a building like Hanbin might? Hanbin wishes the game masters would tell them, but that’s probably too much kindness.

“I think we’ve found everything we can here,” he tells the camera, managing another faint smile. “Let’s go.”

*****

“He looked young,” Matthew says that night, troubled gaze on the fire.

Park Hanbin scoffs. “We’re all young.”

*****

The situation with Matthew is better, as the week stretches on, but Hanbin doesn’t delude himself that they’ve resolved anything. They’ve merely set aside all of the unspoken things between them—assembled them into a neat little pile in the corner—and reached a necessary neutral ground. One where they can occasionally hunt together and make camp every night, but Matthew shies away if he gets too close and they don’t talk about anything except the games and the business of survival.

It hurts. It’s infuriating. But for the first time in seven years, Hanbin doesn’t know how to bridge this gap between them, especially when he doesn’t regret his actions. Especially when he isn’t going to apologize for anything.

They just have to win. Once they win, they can lay all this to rest.

CHALLENGE 2

Hanbin isn’t sure what this place once was, but it’s huge. A sprawling complex at least four stories tall with a vast, tiled atrium and a glass ceiling that has long been shattered by the branches of ambitious trees. Beyond the main building, the surrounding area is all concrete and rusting metal structures that Hanbin also can’t guess the purpose of: one is a simple tower, another is a serpentine track in a pattern of loops and spirals that makes no sense.

The contestants gather in the atrium, where the column of light is originating from, and a timer once again steadily ticks down from five minutes towards zero. Hanbin stops himself from searching for Zhang Hao in the crowd. This time, he estimates that around sixty of the remaining ninety-eight players have made it on time. Less than the first challenge, though he’s uncertain why. Everyone should know the stakes now. Even if it meant fording the river again, Hanbin would have done it without hesitation rather than miss out on an opportunity to win at least 250,000 points.

On the other side of the light column, Hanbin can make out tables stacked with new jackets. On one table, the jackets are blue, on the other pink.

A team game?

“Welcome, contestants,” the now-familiar female voice says, as always from unseen speakers. “Congratulations on surviving your second week in the arena.” The column changes into a projector, once again, showing the image of a spinning blue token. “Hopefully, you found some of these tokens scattered around the arena in the last week.”

In the past week, Hanbin has found just over thirty of the blue tokens and he worries now that won’t be nearly enough.

“These tokens,” the woman continues, “are worth ten thousand points.”

Ten thousand? Hanbin trades an amazed glance with Matthew. That’s a big jump up from the one thousand point green tokens.

“These are your current rankings, based on your points accumulated this week and carried over from the first challenge and the first week.”

Once again, their images appear on the screen. He’s jumped up to 10th from 17th, not as high as he would have liked but at least not a drop. Zhang Hao has moved up to 8th, which is impressive, and his friend, Ricky, has taken Hanbin’s 17th spot. Lee Hoetaek is still in 1st, with Park Gunwook now in 2nd, and a boy named Keita in 4th. Matthew is in 14th place. A boy called Kim Jiwoong is in 12th and his friend, Yoon Jongwoo, has clawed his way up to 15th, in spite of losing in the first challenge.

“Now, for today’s challenge,” the woman says and the rankings disappear. Hanbin startles as a white light suddenly materializes on the floor, running in a vertical line through the gathered players, with about two thirds on one side and a third on the other.

“This will be a team game.”

Hanbin stiffens as he realizes that the line runs right between him and Matthew, placing them on separate teams. Park Hanbin and Taerae are on Matthew’s team as well, leaving him without any allies. Matthew’s jaw tenses, a look of grim determination settling over his features as he also comes to the same conclusion. He slides his gaze away from Hanbin, deliberately shutting him out, and Hanbin tries to do the same. It might be horrible of him, selfish, but he’ll do everything he can to make sure his own team wins and he expects Matthew to do the same.

“Those on the right side of the line,” the announcer continues, “please step forward and collect a pink jacket and an earpiece.”

Hanbin shuffles up to the table alongside the other forty-odd contestants and finally catches a glimpse of Zhang Hao a few players ahead, draping a pink jacket over his arm. Oh, maybe he will have an ally after all, if he allows himself a small amount of foolish hope.

When Hanbin picks up his own jacket, he notes it's made of a lightweight, water-resistant material not unlike the one he’s currently wearing, but it has a large detachable patch on the back that says HIDER in bold Hangul characters.

“Those on the left side, please collect a blue jacket and an earpiece.”

Matthew, Park Hanbin, and Taerae all step up to the table, as does Kim Jiwoong and Park Gunwook. These jackets have no removable patch but do have bells attached to the sleeve, and says SEEKER on the back.

Interesting.

“Please put on your jackets and remove your packs, placing them here.” A square appears next to the tables. “They will be locked behind a barrier for the duration of the challenge.”

But someone could still steal supplies once the challenge is over. Hanbin doesn’t like it but he also doesn’t see another choice. He shrugs out of his jacket and ties it to his pack so that his contestant number is visible, hopefully making it easier to find later and tell if someone tries to take it.

He puts on the pink jacket as he returns to his spot on the right side of the room, also fitting the earpiece in, and catches Zhang Hao’s gaze. Zhang Hao’s eyebrows go up when he notices the pink jacket, but he doesn’t try to approach Hanbin.

“Pink team, you are the hiders,” the woman says once all the players have followed instructions and the barrier around their supplies has been created. “Your goal is twofold. You must prevent any of the seekers from ripping the patch off the back of your jacket; this will eliminate you from the game. You must also, within the hour time limit, locate fifteen hidden devices throughout the complex.”

The projector image changes to show a glowing blue orb, probably about the size of Hanbin’s palm.

“You must bring all of these items to the safe zone in order to win the challenge.” A glowing box materializes on the far side of the atrium, near a dilapidated carousel. “You are allowed to work together to accomplish this goal and may communicate via radio. If you last the entire hour without being eliminated and your team wins the challenge, you will receive 250,000 points. If you last thirty minutes without being eliminated and your team wins the challenge, you will receive 125,000 points. If you are eliminated within the first thirty minutes but your team wins the challenge, you will receive 50,000 points.”

Hanbin takes a grounding breath.

“Blue players, you are the seekers. Your goal is simply to eliminate all of the hiders by ripping the patches from the back of their jackets. You must eliminate all of them within the hour time limit in order to win, which will reward every team member with 250,000 points. You are not allowed to remove the bells from your jackets, but you may coordinate your efforts via radio, as well. Hiders are allowed to use self-defense if cornered by a seeker, but no outside weapons are allowed within the challenge and no permanent injuries will be permitted.”

The timer reappears.

CHALLENGE START

05:00

“Hiders, you will have a five minute head start.” A barrier materializes around the seekers, this time solid black, preventing them from seeing the directions that the hiders will run in. “Good luck.”

Well. Hanbin thinks he might have ended up with the far worse of the two teams, but nothing to do now except make the most of it. He takes off at a run, heading deeper into the complex, and tries to keep an eye out for Zhang Hao.

With sixty players in the mix, this has the potential to be total chaos.

Deciding that it’s probably better to start on the upper levels, further away from the seekers, Hanbin begins to ascend the steps to the second floor. He’s halfway up when his radio crackles and a boy with a deep, serious voice speaks through the channel.

“Hey, hiding team, my name is Yoon Jongwoo and I have a strategy to propose. We’re all going to need to work together if we want to win this. I think we should have some players, probably at least ten, act as a distraction for the seeking team. Anyone who’s fast and confident they could take someone in a fight, care to volunteer?”

Yoon Jongwoo. The boy who failed the last challenge by a single person, and one of the few who chose to endure pain as a punishment rather than give up points or supplies. He seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, from Hanbin’s brief impression, and this is a sound strategy. But it requires players to potentially sacrifice themselves, and based on the resounding silence everyone is hesitant to agree to that.

“I’ll volunteer,” Jongwoo continues, making the declaration sound easy. “Anyone else?”

Fuck it, Hanbin decides. Especially when he spots Zhang Hao already on the second level, tapping at his earpiece with an uncertain expression.

“Sung Hanbin,” he says into the radio, echoing Jongwoo’s example of providing his name. Hopefully, it’ll make them humanize each other—form a team more easily. “I’ll volunteer.”

Zhang Hao’s head jerks in his direction. Hanbin waves, hoping that the smile stretching across his face isn’t too obviously enthralled. A spark of competition flares in Zhang Hao’s dark eyes.

“Zhang Hao. I’ll volunteer,” he says into the radio.

“Ricky,” a familiar voice crackles through next and an exasperated look flits across Zhang Hao’s face. “I’ll volunteer.”

“Keita,” another new voice says. “Count me in.”

Quickly, like a dam has been broken, more voices join until they have fifteen team members playing the role of distractors.

“Great,” Jongwoo says, “the rest of you, please split up and search as methodically as you can. I think the challenge is going to be contained to this main building. Once you’ve located an orb, please let everyone know that you’ve found it and where it was, so we’ll know not to search in that area. Then, head for the safe zone immediately but try not to make it obvious that’s where you’re going. Hide the orb until you’re in the safe zone. Those being a distraction, also try not to be too obvious about it. And we’ll need three volunteers to stick near the safe zone to help incoming players reach out.”

This time, three players volunteer easily. Somehow, Yoon Jongwoo has managed to pull forty people together just by having a plan. Hanbin is impressed. Overhead, the floating timer informs them that they have two minutes left to hide.

“Good luck, everyone,” Yoon Jongwoo says. “Let’s win.”

“Fighting!” Hanbin calls down the radio and then jogs up to Zhang Hao, swallowing his nerves. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Zhang Hao says, and he’s smiling too. As though maybe seeing Hanbin here is as much of a relief to him as his presence is to Hanbin. Hanbin ignores the stupid fluttering of his stomach, trying to focus on the game.

“I guess we should get ready to run,” Hanbin says.

“We have two minutes,” Zhang Hao points out and then gestures to the third and fourth floors. “Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

Hanbin smirks at him and thinks this is going to be fun. Which is ridiculous. Stupid, when the stakes are this high.

But it feels true.

They find a spot to wait on the third floor, on either side of a doorway leading to a theater full of molding seats and a black, empty projection screen.

“Isn’t your friend on the other team?” Zhang Hao asks as they wait for the timer to run through the last thirty seconds.

Hanbin grimaces, trying not to think about the fact that either he or Matthew is going to lose today. “He is, but I’m going to give it my all. And I expect he will too.”

Zhang Hao nods and doesn’t offer condolences, which Hanbin is grateful for. A chime echoes through the complex and that female voice says, “Seekers. You may begin.”

Hanbin blows out another grounding exhale, trying to settle the anxious rabbit of his heart.

“Ready?” Zhang Hao asks him and he’s also in a crouch but tension runs through his shoulders, down to his legs—body prepared to explode into motion at any second.

“Ready,” Hanbin says.

He just hopes that they don’t run into Park Gunwook.

*****

Approximately forty-five minutes later, they run into Park Gunwook. The hiding team has lost over thirty members, but found eleven devices, leaving only four to locate in this last, desperate quarter of the game. Hanbin’s legs ache from constant running and when he rounds the corner of a long hallway to see Park Gunwook standing at the end of it, his heart drops right into his stomach.

Zhang Hao skids after him, snagging his sleeve to slow himself down. He glances at Hanbin's face first, registering the grim alarm, then down the corridor to where Gunwook is turning to face them.

"Shit," Zhang Hao breathes, clearly remembering Gunwook from the bridge—the easy way Gunwook dispatched another contestant.

Both him and Zhang Hao are over 180 centimeters, but Gunwook still has an impressive amount of height on them, as well as almost twice their muscle mass. From the radio chatter that Hanbin's picked up, Gunwook has been one of the main eliminators of hiding players, as he expected. Now, he backs up a cautious step, trying to decide what the odds are of outrunning Gunwook. Forty-five minutes ago, he might have managed it, but in his current condition? Probably close to zero.

Which means that the only option is to fight.

"You should go—" He starts to tell Zhang Hao. Better if only one of them gets eliminated here. With the clock rapidly ticking down and two more orbs to find, the hiding team is going to need all the help that they can get. And he won't examine how easy it is to offer himself up as a sacrifice instead of pressuring Zhang Hao to take the fall. Some things are better left alone, especially here.

But the set of Zhang Hao's jaw is stubborn and his gaze burns. "No," he says. "I don't want to owe another debt to you."

"It wouldn't be a debt," Hanbin insists.

"It would," Zhang Hao says and slides into what Hanbin recognizes is a fighting stance, obviously coming to the same conclusion about the only way to slow down Gunwook. "So shut up."

Hanbin shakes his head, but there's no time to argue. At the far end of the corridor, Gunwook has weighed his own options and is moving towards them at a sprint, maybe hoping to catch them before they can properly go on the defensive. This hallway is lined with the decaying remnants of old shops and restaurants—ceilings crumbling in, vines creeping up pockmarked walls, dead wires trailing to the ground like snakes. Hanbin doesn't trust the floors in any of them and even the hallway itself has sections that give dangerously beneath his feet, making maneuverability limited.

Gunwook leaps the final gap between them like it's nothing and they're out of time. Hanbin breathes out, focusing, and twists his body to the side to avoid Gunwook's opening blow. He flashes back to the Lower Wards, before Matthew. Fourteen and running from members of a gang convinced that he stole from them—the streets unfolding in a tangled maze as he darted through them, navigating on blind instinct. Reaching a dead end behind an old pawn shop, cornered in a narrow alley. Five of them and one of him, and sneers that he was determined to wipe off their faces.

He won that fight and he's going to win this one.

Gunwook follows his dodge, spinning to strike him again—so fast in spite of his intimidating size. But Zhao Hao is there, lashing out with one leg in an attempt to sweep Gunwook off his feet. Gunwook is forced backwards several steps, to the edge of the gap that he cleared a few seconds ago. He regards them with grim determination on his face. There is none of the glee that Hanbin's seen in a few other players—a clear thirst for violence and the thrill of a fight. Gunwook is just trying to win. For his team, for himself. Same as Hanbin and Zhang Hao.

Hanbin isn't sure if that makes this easier or harder.

Gunwook moves again, a right hook that Hanbin skips backwards to escape. The floor trembles beneath his feet, a new crack appearing along the damaged tile. Shit. They probably need to get out of this hallway and onto more solid ground. Gunwook pressures them: another punch, then a third that manages to catch Zhang Hao's shoulder and send him stumbling.

Hanbin grits his teeth and hits back: a jab at Gunwook's side, a kick to Gunwook's shin. Gunwook's fingers scrape the fabric of his jacket, trying to lock him in place, and Hanbin twists, stabbing the heel of his boot into Gunwook's knee. Gunwook grunts and staggers but doesn't go down and doesn't let go. His grip tightens and he slams Hanbin into the wall hard enough for Hanbin to taste blood in the back of his mouth. The floor gives another few centimeters.

He thrashes, trying to kick Gunwook in the stomach this time. Meanwhile, Zhang Hao takes advantage of Gunwook's distraction and leaps onto his back, wrapping an arm around Gunwook's neck in an effort to choke him. Finally, Gunwook's fingers go lax, letting Hanbin wrench himself free. He drops to his knees as Gunwook grabs Zhang Hao's arm instead, bending to easily flip Zhang Hao over his head like Zhang Hao weighs nothing. Zhang Hao crashes to the floor with a cut off cry. Hanbin staggers back to his feet, still determined, though their odds seem to be worsening by the minute.

Gunwook is like a machine. A one man army.

It would have been nice to have him on their team instead.

Gunwook pins Zhang Hao with a boot to his shoulder, trying to keep him in place and turn him over to get his name tag at the same time. Hanbin hates himself a little, but they have to survive and survival is ugly. Survival requires fighting dirty sometimes, until there is blood and grime under his fingernails and the fear turns into a furnace of rage and determination in his gut.

So he doesn't give himself too much time to think before he grabs a chunk of loose rubble from the floor and hurls it right at Gunwook.

Gunwook must somehow hear it coming because he shifts so that it strikes his back instead of his head. He still crashes to his knees with a stunned gasp and Zhang Hao takes advantage again, slamming a boot right into his stomach. The floor cracks, loud enough to rend the air, and shit, they need to get out of here.

Zhang Hao sways to his feet—the same fear on his face—but before he can move towards Hanbin, Gunwook grabs his leg with a snarl and wrenches him right back off his feet. He hits the ground on his side, air leaving his lungs in a stunned whoosh. Hanbin could leave him. He has an easy window to escape while Gunwook is distracted by Zhang Hao and he could probably put enough distance between them by the time Gunwook is finished getting Zhang Hao's nametag to stay safe for the rest of the game.

Hanbin crushes that thought instantly and charges again. He jumps as he runs, pushing himself off the wall to give him more height and force, and aims a punch at the side of Gunwook's face. Gunwook's hand closes around his wrist right before the blow can connect and wrenches him off balance. He recovers quickly, twisting his body so that he's kicking at Gunwook's exposed side. Gunwook dodges and throws him with a shocking amount of force. He crashes face first into the wall, feeling the rough surface scrape a bloody line across his face. His ears ring and his vision blurs for a terrifying few seconds before he's able to shake off the shock of impact and push himself up on a shaky arm.

Zhang Hao has managed to get up again and he's trading blows with Gunwook. He's clearly had training of some kind, more than the amalgamation Hanbin picked up from the streets and other delvers. Zhang Hao fights like a martial artist: all fluid movements and calculated strikes—a river of sharp currents.

But what Gunwook might lack in finesse he makes up for in raw strength. He counters every hit like a tidal wave, overpowering Zhang Hao and forcing him back, back, back, until they're almost to where Hanbin is hauling himself to his feet.

Hanbin's earlier certainty is gone. They're going to lose, but maybe if they can just stall Gunwook for a little longer—long enough for those last four orbs to be collected.

His radio crackles in his ear and a voice he's come to recognize as Keita's reports that a twelfth orb has been successfully delivered to the safe zone. Ricky's voice chimes in right after, announcing that he has the thirteenth and fourteenth devices and is on his way to the safe zone right now, though it sounds like Park Hanbin and Taerae are in hot pursuit.

They're so close.

Zhang Hao goes down again, kicked so hard by Gunwook that he bounces off the wall and crashes to the floor in a heap. He doesn't get back up and Gunwook reaches for his name tag, fingers curling around the loose edge of the fabric. The sight turns Hanbin's chest into a dragon spilling fire from a furious, fanged mouth. With a roar louder than anything he's ever uttered, he charges straight at Gunwook and slams into at full speed.

The force of the collision sweeps Gunwook off his feet and they both hit the floor. It groans—the only warning before the floor gives way completely and they crash through in a waterfall of dust, concrete, and debris. It's at least a three meter fall to the next floor down, maybe further, and Hanbin feels the impact in every bone. He lays in a shuddering ball, struggling to draw air into empty, heaving lungs and is amazed that nothing appears to be broken.

"Hanbin!" Zhang Hao's voice screams from somewhere above him, pitched high in terror.

Hanbin doesn't have a voice to answer him yet. First, he has to move. He can hear Gunwook trying to get up and he has to get up first or this is over.

The cameras circle around them like little sharks, eager to see how the fight is going to end. He wonders, distantly, if viewers are placing bets back home. He remembers seeing people do that during previous games. Some places even ran official betting pools and people participated with enthusiasm, uncaring that it was other people's lives they were gambling on.

Now, he doubts many betters put their money on him to win against Gunwook.

For some reason, spite at that is what gives him the strength to roll over, hiding his name tag, and slide his hands under his aching body. He pushes and somehow they hold his weight, getting him up to his knees. About a meter away, Gunwook is standing again, blood pouring down the side of his face from a gash on his forehead, and eyes dazed and stunned.

He looks suddenly young. So horrifically young.

We're all young, Park Hanbin's voice echoes.

Hanbin spits out the blood pooling in his mouth from his teeth sinking into his cheek and surges to his feet. The world heaves, sways, then rights itself.

Bring it, he thinks and almost breaks into hysterical giggles.

Gods, he might have a concussion.

He's expecting Gunwook to charge him again, like an angry bull. He isn't expecting a hand to land on his shoulder, to be pulled behind someone as they place themselves between him and Gunwook.

"Hey," the new boy says as Hanbin blinks at him, trying to determine if he's real. He's a few centimeters shorter, but sinewy muscle is obvious under his clothing. He's got flinty, calculating eyes, and a narrow face and the last time Hanbin saw him, he was kneeling on a bridge, shaking from pain.

Yoon Jongwoo.

"Hey," Hanbin manages to reply, unsure of what else he's supposed to say.

Fuck, he might really have a concussion.

Yoon Jongwoo presses something into his hands that's round and smooth. An orb. One of the devices that they're supposed to be collecting. The last one that they need. Jongwoo’s wearing gloves but as he pulls his right hand away, Hanbin sees a flash of metal where his exposed wrist should be. A mechanical arm?

"You should take this," Jongwoo says, still remarkably calm considering Hanbin just crashed through a ceiling. "And run."

"But Gunwook—" Hanbin says in protest.

"I've got it," Jongwoo says and it's true Gunwook looks like he's still trying to recover but he's clearly rapidly getting his bearings back. This is still going to be a hard fight. "You've done enough, Hanbin-ssi."

It occurs to Hanbin, with sudden clarity, that Yoon Jongwoo is sacrificing himself. Just like Jongwoo was the first to volunteer to play the part of a distraction.

Jongwoo's fingers force Hanbin's to curl around the orb, holding it tight. "It's okay," he says, as though he can sense Hanbin's internal conflict. Or maybe too much of it is showing on Hanbin's face. "Just run."

Fine, Hanbin decides. If Yoon Jongwoo wants to be a martyr, then Hanbin is going to let him. He tucks the orb into the pocket of his jacket and nods to Jongwoo: acknowledgement, gratitude, and goodbye.

Jongwoo flashes him a faint, crooked smile and turns his attention to Gunwook, who has been watching them warily, clearly trying to get a read on Jongwoo and his skill level. Jongwoo settles his shoulders, sliding into a stance similar to one Hanbin adopted what feels like weeks ago, though was probably less than ten minutes.

Hanbin turns and forces his aching body into a sprint. He's not conscious of the direction he's going in, just away as fast as possible, but when he reaches the open area of the second floor he's able to orient himself. The safe zone is unfortunately one floor down and on the other side of the building, but he doesn't see any other players around right now. He could make it if he's quick enough.

Where's Zhang Hao?

Right. Zhang Hao. Left up on the third floor and shouting for Hanbin. Did he hear Jongwoo arrive? Was he able to see anything through the massive hole Hanbin and Gunwook managed to create?

Hanbin crouches in the shadows, torn. He should get the orb to the safe zone and he shouldn't clog up the radio trying to connect with Zhang Hao. But he also doesn't want to leave him behind. He was injured, too, and if another member of the chase team comes looking for Gunwook...

No, he needs to be practical about this. He would expect Zhang Hao to be practical about this too, especially with only five minutes left on the clock. With a deep breath, he breaks into a run again. His legs scream in protest but he grits his teeth and ignores the pain. Just a little more.

He's out in the open now, just wide space between himself and the stairs down to the first floor. A dark blur enters his peripheral and he shifts to see another member of the chase team emerging from behind the rusting remains of a large stage.

Matthew.

Shit.

Well, he's always been faster than Matthew.

He doesn't slow his stride, leaping over another gap in the floor and then dodging around an overturned kiosk. Matthew gains ground, but Hanbin decides to be reckless and vaults over the railing to the stairs instead of turning the corner to take them from the top. It's a short drop and he's to recover quickly, even though his legs wobble precariously for a second. He hears Matthew swear in English as Hanbin takes the rest of the stairs five at a time, followed by the thud of Matthew also hitting the ground.

The safe zone materializes in the distance, guarded by two unfamiliar boys. Ricky is there, dropping off his two items, and being chased by another boy that Hanbin doesn't recognize, whose name tag announces him as Han Yujin.

One more device and they win. Hanbin has to make it.

Matthew is closing the gap between them, pushing himself to the limit. Hanbin tries to do the same. Ricky turns, intending to help him, but Han Yujin catches up to him, knocking him off balance and ripping off his nametag in one skilled sweep. Ricky grimaces in frustration. Hanbin sprints, lungs heaving, and Matthew gains ground.

Five meters. Four.

Matthew's fingers brush the edge of his nametag. Hanbin pitches himself forward, stumbling, and manages to get out of range. His radio crackles. Yoon Jongwoo's been eliminated. There are only four members of the hiding team left: him, Zhang Hao, and the two boys anxiously watching him approach the safe zone while also trying to fend off Han Yujin.

Three meters.

Matthew is back on his heels, grabbing at the back of his jacket. He's not going to make it. He has to make it.

The clock is also steadily counting down: 58 seconds, 57, 56....

Matthew manages to snag the nametag again, starts to pull—and someone slams into him from the side, knocking him off balance.

Zhang Hao, Hanbin realizes, shoving Matthew's smaller frame to the ground.

"Go!" he shouts and Hanbin draws everything he has into a final burst of speed.

Two meters, 45 seconds.

44, 43, 42, 41—

Hanbin crosses the threshold of the safe zone, crashing to his knees and dropping the stupid orb to the floor with the others. The safe zone flashes green, the timer stops, and their radios go suddenly dead.

"Congratulations," that smooth female voice says. Hanbin is going to start hearing it in his nightmares, he's certain. "The hiding team has won the second challenge."

Hanbin hiccups, bile climbing up his throat from exhaustion and pain. He turns and catches the burn of Matthew's devastated, furious gaze, then Zhang Hao's weary, relieved one.

They won. He wishes it felt like a victory.

******

They're all allowed to collect their supplies under the watchful, unseen eyes of the arena's security system. No one tries to steal Hanbin's pack, which he's thankful for. Someone does try to steal Yoon Jongwoo’s, but Jongwoo puts the kid flat on his back even though he looks like he went through a brief, violent war—evidence of his fierce, failed fight with Gunwook.

Once everyone has their supplies, the chase team is presented with the same choice and the same glowing circles as the bridge: points, supplies, or pain.

Even though he's limping, Park Gunwook plants himself in the pain circle with a mulish expression on his face. Hanbin can't help admiring him. Maybe after this, they can find a way to be allies. Park Hanbin also chooses pain, trading a smile of grim camaraderie with Gunwook. It falls off his face when Taerae takes a spot next to him, looking stoic.

But Matthew chooses points.

Hanbin's shoulders stiffen in surprise. What is he thinking? Why would he give up something so precious? Doesn't he want to win? To survive?

Matthew won't meet his gaze, glaring ahead as the rest of the players make their choice, as the screaming starts.

Hanbin wants to scream too. Scream at Matthew until he finally listens.

Outside, he corners Matthew and he's tried so hard to keep a lid on his anger, knowing that anger won't be productive, but he can't now. He managed to stay calm and relatively collected all through the challenge but he can feel the rage coiled in him now—body a bowstring, taut lines of muscle and an iron spine; fingers digging red crescents into dirt-streaked palms; gaze a storm of its own, ready to cause destruction. In response, Matthew is all defiance: stubborn chin, burning eyes, teeth gritted as though Hanbin has already hurled a physical blow.

He can feel Zhang Hao hovering uncertainly a few meters away, watching this little spat unfold in the shade of the trees.

"What were you thinking?" Hanbin asks and the question leaves his mouth scathing, ready to cut.

“That I didn’t want to slow myself down,” Matthew says, still so fucking stubborn. “And I would rather give up some points than waste a whole day.”

Hanbin shakes his head. “That was a whole week of tokens you threw away. And you lost, you’re at least 250,000 points behind—”

“You?” Matthew cuts in, bitter enough to choke on. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“It isn’t about me,” Hanbin argues. Why can't Matthew see that? It stopped being about Hanbin the minute they were dropped into this arena and told to survive. It stopped being about Hanbin the second Hanbin signed his name on the digital consent forms, both in that interrogation room and the Upper Wards processing center. “You made—”

“The wrong decision?” Matthew cuts him off again, gaze flashing. “Because you know best, right? You always know best, Hanbin hyung.”

“Matthew—”

“I never asked you to do any of it!” Matthew’s voice rises into a yell. “I never needed you to sacrifice yourself for me. I never asked you to sign up. And I don’t need you to survive. I don’t need you.”

Hanbin isn't sure whether to laugh in Matthew's face or scream. They're only a year apart, but right now Hanbin looks at Matthew and thinks: stupid child. Which is perhaps unfair, but Matthew continues to make this too personal, continues to hold onto hurt and perceived betrayal long after he should let it go, for his own sake.

He doesn't need Hanbin? Hanbin, who has kept him alive for years? Who could have left him to die when he nearly got caught stealing from someone with too many underworld connections? Who could have let him starve instead of teaching him to cook using the limited resources available?

Hanbin, who has loved him and protected and treated him like family for nearly half of their lives?

"Fine," Hanbin says and nearly doesn't recognize his own voice—low and close to seething. "If that’s how you feel, then we can split up. I don’t need to waste my time trying to help you.”

Matthew's expression is ugly, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides, and for a moment, Hanbin hopes that Matthew will throw a punch, just so he has an excuse to punch back. He doesn't care how sore he is from going up against Gunwook, he knows that he would win.

But all Matthew does is nod, sharp and final. "Great, see you at elimination.”

And then he stalks away, heading west towards the heart of the city.

In his wake, regret bleeds some of the anger away. Hanbin should be better than this. He's the hyung, he should turn the other cheek, know how to forgive. Of course Matthew was going to bristle in the face of his condescension, of having his intelligence openly questioned.

Hanbin closes his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face, gritty with dirt and dried blood.

"I shouldn't have done that," he murmurs and isn't sure if he's talking to himself or to Zhang Hao.

Leaves crunch as Zhang Hao approaches.

"Probably not," he agrees, blunt. "But you should also let him go."

As much as Hanbin aches to run after Matthew, he knows that Zhang Hao is right. Pursuing him now would probably only lead to an actual fight and neither of them need that right now. If Matthew wants to survive on his own, then Hanbin has to let him and do the same.

"Yeah," he says tiredly, rubbing his temple. "You're right."

He blows out a long, exhausted breath and wraps his usual composure around himself like a cloak as he turns to face Zhang Hao. It's bad that Zhang Hao and the viewers back in Hwaseong saw him so angry and emotional. Hopefully, it won't hurt his chances when voting opens up after the first elimination.

"So, about that alliance?"

Zhang Hao hums, a contemplative expression on his face. It's better than the instant denial Hanbin got last week, so he forces himself to be patient, letting Zhang Hao gather his thoughts.

"I guess we did make a pretty good team back there," Zhang Hao finally says.

They did. The only challenge to them proved to be Park Gunwook and they were one of only four hiding players who survived until the end, mostly thanks to watching each other's backs.

"We did," Hanbin agrees.

Zhang Hao goes quiet again. Hanbin can easily guess the calculations running through his head: exposing himself to weakness by trusting someone else versus strength in numbers, especially as the arena will undoubtedly get more hostile in the three days before elimination.

"Okay," Zhang Hao finally says and Hanbin doesn't bother stopping the delighted smile he can feel blooming across his face. "For now."

Because nothing is certain here and they could be forced to betray each other tomorrow, if the games and their own survival demands it. Still, it's more than Hanbin expected. It's more than enough.

"For now," he echoes and extends a bloodstained hand.

They shake.

WEEK 3

Hanbin has seen the Han River before, during some of his delving expeditions, but never this close. Usually crews knew to avoid flooded areas with their unpredictable currents and shifting tides. Ruins there were mostly submerged and anything within them would be too water-damaged to be of any real value, anyway. And even though he swam through part of the river to get to the first challenge, that was mostly under the cover of darkness and he was too nervous about drowning to take in the true spectacle of it.

Beneath the golden, sunrise-painted sky, the river is breathtaking. It glimmers majestically in the dawning light, carving a path through the ruined city all the way towards the sea, hundreds of kilometers away. Hanbin tries to imagine what it was like when it was smaller, when the buildings lining its banks were intact. The only rivers in Hwaseong are tiny, artificial ones more akin to canals. What would it have been like to live in an apartment in the sky, looking out over the river and all the other skyscrapers—back when they were pristine, gleaming towers of glass and steel? It's strange to imagine: that lost world, drowned centuries ago.

"Do they have rivers in your city?" Hanbin asks Zhang Hao as they have a breakfast of instant ramen, perched on a rooftop on the edge of the flooded district.

Hanbin's friend, Ricky, left at dawn, telling them he was going to scope out of a nearby neighborhood for more tokens and taking his share of breakfast with him. Zhang Hao looked worried—an expression that Hanbin wonders if he makes when he's looking at Matthew—but didn’t protest. Just murmured for Ricky to be safe and was rewarded with both an eye roll and, "yes, Hao hyung, don't worry."

So it's just the two of them and it's so peaceful that Hanbin can almost forget he's in a death arena and not on a break in the middle of a delving job.

"No," Zhang Hao says. "Not really. Not real ones. Like Hwaseong, everything was artificially terraformed and big rivers would take up too much space. We do have some for irrigation and to generate power, but that's it. Nothing like this." He nods at the Han with awe in his gaze.

"Yeah, I don't think any of the city-states have something like this," Hanbin agrees.

"We should get moving soon, though," Zhang Hao points out. "We've only got three days before the first elimination and we'll need to make sure we get all the points we can."

Even winning the challenge hasn't made either of them feel safe. They have no idea how many contestants will be cut from the games—how high they need to have climbed in order to survive to the next round. Hanbin figures it can't be more than a third of them, since the game masters won't want too many players to die too quickly. This is supposed to last at least six to eight weeks, after all, and they have to account for deaths that happen in the arena outside of challenges and eliminations.

"Something feels off," Hanbin says, though he can't place what. "Why only three days for us to collect tokens? Why not another full week? Will we be able to get them in the same way we have before?"

"I don't know," Zhang Hao says and a sardonic smile quirks across his lips. "This is my first time."

Hanbin can't help laughing at the dry quip. "Mine too."

"Good thing it's not mine," a new voice says and Hanbin startles, turning wide eyes to a boy that has appeared on the edge of their roof.

Neither he nor Zhang Hao heard him approach, but he has his hands raised in surrender and all his weapons sheathed. His gaze is steely but kind, almost warm, and as he steps closer, Hanbin recognizes him from the pictures he saw during challenges: Lee Hoetaek, one of the current frontrunners.

"What do you want?" Hanbin asks, placing a hand near his bow as he shifts slowly into a crouch.

"I'm not here to fight," Hoetaek assures him. "Or steal anything. I just want to talk."

"Why?" Zhang Hao this time, fingers tapping on his thigh close to his knife holster.

"I'm hoping we can help each other out," Hoetaek says, with another step forward. He's less than a meter away now and this close, Hanbin realizes that he's much smaller in build than either of them but he moves with a grace that's deadly, dangerous. "Ahead of the elimination."

"Isn't this the time to focus on our own survival the most?" Hanbin asks, with an arched eyebrow.

Hoetaek shakes his head. "You would think that, but no. We'll be much better off working together. I'm trying to pull a few people into the alliance, but seeing how you performed in the challenge, the two of you are my first choice."

Hoetaek was on the chase team, Hanbin remembers, though they didn't run into each other throughout the course of the challenge. He can't remember what punishment Hoetaek chose, but if the dark bruises under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, and the slight twitch of his fingers are any indication, it was pain. One of the smart ones.

"First choice for what?" Zhang Hao asks, still tense.

"To get more tokens," Hoetaek says, finally stopping at the edge of their little campsite and dropping into an even more non-threatening crouch.

"Why do you need help for that?" Hanbin asks with a frown.

"Because they're not just hidden now," Hoetaek explains. "I had a suspicion and I confirmed it last night: all the tokens are currently attached to machines."

Hanbin stiffens in surprise. To machines? So in order to get more points they have to hunt machines? It's diabolical but it certainly ups the entertainment value. He thinks of the massive one that chased him and Matthew up a tree and suppresses a shudder, understanding why Hoetaek wants an alliance.

"If we band together," Hoetaek continues. "We can hunt more of them. There's a whole herd not far from here, close to the river. We can drive them into the water and take them out. Split the tokens amongst ourselves."

"How many people?" Hanbin asks.

"The two of you," Hoetaek says, "plus my two current allies. And probably one or two others, if we can find them. I think Yoon Jongwoo made camp not far from here, and he'd be good to have on our side."

He would, Hanbin agrees privately. Besides, he owes Jongwoo for sacrificing himself against Gunwook, and for putting together the strategy that let them win.

He thinks of Park Hanbin, Taerae, and Matthew, but he has no idea where they decided to camp. Neither Park Hanbin nor Taerae sought him out after the challenge and he hopes that means they've stuck with Matthew.

"We have one more," Zhang Hao says. "He'll also help."

Hoetaek accepts this with an easy nod. "Okay so that would make seven of us. That should be enough, I think. The herd is big, there will be plenty of tokens to go around."

"How big?" Hanbin asks.

Hoetaek points to the north. "You can see for yourself if you head in that direction. They're about an hour walk upriver. Maybe two. We can meet closer to the herd in the afternoon and plan our strategy. It might be more dangerous to take them out at night, but there's a stronger chance that other players won't notice what we're doing."

"Where are you going?" Zhang Hao asks.

"To find Yoon Jongwoo," Hoetaek says with another one of his easy, reassuring smiles. In spite of the exhaustion and lingering pain still clinging to him, he seems calm, like he's certain of their success.

Hanbin rewinds back to Hoetaek's first words to them. "You said this wasn't your first time?"

"It's my second," Hoetaek says and something dark and terrible flickers across his face, gone in a blink. "I won the games six years ago. When I was your age."

"You won?" Zhang Hao's eyes are wide and incredulous. "And you came back?"

Hoetaek lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. Crazy, right? But I have my reasons."

Hanbin can't fathom what those would be. If he makes it into the final nine and walks away from here unscathed, he doubts all the money in the world would get him to come back in. But he supposes there are other motivators in the world than money.

He exchanges a glance with Zhang Hao, trying to ask him without words if they should agree to Hoetaek's plan. He could have easily snuck up on them, but he announced his presence and kept himself nonthreatening. He laid out his strategy and gave them information about the herd before confirming if they were in. He's patiently waiting for their answer now, without threatening or pushing them. And if the aforementioned herd is as big as Hoetaek claims, then Zhang Hao and Hanbin won't be able to take it out on their own.

Zhang Hao's chin dips in a tiny nod. Let's risk it.

"Okay," Hanbin says to Hoetaek. "We're in. We'll meet you by the herd."

Hoetaek smiles at them.

"Good," he says. "I'll get there as quickly as I can." He starts to turn away but stops at the edge of the roof. "I probably don't have to remind you of this, but be careful. Don't let too many other players know what we're doing. I'd rather not have competition if we can help it."

"Noted," Hanbin says in easy agreement. Splitting the herd seven ways or more will already be a strain and his body still aches from the challenge. He doesn't want to fight anyone else.

Hoetaek nods his thanks and then vaults off the roof, as graceful as a wild cat, vanishing like a ghost.

"A former winner," Zhang Hao murmurs, brow furrowed. "He's going to be dangerous."

Hanbin hums in agreement, mentally placing Lee Hoetaek near the top of his "Players to Be Wary Of" list, right next to Park Gunwook. He's still curious about what would make Hoetaek come back into the arena. Winning is supposed to set you up for life; it's why so many are willing to die for the chance year after year. If you're not desperate to survive, why put yourself through this a second time?

Whatever Hoetaek's reasons, he obviously knows how the games work better than anyone, even if the format changes every year. For now, it'll be smart to ally with him. They can keep an eye out and escape before they're inevitably stabbed in the back.

"We should get moving," Hanbin says.

"We need to find Ricky," Zhang Hao counters. "Tell him the plan."

"Can you leave him a message?" Hanbin asks.

They were planning on rendezvousing to the south at the end of the day—the complete opposite direction of the herd.

"Too risky," Zhang Hao says. "Someone could see it. Even if I leave it in code. Or he might miss it." He stands, beginning to pack up their small camp. "He won't have gone too far yet. We can catch up to him if we're fast."

Hanbin knows better than to protest. It's clear that Ricky is Zhang Hao's Matthew and Zhang Hao isn't going to leave him behind. It stings, seeing them together—their easy dynamic free of the bitterness and anger that has seeped like poison into his relationship with Matthew.

What did I do wrong? he almost wants to ask Zhang Hao, but that would be pointless. For all the parallels, Ricky isn't Matthew and Zhang Hao isn't Hanbin and whatever journey led them here together is their own. Hanbin simply has to accept his own failure and move on.

"Okay," he agrees, brushing off the melancholy and gathering his own supplies. "We'll catch up to him, then head south."

Zhang Hao gives him a flickering, grateful smile. Within a few minutes, they've erased all evidence of a fire and secured their packs over their shoulders. Zhang Hao has his hunting knife strapped to his thigh and his bow slung over one shoulder while Hanbin carries his in his hand. He still hasn't found a proper quiver like Zhang Hao managed to and his arrows stick haphazardly out of the top of his pack, within easy reach.

"Oh," Hanbin says as they leave the rooftop behind, carefully descending the broken stairs to the ground floor. "I forgot to thank you, for the forest."

"The forest?" Zhang Hao asks innocently, focusing on the unstable ground beneath his feet instead of Hanbin's face.

"Don't play dumb," Hanbin admonishes, but his tone comes out gentle. "I saw you. Shooting that fire arrow. It was badass."

Zhang Hao's face actually flushes slightly, red on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"I owed you," he mutters defensively. "That made us even."

"Sure," Hanbin agrees, trying to tamp down on his delight and being able to fluster Zhang Hao. "You're good with a bow."

They jump the last gap together, landing with twin thuds and a crackle of underbrush as it breaks beneath their weight. Zhang Hao stands in one fluid motion and brushes dirt from his pants and palms.

"You seem to be too," he says, tone mild. Perhaps purposefully uninterested.

"I am."

It's sincere, not boastful. Hanbin is good with a bow, he made sure of it, practicing until his hands and fingers were callused and bloody. Guns are for the rich, for the exclusive delving crews that only let in a handful of applicants per year and are usually in the personal employ of a chaebol family. Bows are what everyone else gets and Hanbin wanted to be the best, hoping that his skill level would eventually earn him a place on one of those crews—a different ticket out of the Lower Wards.

But then there was the arrest. And now, the games instead.

"Delver?" Zhang Hao guesses, leading the way up a narrow street—the same path they watched Ricky take about an hour ago.

"Yeah. You?"

Zhang Hao makes an affirmative sound. "Worked with Zenith."

A big delving company, operating over a dozen crews both in the area around Hwaseong and in more dangerous parts of the surface, such as the southern coasts. Also one of the only organizations that Hanbin knows accepts foreigners.

"I was with Wake," he offers.

A much smaller business, only five active crews, but selective in their jobs and who they hired. They took demanding gigs and paid better money than most other delving companies, even if the risk of death was often higher. Hanbin didn't mind the gamble. It meant keeping a roof over his head and food on his table through several brutal seasons and two resource shortages.

"Then you're definitely good," Zhang Hao notes—surprising, easy praise.

And just like that, it's Hanbin's turn to blush.

"I try," he says airily, eying the buildings around them. "Should we try to scout from higher up? We might be able to spot Ricky that way."

"Good strategy," Zhang Hao murmurs, also scanning their environment. "Let's split up. I'll take that building." He points to a seven story one on the left side of the street, a few meters ahead. "If you see Ricky, signal."

"How?"

"Can you whistle?"

"Yes."

"Two long whistles if you've seen him. One short whistle if you don't." He points at the sky. "If you can't find him by the time the sun has moved to 45 degrees, then we'll meet back here and try a different area."

Oh, Zhang Hao is good. Hanbin hopes they won't end up at odds with each other soon.

"Okay," he says and gestures to the building across from them, looking to be at least ten stories high. "I'll start with this one."

"Good luck," Zhang Hao says and jogs in the direction of his chosen building.

Hanbin slips through the shattered front of what was probably an apartment complex, maneuvering carefully around pools of glistening, broken glass. The stairs only get him halfway up, so he resorts to free climbing, charting a winding path through ruined rooms and hallways. The wind bites at his skin the higher he gets—a hissing reminder of how far he'll fall with a single misstep. He squeezes through harrowing gaps and shimmies carefully up pockmarked, crumbling walls until he's finally reached the roof.

His body protests, reminding him of the fight that he was in only twenty-four hours ago, but he blots the pain out of his mind. The roof is fortunately mostly intact, with only a single gaping hole in the center of it that he's easily able to skirt the edge of. As he anchors himself on the northern edge of the building, he longs for the visor that he used to wear on delving jobs, allowing him to see over massive distances, scanning for danger and treasure. Without it, he's forced to mentally divide the city sprawled out below into quadrants and examine each one.

There are multiple campfires still burning. Dozens of empty streets. Two groups of players moving east, away from the river. A singular player perched on a rooftop just like him, scoping out his immediate area. Another player trying to find an entry point to a mostly collapsed building. But no Ricky.

He moves to each side of the rooftop and repeats the process. More campfires. Big machines out on the river, mostly submerged in glimmering water. Overgrown forest consuming buildings like a creeping, hungry beast. More players camping, scouting, running. A scuffle over supplies between two separate groups—weapons flashing in the morning sun.

And finally, on the western side, a familiar figure jumping between two rooftops like he has wings attached to his ankles. He rolls with the impact, catching himself on a piece of debris before he can plummet off the second roof. Though hardly religious, Hanbin mutters a prayer of thanks for Ricky's distinctive blond hair and sticks two fingers into his mouth, whistling two long, shrill notes.

After a moment, he gets two whistles back in acknowledgment. He mentally notes a landmark close to Ricky's building: a small, open plaza with a stagnated fountain.

"He's west," he says to Zhang Hao when they meet back on the street, both dirty and out of breath. "Not far."

"Good," Zhang Hao says, face soft with relief. "Lead the way."

They both push their tired bodies into a run, weaving through the maze of streets as fast as they can. They're forced to take a detour to avoid a small group of players who are traversing one of the larger thoroughfares in a tight formation, talking about hunting and clearly scanning for both animal and human prey. Hanbin and Zhang Hao skirt down a tiny alley behind them as silently as possible and continue on their way as the noise from the group fades.

Close, Zhang Hao mouths and Hanbin just shakes his head.

He spots the fountain not long after that and pulls Zhang Hao to a stop. "Here. That brick building. He was on the roof."

He expects Zhang Hao to head for the still-intact front doors, but all Zhang Hao does is purse his lips and whistle a lilting, unfamiliar tune.

Ricky's head appears over the edge of the roof, face streaked with dirt and normally calm features tight with alarm. "Hao hyung? What's wrong?"

"Come down," Zhang Hao calls up. "Fast."

Ricky frowns but doesn't argue. To Hanbin's private amazement and terror, he merely swings himself off the roof, hitting the side of the building feet first. Using holes in the building's facade, he descends quickly and easily, landing in front of them barely out of the breath.

"Show off," Zhang Hao mutters, accusing.

Ricky smiles, smug and serene. "What is it? Did something happen?"

"New plan," Zhang Hao explains. "Tell you about it somewhere not out in the open."

They end up in the ground floor of the building, crouched behind a large counter that runs nearly the length of the room. There, Zhang Hao quickly runs Ricky through Hoetaek's unexpected visit, the information about tokens and the herd, and the proposed alliance that they've decided to accept. Ricky listens intently, without interrupting, though his eyebrows climb steadily higher on his forehead.

"Wow," he says when Zhang Hao is finished. "And we can trust him?"

"I think he's right about the herd," Zhang Hao says. "Or, not lying to us about it. It makes sense that tokens are going to be harder to get right before elimination. That there's more risk involved now."

"And I don't think he'll betray us," Hanbin offers, even if he's unsure how much weight his judgment holds with Ricky. "At least, not right away. I think he does need us to take on the herd and as soon as we have our own tokens, we can run."

"But it's three on three," Ricky points out. "They could overpower us."

"Not if we make sure Yoon Jongwoo and whoever else they recruit is on our side," Hanbin says with a confidence he doesn't entirely feel. Just because Jongwoo inexplicably helped them during the challenge doesn't mean he'll be amenable to teaming up again.

"Fine," Ricky concedes. "This is the only plan we have, right?"

"Unfortunately," Zhang Hao says.

"Then let's go find the herd." Ricky rises to his feet. "And if this goes south, I'm blaming you." His gaze flits from Zhang Hao to Hanbin and back again. "Both of you."

Hanbin isn't sure whether to be insulted or glad that he's been included. Zhang Hao rolls his eyes. It seems like a well-worn expression and Ricky smirks when he sees it, unapologetic.

"Sure, whatever. As the older and wiser hyung, I will magnanimously shoulder the blame, like I always do. Now let's go, we're wasting daylight."

Ricky lets out a quiet laugh and it's surprising how young it makes his face look.

"After you," he says with a bow and a sweeping gesture toward the doors.

Zhang Hao kicks him in the leg on his way past and Hanbin pretends that his chest doesn't ache, watching their easy, carefree banter.

*****

"Holy shit," Zhang Hao breathes, pushing stubborn branches out of the way to get a better look at the herd.

"Okay, Hoetaek definitely wasn't lying."

Dozens of machines spread out across an open floodplain between the edge of the forest and the swollen banks of the river. They have the vague appearance of deer, complete with towering racks of antlers, and actually seem to be grazing. Potentially turning organic matter into fuel? There has to be close to a hundred of them and from each set of antlers, a purple token glints, catching the sunlight. Their legs sink into the marshy ground and they move clumped together in smaller groups of five or more, as though they're afraid of potential predators. It's strange, unsettling, seeing them behave like actual animals.

Further out, in the shallows of the river itself, more machines glide through the water like massive crocodiles. They don't seem to be hunting the herd ... maybe guarding it? Those will make it hard to drive the herd into the river like Hoetaek mentioned in his initial plan.

"This is insane," Ricky whispers. "Like ... how did they have time for this?"

"They control the whole arena," Zhang Hao says. "Down to the weather. This was probably easy."

A hundred machines. Hanbin suddenly worries that seven people aren't going to be enough. Will Hoetaek bring more? Are there more herds like this, scattered across the arena? How long will it take other players to figure out that this is where tokens will be found?

An urge to find Matthew and tell him bubbles up unbidden and Hanbin ruthlessly squashes it. Matthew doesn't want his help. Matthew doesn't need him. Matthew will be fine on his own.

"We should find the rendezvous point," Zhang Hao says. The shadows are lengthening as golden hour approaches. They probably only have about two to three hours left of daylight.

They move slowly, trying not to startle the herd as they keep to the shade of the tree line and make their way down the shore. Hoetaek mentioned a half-buried statue, probably erected in another part of the city and carried here by flooding during the Cataclysm. It proves easy to find because it's huge. Its head, shoulders, and waist sit above ground and even then it's still nearly four meters tall. It's a woman, dressed in what appear to be flowing robes and with painted makeup on her face. She holds a stick aloft, adorned with bells, while her other arm sweeps behind her like she's in the middle of a dance.

She’s a mudang, Hanbin realizes.

Near the final fall of this old civilization, he remembers reading, they turned to prophecy, to spirits, to long-forgotten gods. Nothing saved them, but the emissaries of those gods became revered figures in society. This woman was honored enough to have a statue made of her, even if she failed to save the world.

"Creepy," Ricky says of the statue and Hanbin privately agrees.

Her stone eyes seem to follow them as they approach so he focuses on the people clustered under her extended arm. Hoetaek, Yoon Jongwoo, Keita, a boy he recognizes as Kim Jiwoong, another he thinks might be Han Yujin, and two others he's never seen—most likely the companions that Hoetaek mentioned.

So ten people instead of seven. Good, considering the size of the herd. Bad, considering they'll be dividing up tokens.

"You made it," Hoetaek says with another one of his warm, friendly smiles.

It's hard to think of him as a danger and not a hyung like the one Hanbin worked in a kitchen with for several years before he got the delving job, who always snuck Hanbin leftovers to take home with a wink and a grin.

"We made it," Hanbin says, stepping up to take point. His gaze sweeps over Jongwoo, Keita, Jiwoong, and Yujin again. "You've been busy."

"You saw the herd, right?" Hoetaek says. "The more the merrier."

It's not worth arguing. Hanbin merely shrugs.

"Come on," Hoetaek says, undeterred. "Introductions."

Jongwoo smiles at him in recognition, still bruised from his own brush with Gunwook but holding himself with the same easy confidence he displayed during the challenge. Jiwoong is as handsome as Hanbin remembers from the bridge, somehow flawless even with mud streaked across one cheek and unwashed hair. Keita is a study in contradictions—small but solid, warm features offset by a steel-laden gaze, a polite bow of greeting and a hand near his weapon. Yujin just looks young. Startlingly young and brimming with defiance, eyes a fire that dares Hanbin to question his presence here and anxious fingers tight around the riser of his bow.

Hoetaek introduces them all easily, as though he's known them for years instead of less than a day. Hanbin makes his own face amenable, welcoming, and bends at the waist in greeting. "Nice to meet all of you."

Zhang Hao and Ricky both remain more closed off, but they bow as well, murmuring stilted echoes of Hanbin's greeting.

"And this is Hyojong and Hyunjun," Hoetaek continues, gesturing to the two people who have remained distanced from the larger group.

One is tall and thin, with sharp cheekbones, sunken eyes, and skin so pale he could be a ghost. The other is almost as small as Keita, features mostly hidden under a cap that looks like it must have been salvaged from one of the ruins around them—threadbare fabric faded to gray and brim tattered. Both nod without bowing or saying a word. Most of their attention stays on Hoetaek, as though they're ready to leap to his defense if anyone else makes a wrong move.

True allies, then. Not a bond formed quickly or maybe even in the arena at all.

Hanbin still offers them a greeting, not wanting to make enemies. He gets nothing in response.

"Don't mind them," Hoetaek says, grinning. "They don't talk much. Or like strangers." It sounds like he's talking about pets instead of people.

The smaller one snorts, derisive, but doesn't verbally defend himself.

"So what's the plan?" Jongwoo asks, as no-nonsense and pragmatic as he was during the challenge. "You told us part of it, but that was before we knew who would be here or the size of the herd."

"Or about those," Keita comments, pointing to the larger machines in the river.

Hoetaek grimaces. "Yeah, those might be a slight problem."

"Slight?" Jiwoong asks dubiously.

"I know how to deal with them," Hoetaek elaborates. "Or, I have a theory for dealing with them, but it would cause more spectacle than I wanted."

"Great," Jongwoo says. "Still want to go over the plan."

So they all gather in a loose circle with Hoetaek near the center, a stick in hand. He draws in the dirt, sketching a loose map of the floodplain, the forest, the river, and the city.

"Okay, the herd is here." He draws several squiggly lines through the floodplain. "And the big machines are here." Three dots in the river. "We want to drive the herd towards the water, not the forest. It'll be harder for them to maneuver in the water and we can pick them off more easily out in the open." Several arrows from the floodplain to the river. "We might not be able to take down the whole herd, but we obviously want to get as many as possible. We'll need to keep them corralled in a section of the shallows as best as we can." A circle in the river, next to the three dots.

"My original plan was to have six people spread out and act as barriers, keeping the herd contained. The other four would take down as many as possible, with the six helping where they can. I don't want to waste too much ammunition, so we have several options. We can create firebombs—effective but noisy. We can use wires to pin down groups of machines long enough to get the tokens off—riskier, but probably quieter. We can simply try to remove the tokens as fast as possible, without restraining them—much riskier, but less waste of materials."

Hanbin's immediate instinct is either option two or three, even with the risk involved. He doesn't want to burn through all of his arrows or attract the attention of other players by setting large fires. Plus, the game masters might shift the weather to keep fire from spreading, leading to rain or a storm and more chaos.

"Of course, this was before I knew about our friends." Hoetaek taps the dots with the end of his stick. "We're going to need to deal with them before we can focus on the herd."

"Fun," Jongwoo deadpans. Keita grimaces.

"Yeah, super fun," Hoetaek agrees dryly. "We need to drive them off or incapacitate them without enraging them. Again, fire might be our best bet, if we can get them out of the water. Otherwise, we might be able to scare them away with spears or harpoons, which we can pretty easily put together from all the debris lying around."

He glances around the group. "Thoughts?"

"It would be faster to chase them away," Keita says. "Instead of trying to kill them. We also don't want to scare the herd off too much."

Jongwoo rubs his jaw with a gloved hand. "Or someone could be bait. Lead them away."

"And risk getting killed?" Yujin asks, bristling.

Jongwoo shrugs. "Not if you're a fast swimmer."

"I could do it," Ricky volunteers, surprising Hanbin. Zhang Hao shoots him a furious look. "I'm a fast swimmer." He turns to the river and points to a small island probably a kilometer or two from shore. "I could try to lead them there. Keep them occupied long enough for you to take care of the herd, then come back."

"No," Zhang Hao begins immediately. "Absolutely not. I'm not letting you risk—"

"I'll go with him," Keita chimes in, cutting off Zhang Hao's mounting tirade. "I'm a strong swimmer, too."

Hoetaek looks conflicted, chewing on his chapped bottom lip in contemplation. He actually seems worried about potentially sacrificing two rival players, which Hanbin doesn't understand. The horrible, pragmatic voice in his head that slithered to life when he woke up in the arena is whispering that if Keita and Ricky don't make it back, that's more points for the rest of them. He hates the voice, but he doesn't know how to vanquish it. He's been assuming that everyone has one. Surely Hoetaek does, if he's a prior winner.

"It's a good strategy," Hoetaek finally admits.

Zhang Hao glares at him. "No it isn't."

"You're only saying that because I volunteered to go," Ricky points out, as unflappable as always.

Zhang Hao frowns at him, then at Hanbin. Back me up here, his expression clearly says and Hanbin hates to disappoint him, but...

"It is a good strategy," he murmurs and tries not to wince at the betrayal that darkens Zhang Hao's face.

"Fine," Zhang Hao grits out, sensing that he's outnumbered. "If you want to go get yourself killed, be my guest."

Ricky shrugs. "Just make sure you get a lot of points, hyung."

"Okay," Hoetaek says before Zhang Hao can lay into Ricky again. "Then here's the new plan. Ricky and Keita will draw the bigger machines away and keep them occupied here." He sketches a circle in the middle of his dirt river, representing the island. "Once they're far enough away, we'll drive the herd into the water, slowing them down. Fire will be a last resort. We'll use wires first. We don't have to kill them, just get the tokens." A series of nods. "After we've gotten as many tokens as we can, we'll signal Ricky and Keita to come back to shore."

"How?" Jiwoong asks.

"We can improvise a flare," Hoetaek decides. "It'll attract attention, but hopefully we'll be cleared out before any other players arrive. That is, if taking on the herd doesn't cause enough commotion to bring them anyway."

Jiwoong grimaces at that, but doesn't protest.

"Who here is a sharpshooter?" Hoetaek asks. Jongwoo, Hanbin, Yujin, and Zhang Hao all raise their hands and receive another pleased smile. "Good, I'm decent with a bow, but my skills are rusty. We'll keep the herd corralled." He gestures to Hyojong and Hyunjun.

"I'll help you," Jiwoong says. "I'm not good with a bow."

So it's determined that Hoetaek, his allies, and Jiwoong will contain the herd as much as possible while Hanbin, Zhang Hao, Yujin, and Jongwoo collect tokens. Hanbin feels a thrum of anticipation in his stomach, similar to the excitement at the beginning of the second challenge. Maybe it's fucked up of him, but he's looking forward to this. Thinks it might even be fun—a similar rush of adrenaline to what he often experienced on delving contracts.

"It'll be much harder," Hoetaek finishes, erasing the map with his boot. "But we should go after dark. Less attention that way."

"I can shoot in the dark," Jongwoo agrees. Hanbin is much less sure of himself, but nods along anyway.

"Great," Ricky says, voice dry, and actually nudges Keita's shoulder. "We'll try not to get eaten."

Camera's circle around them like vultures, eagerly recording this unfolding drama, this budding alliance. Grimly, Hanbin wonders if once again bets are being placed back in Hwaseong over their potential success.

*****

They spend the next few hours collecting as many wires from the nearby ruins as they can, keeping watchful eyes out for other players. But if anyone's discovered the herd, no one else has been bold enough to approach it. Hanbin doesn't see a single soul before nightfall.

Once the sun sets, plunging the arena into inky darkness, Hanbin forces down a protein bar, grimacing as remnants of it stick to the roof of his mouth like sawdust. Even after two weeks down here, they never get easier to stomach. Hunger still gnaws at him, right alongside persistent anxiety over their little operation. He sets both aside in favor of double checking the strength of his bowstring and that his arrows are in easy reach.

"Ready?" Hoetaek asks them—lights from the cameras casting dramatic shadows across his face, turning him strange and ghost-like.

Everyone nods. Hanbin can't discern the details of each individual expression in the dark, but there is a shared air of solemn determination permeating the group.

"Then let's move," Hoetaek murmurs and he moves like a wraith, too—so light his feet might not even be touching the ground.

Ricky and Keita, free of their packs, jackets, and boots, wade into the river a few meters upstream from the large shadows still lurking in the shallows. The water rises rapidly, as though eager to consume them, swirling around their hips, their chests, and finally their necks. Ricky slips his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, releasing a piercing whistle. Hanbin's heart claws up his throat as the shadows turn in Ricky and Keita's direction. Both boys disappear beneath the moonlit surface with twin ripples.

The chase is on.

Once the shadows have reached the depths, well away from the banks of the river, Hoetaek signals them forward. The herd remains undisturbed, the blue lights of their eyes glowing like hundreds of fireflies along the bank. It's a strange, ethereal sight. Something out of a dream. Hanbin notches an arrow, letting his bowstring dig into his fingers enough to ground him—a reminder that this is real and he won't be waking up in his apartment back in the Lower Wards, marveling at the images his exhausted mind managed to conjure in sleep.

Hoetaek, his companions, and Jiwoong all fan out: two in the river up to their knees, one upstream, closer to the tree line, and one near where Hanbin, Jongwoo, Yujin, and Zhang Hao are waiting crouched by a large boulder.

"This is going to be the most intense target practice I've ever had," Zhang Hao mutters.

Yujin shifts his weight anxiously, eyes on the herd and too big in his young, young face.

"C'mon," Jongwoo jokes. "This is nothing. Just think of them like big bottles. That move fast."

Yujin actually cracks a fleeting smile and Hanbin snorts, silently grateful for Jongwoo's levity, for his steady presence.

"Right," Zhang Hao says. "Easy."

"Easy," Yujin echoes.

From the water, Hoetaek's arm drops in a silent signal.

Hanbin surges to his feet and the world descends into chaos. He loses track of time, of everyone else. There is him, his bow, and the stampeding, terrified herd. He sinks arrows into glowing eyes, exposed joints and canisters. He dodges flailing legs and antlers, snagging token after token. Wire cuts his palms as they use it to further trap machines in the muddy shallows. Water drenches his skin, floods his mouth, choking him. He takes a brutal blow to the chest and forces himself back up again, battling mud, silt, and the current. The roaring of the machines drowns out everything else, even Hoetaek's occasional, shouted instructions to members of the corralling team.

Zhang Hao, Yujin, and Jongwoo flicker in and out of his periphery, more phantoms than people. Yujin goes under, nearly trapped beneath an angry machine before Jongwoo drives an arrow into its skull with a hand that is definitely metal and reaches down to haul a coughing Yujin out of the river. Zhang Hao runs out of arrows and uses his bow itself as a weapon, snagging it around a machine's antlers and hauling its head low enough to snag the token.

Finally, minutes or hours later, Hanbin is down to his last three arrows, bleeding from a gash across his arm and another on his leg, and the herd has been thinned to nearly a third of its original numbers. Even the ones still alive have been deprived of tokens, some of which are scattered haphazardly around Hanbin's feet.

Hoetaek whistles the signal to stop and they let the survivors escape, dashing into the forest and disappearing from sight. As the adrenaline fades, Hanbin's legs spontaneously decide to stop supporting him and he collapses to his knees in the soft dirt of the riverbank, struggling to draw air into heaving lungs and fumbling with shaking hands to collect any tokens he can see—grateful for the shine of their metallic surface in the pale moonlight. He's unsure if he's going to be able to get up again any time soon so he might as well make himself useful down here.

Jongwoo sinks down next to him, driving one end of his bow into the earth and using it as a support. He's just as filthy as Hanbin, though he looks a little less winded.

"Cool arm," Hanbin manages, gesturing to the metal peeking out from a tear in the sleeve of Jongwoo's jacket.

"Thanks," Jongwoo says with a crooked grin. "Built it myself."

"Holy shit."

Jongwoo wheezes out a laugh. A nearby thud heralds Zhang Hao sprawling onto his back with his bow clutched to his chest. Yujin crouches nearby, looking similarly drained. Jiwoong sloshes out of the river, pausing to squeeze Jongwoo's shoulder, nod to Hanbin, and then heading over to check on Yujin, who waves away his concern. Hoetaek is still in the water, bow drawn.

Hyojong passes something to him and a few seconds later, fire flares around the head of the arrow Hoetaek has notched. He shoots it into the sky—a graceful arc over the river.

The signal.

Hanbin ruthlessly silences the voice that's callously wondering what the odds are of Ricky and Keita's survival. They survived. They'll come back. For Zhang Hao's sake.

"We should move," Jiwoong says, trying and failing to wipe mud from his face. "Take cover in the trees in case anyone comes looking."

With a collective groan, everyone hauls themselves to their feet and limps to the edge of the forest. Now, Hanbin thinks with dark amusement, they look like a gaggle of zombies instead of ghosts.

"Good job, everyone," Hoetaek says once they've all gathered again. His grin is bright and fierce with triumph. "I knew we could do it."

"Celebrate when the others get back," Zhang Hao says, focus on the river.

Hoetaek sobers, reaching out to pat Zhang Hao's shoulder. Zhang Hao stiffens but doesn't pull away. "Of course, I'm sorry."

The wait stretches on as the night deepens. Hanbin takes a seat at the base of a tree, peering up at the stars visible through the gaps in the canopy. The arena exists in a shielded, environmentally-controlled bubble just like Hwaseong and it makes him wonder if this is the real sky or just one invented by the game masters. Did they make up new constellations just for the hell of it? He doesn't recognize any of them, even if Hwaseong supposedly sits under the same sky.

Zhang Hao paces in a taut line between Hanbin's tree and one a few meters away—earlier exhaustion replaced by mounting anxiety the longer the river remains silent and undisturbed.

"How long are we going to wait?" Hyunjun finally asks in a low, gruff voice. Hanbin realizes it's the first time he's heard the other boy speak.

"Until they come back," Zhang Hao snaps.

"They might not be coming back," Hoetaek says with far more empathy than his friend. "We may need to accept that."

Zhang Hao's nails dig into his palms, expression furious. "Like hell." Another desperate glance to the river. "I'm going after him."

Alarmed, Hanbin surges forward to grab Zhang Hao's wrist as Zhang Hao takes a step towards the bank. "No! It's no use getting yourself killed too."

The look Zhang Hao levels him with is frustrated and knowing. "If it was Matthew," he asks softly, "would you go?"

He would. Without question, without hesitation. If it was Matthew out there lost in the water, Hanbin would immediately risk drowning or giant machines to bring him back. Let Matthew hate him afterwards. He closes his eyes and he's back in a cell, he's back in a Lower Wards street, with his knees scraped by pavement and lies pouring out of his mouth—the electricity of a police baton crackling centimeters from his face, static humming along his skin.

He knows that Zhang Hao can see the truth on his face because his mouth presses into a grim, knowing line and he turns away again. Hanbin doesn't let go of his wrist.

"Then I'll come with you." The offer pours out of his mouth almost unbidden, surprising him.

Zhang Hao's eyebrows raise, incredulity obvious even in the shadowed forest. Hanbin swallows and stands his ground. Before Zhang Hao can offer rejection or acceptance, Yujin also stands suddenly, pointing towards the river.

"Look!"

Everyone turns nearly as one to witness two familiar figures staggering out of the water. Zhang Hao wrenches his arm free and sprints from the edge of the trees to the shallows of the river, grasping the taller, lankier shadow by the shoulders. They stop to exchange words, heads bent close together, while Keita scans the tree line. Hoetaek sighs in quiet, unexpected relief, stepping into the moonlight with a jaunty wave.

"Welcome back," he calls.

Keita grins.

"Told you we'd be fine," he says, puffed up and proud even though his voice rasps with exhaustion. "Did you make it worth our effort?"

Hoetaek grins back. "Come and see."

Everyone gathers back in the clearing, standing in a loose circle and taking turns depositing tokens in the center. By the time Hanbin has emptied his pockets, they have a sizable pile—probably close to a hundred.

Keita whistles, impressed. "I wonder how much these are worth?" He bends to pick up one, turning it to catch the light.

"Well, if blue was worth ten thousand, maybe these are twenty," Jiwoong speculates.

"Or more," Yujin says hopefully.

"Either way, I'll divide them up," Hoetaek says. "If we have an uneven amount, anyone who won in the last challenge should take less."

Hanbin can't argue with that logic, though the voice wants him to. Once Hoetaek has received a nod of assent from every member in their little alliance, he sits down in the dirt and begins methodically separating out tokens into ten different piles. They hover like paranoid vultures while he works, attention divided between him and each other. If there was any time for a betrayal it would be now, but no one reaches for their weapons, no one tries to attack Hoetaek and make off with the tokens.

"There," Hoetaek declares after several tense minutes. "We had ninety-six tokens total. So Hanbin, Zhang Hao, Jongwoo, and Keita get nine. The rest of us get ten. Okay?" A glance around for confirmation.

Ricky hesitates—the only member of the hiding team who will be getting ten tokens. "You should get eleven," he says, gesturing at Hoetaek. A ripple of surprise runs through the group. "This was your idea. You scouted the herd and recruited all of us, plus I won the last challenge."

"Are you sure?" Hoetaek asks, actually looking like he might refuse.

Is he really this kind? Hanbin thinks dubiously.

"Yeah," Ricky says, ignoring the frustrated looks Zhang Hao keeps sending him. "I'm sure."

"Okay." Hoetaek moves one token from Ricky's pile to his. "Final count: Zhang Hao, Hanbin, Jongwoo, Keita, and Ricky get nine. I get eleven. Jiwoong, Yujin, Hyojong, and Hyunjun get ten. Are we in agreement?"

A chorus of yeses. Another warm smile from Hoetaek as he hands each person their tokens in turn. Hanbin accepts his nine, securing them in his pack. "Excellent. Thank you all for your help. I hope you'll remember this alliance in the future."

"We will," Hanbin says. It will be good to have nine other players on his side if he needs them.

Jongwoo salutes them with his metal hand. "It was a pleasure."

Gradually, everyone drifts apart in groups of twos and threes. Hanbin notes that both Han Yujin and Keita go with Jiwoong and Jongwoo, and wonders how long that alliance has been in place. Sometime between the first challenge and now. Hoetaek departs with his two companions, speaking to them in low tones as the forest swallows them. Hanbin turns to Zhang Hao and Ricky. It's strange to be camping with them instead of Matthew, Taerae, and Park Hanbin. He desperately hopes they found a herd of their own, that he won't have to watch any of them die in three days.

"We should probably put some distance between us and the river," he says. "Other players might eventually come looking, if anyone saw that arrow."

"Agreed," Zhang Hao says, adjusting the straps of his pack. "But I'm washing all this grime off me first."

"Definitely," Ricky mutters, though he is by far the cleanest of the three of them.

Hanbin looks down at his own clothes—so muddy that they're nearly solid brown—and grimaces. "Okay, agreed. Bath first and then camp. Just maybe a little upstream."

"We'll walk for ten minutes," Zhang Hao decides. "Then pick a spot."

They set off, shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder, keeping to the edge of the trees so the river stays in sight. Hanbin glances out at the expanse of it, the distant blur of the opposite bank, and remembers an aquarium full of creatures from a broken Earth. The cool of glass against his palms and the marvel at both these strange animals and the water they lived in. So much water and yet a puddle compared to the might of the Han.

What must the ocean be like? Perhaps, Hanbin thinks, it really does go on forever. Water, water, water until the sky drowns you. Until there is nothing but blue.

*****

"Did you like being a delver?" Zhang Hao asks him from the branches of a large tree, as he prepares to take the second watch and Zhang Hao prepares to get some sleep.

"I did," Hanbin says. It was terrifying and thrilling, beautiful and sad, trawling the remnants of a dead civilization for salvage that could feature in a chaebol's collection, or sit in a museum, or be obsessed over by historians. "Did you?"

"I don't know," Zhang Hao murmurs. "It was decent money. That's why I came to Hwaseong and signed with a company. It was the best money I thought I'd ever get. And I hated it, a lot. But now I miss it. So I don't know."

"Do you miss home?" Hanbin asks.

Zhang Hao's head turns in the direction of one of the ever-present camera bot.

"No," he says. "There is nothing left in Chang’an but ghosts."

His voice is soft but laced with a warning: Hanbin shouldn't press further.

"Mm," Hanbin says.

It's okay, he wants to reassure Zhang Hao, we're all a little haunted. But that would probably be too bleak for all the patrons in the Upper Wards—too much of a reminder of the desperation that fuels these games, the crushing poverty that makes them possible.

"Well," he says, uncaring if this is too honest. "In spite of the circumstances and the ghosts, I'm glad to have met you."

He wishes they could have met on a delving crew, or in line at a store, or maybe even on a neighborhood street. He could have flirted, called Zhang Hao handsome, and invited him out. They could have scraped together some savings to get dinner in the Central Wards, or just picked a rare clear night and found a rooftop to stargaze from.

Oh so you admit you're attracted to him? The voice questions and Hanbin shoves aside the fantasies. Nearly startles at the sudden brush of fingers against his shoulder.

"Me too," Zhang Hao says without looking at him and Hanbin also has to ignore the way his stupid heart sings at the admission.

The next morning, neither of them mention it or discuss anything other than plans for the day: making new arrows, hunting, avoiding other players, looking for more supplies, etc. By mutual, unspoken agreement, any budding feelings they may have will be left in the dark.

*****

The beacon marking the location of the elimination round is red instead of blue—an ominous, seething column of light marring the otherwise tranquil dawn.

"We're not too far from it," Ricky notes, balancing on top of a large pile of debris to see better. "Maybe half a day out?"

"Yay," Zhang Hao says, deadpan, and Hanbin stifles a laugh.

"At least we got lucky again and we don't have to ford—"

A familiar whine of static interrupts him, followed by an equally familiar voice that he keeps waiting to hear in his dreams.

"Players," the hidden announcer greets, as cheerful and pleasant as always. "Our first elimination round is upon us. You must travel to the location marked by the beacon within twenty-four hours and allow your collar to be scanned. Failure to comply will result in automatic elimination, regardless of actual rank. Good luck!"

"Yay," Zhang Hao repeats, even more dryly.

Hanbin runs a finger along the smooth metal edge of his collar. After three weeks, he's almost forgotten its presence. It chafes sometimes and will occasionally put too much pressure on his throat if he sleeps in the wrong position, but beyond that it's strangely unobtrusive—disturbingly easy to adjust to. He doesn't want to contemplate the ramifications of that.

"Well, we should start packing up," he says, dropping his hand.

He expected nerves to set in like disruptive, angry butterflies but he just feels weirdly calm. He knows, logically, there is a good chance that he will survive this elimination. If he dies, it will be later, he's managed to make sure of that. And others dying? He can numb himself to that. They’ve already lost three more players after Choi Seyun—their faces glowing in the sky as the arena announced their deaths.

And beyond these games, people die all the time in the Lower Wards—of sickness, of hunger, of violence. People die on delving contracts. People die young. People die so easily.

How will this be any different?

Just don't let it be Matthew, the bleeding part of his heart still begs. Or Zhang Hao, it adds to his muted horror.

Ricky also touches his collar, eyes on the red column, and impassive mask in place. "How much harder will it get after this?"

"I don't know," Zhang Hao says, dumping out the water they used to boil meat with the night before. "Let's live through this first. Then we can worry about everything else."

He says it with the reassuring air of a hyung and the calm inside Hanbin expands, deepens, in response. He realizes that he doesn't know how old Zhang Hao or Ricky are but now doesn't seem like an appropriate time to ask.

So he focuses on dousing the fire, on the other nearby fires similarly getting extinguished—beacons vanishing in the wan morning light.

ELIMINATION 1

The beacon leads them to the rusted shell of a stadium and like soldiers, they line up in the middle of the field. It's been terraformed into perfect grass—a jarring contrast to the ruin and wilderness all around them. Hanbin feels nervous stepping onto it, blinking in awe at the vivid, artificial green beneath his filthy boots.

Glowing circles line the field, designating places to stand, and once again Hanbin searches for Matthew amidst the exhausted faces of his fellow players. He spots Park Gunwook, still bruised from their fight, and most of the members of Hoetaek's newly formed alliance. Hoetaek himself gives Hanbin a nod and smile of greeting, as does Yoon Jongwoo. But it's Park Hanbin who finds him first, materializing at his side.

"You look like you've been through a shredder," he remarks sarcastically—judgmental gaze scanning Hanbin from head to toe.

"You don't look much better," Hanbin replies, noting the fresh gash across Park Hanbin's cheek, the mud clinging to his jacket, nearly obscuring his contestant number, and myriad of cuts and blisters littering his hands. "What happened?"

Park Hanbin arches an eyebrow. "Probably the same thing that happened to you."

"Machines?"

"Something like that," Park Hanbin says, which means yes. Hanbin breathes a quiet, private sigh of relief. They got tokens, they figured it out.

"Is Matthew still with you?"

Park Hanbin gestures to their left and finally, Hanbin sees Matthew standing with Taerae. To his surprise, Kim Jiwoong is also leaning over to talk to them. Maybe they got to know each other in the second challenge?

"He's really mad at you still," Park Hanbin says. "But he's fine."

Hanbin winces. "Yeah, I figured he would be. We definitely didn't part on good terms."

"No shit." Park Hanbin turns away. "Good luck. Don't die."

"Same to you."

As Hanbin takes the empty circle next to Taerae, Zhang Hao steps into the one on Hanbin's left. Hanbin fights the strange urge to reach over and squeeze his hand in reassurance. Instead, he keeps his arms rigid at his sides. One by one, the circles switch from red to blue, holographic contestant numbers appearing above their heads. Hanbin glances up at the large 67 and the cloudless sky beyond it and still feels too calm for what's about to happen.

"Welcome contestants," says their cheerful female friend. "To the first elimination."

It hasn't been announced how many players will be eliminated in this round, but Hanbin guesses that it can't be more than a fifth of the total. The game masters won't kill too many players early on, wanting to make sure it drags out for the promised seven weeks and that the stakes rise consistently throughout. They have to keep viewers entertained, after all, and account for potential deaths in the arena.

Already, it looks like they're down four players from the original 99.

It won't be us, Hanbin thinks, stealing another glance at Matthew, who looks as battered as Park Hanbin but brimming with determination—features set in a stony, hardened mask. Meanwhile, Taerae rubs a set of metallic, makeshift prayer beads in his hand, lips moving in a soundless prayer. Next to Hanbin, Zhang Hao's fingers tap an anxious rhythm against the side of his leg. Further down their row, Yoon Jongwoo flexes his metal wrist and Hoetaek stands relaxed and confident.

It won't be any of us.

"In this round," the announcer continues, "we will be eliminating twenty players who have failed to accumulate the required amount of points."

So just over a fifth. As Hanbin expected. Zhang Hao closes his eyes, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"The purple tokens that you collected over the last three days are worth twenty thousand points each.” So Jiwoong’s hunch was correct. “These points will be added to your total score.”

Nine should be enough, Hanbin thinks. Hopes.

“We will proceed with randomized player numbers, announcing if each is safe. If you are not safe, your elimination will take place immediately."

Calm. Hanbin is calm. It won't be any of us, not any of us, not any of us....

Suddenly, barriers shimmer to life at all the exits of the arena. "Any attempts to leave before the elimination is over will result in your own disqualification, regardless of if you are safe or not. Do not step outside your circles or you will also experience retaliation from your collar."

The collar feels like ice against Hanbin's skin, freezing and burning and abruptly heavy—a chain tying him to the unseen game masters, to this disembodied voice who currently has power over his fate.

“Let us begin.”

Calm, calm, calm.

"Player 75," the announcer says and two rows in front of him, the glowing number gets bigger. A face is projected along the screen in front of them—one that Hanbin doesn't know. "Safe." The number and circle turn green and the boy collapses to his knees with a loud sob. The screen announces his current rank: 72.

The skin of his teeth.

And so it continues: player 81, 29, 47, 93, 61, 33, 57—all safe. Circles turn green one after the other. Most of them are in the lower ranks and all cry when their numbers are announced.

Crackling tension gradually builds beneath Hanbin's skin but he's careful not to let any of it show on his face. The cameras are circling, circling, circling, getting sweeping shots of the stadium and emotional close ups of each boy's face for the ravenous viewers in Hwaseong.

Player 34, 48, 21, 15, 96, 51, 79, 82—safe. Their pictures continue to appear, gradually assembling into a grid that is organizing them by rank.

"Player 91," the announcer says and then pauses for dramatic effect. "Eliminated."

The glowing number and circle turn red and an X appears over the boy's face. The boy himself lets out a terrified shout and then his collar beeps and ... blood. Blood everywhere, spattering the players around him, pooling at his feet. More screams as the boy's headless body collapses to the ground, staining the pristine grass dark crimson.

His head exploded, Hanbin realizes with bile in his throat. He wills himself not to be sick. Zhang Hao also has a hand pressed over his mouth, eyes wide and fingers digging into his cheeks.

"Player 24," the female voice continues as if nothing happened. 91's body remains on the ground, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. "Safe."

And so it continues. Park Gunwook is declared safe, as are Han Yujin, Kim Jiwoong, and Keita. All of them are ranked high, with Keita surpassing Gunwook to take 2nd place while Gunwook has fallen to 10th.

Four more players are eliminated, including the boy standing on Hanbin's left. He forces himself to watch it all: the boy's terrified face, so young, and the beep of the collar, and then blood, blood, blood. It hits Hanbin's face and clothes—sticky, horrible warmth dripping down his skin, clinging to his hair. The calm is gone, replaced by a messy tangle of grief, rage, and terror pulsing in Hanbin's chest like a living creature.

On his other side, Zhang Hao finally loses control and vomits messily into the grass. The previous quiet has been punctured by low sobbing from multiple boys.

Hanbin gives up being strong and reaches across the small distance between their circles to take Zhang Hao's hand, lacing their shaking, bloodstained fingers together. Zhang Hao wipes his mouth with his other arm. Ricky has dropped into a crouch, hand pressed to his chest and head bowed. Hanbin can't look at Matthew.

The nightmare keeps going: another batch of players safe—Jongwoo, Hyojong, and Taerae among them. Hanbin goes numb to the screams as the next two players are killed.

By the time forty players have been declared safe and ten players have been eliminated, the boy directly behind Hanbin—number 85—gives into his panic and leaves his circle, running for one of the barriers blocking the exit like terrified prey trying to escape a predator.

"Don't!" Hanbin yells, but is too late to grab him.

The boy only makes it a few strides before he collapses, writhing, choking, foaming at the mouth. After several agonizing seconds he goes still and his picture appears on the grid with an X through it.

Hanbin exchanges a frantic look with Zhang Hao.

Did his collar poison him?

"A reminder to all contestants," the female voice says serenely, “stepping outside of your circle is forbidden."

Gods, Hanbin thinks—both an exclamation and a helpless prayer. A pointless one, too. There are no gods here except the ones controlling the collars.

Time turns elastic—a strange, muddled blur. More players live and more players die. Matthew's name is called safe and the relief is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. Park Hanbin and Ricky survive, along with another twenty players. Five more players die and there is blood everywhere, soaking the grass.

They're nearing the end and neither Hanbin nor Zhang Hao's names have been called. Dread sits heavy in Hanbin's stomach, but they had to have made it. They won the last challenge, they got nine tokens worth twenty thousand each—they've made it, they'll live.

"Player 38," the announcer finally says. "Safe."

Zhang Hao's circle turns green and Hanbin barely swallows back a sob. He's not sure how much longer his legs are going to support him.

Right after, the nineteenth player dies with a cut off shriek.

Only two numbers haven't been called: Hanbin's and a boy he doesn't recognize. Zhang Hao's grip on his hand turns bruising and the air dries up in Hanbin's lungs. He tries to stay composed with blood, dirt, and tears all over his face, but maybe viewers in Hwaseong like seeing them reduced to pathetic messes.

"Player 67," the female announcer says. Hanbin bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. "Safe."

His circle turns green. He sways, hiccuping through a gasping breath, and two rows in front of them the other boy dies, silent and messy.

"Hanbin," Zhang Hao murmurs, tilting his head in the direction of the screen.

Hanbin turns his attention to it and feels his mouth go slack in shock. He's ranked 1st, beating out Lee Hoetaek, who has fallen to 7th.

"Holy shit," he breathes, uncertain if he's elated or terrified—the accomplishment of managing to rank 1st clashing with the giant target that's just been painted on his back.

"Congratulations," Zhang Hao says with a squeeze of his hand.

He's also climbed all the way up to 5th, which is impressive. Matthew, due to his sacrifice of points, has fallen to 30th, but it's a position Hanbin has faith he’ll climb out of.

"Thanks," Hanbin says. "I think."

That gets a wan smile to twitch at the corners of Zhang Hao's lips. He's a little less bloodstained than Hanbin, but not by much.

"Congratulations," the announcer says, "to all the players who have survived the first round." The barriers dissipate. "You are now allowed to leave the area. The third challenge will commence in four days."

Four days?

He exchanges a worried look with Zhang Hao.

"Voting will soon open for our viewers back in Hwaseong. Remember, this will not affect the points that you earn. But if viewers choose to vote for you, you will receive further aid in the games, such as medical supplies and better weapons. So it is to your advantage to appeal to them as much as possible."

Right. Voting. That aspect of the second round has been sitting in the back of Hanbin's mind ever since he woke up in the arena, making him hyper aware of all the cameras, of the way he is carrying himself in front of them. Now that voting is about to become a reality, he wonders if he's done enough to make himself appealing.

Most likely only time will tell.

He glances at the body on his left and suddenly feels sick for his strategizing. How cruel is it to contemplate his voting prospects surrounded by corpses?

Stop feeling guilty, the voice hisses. This is how you survive.

At what cost, Hanbin wonders and the voice doesn't have an answer to that.

"Good luck in the games," the announcers says, dismissing them.

The players disperse quickly, everyone eager to get away from the blood and the bodies, the stink of death that has begun to permeate the air. Hanbin contemplates trying to talk to Matthew but the other boy heads for the exit without a backward glance. Still angry enough to ice him out, then.

"Let's go," Zhang Hao says to both him and Ricky. "I never want to see this place again."

They pick their way out of the stadium, winding around and stepping over bodies still lying on the grass. They will be collected before the end of the day and cremated—their ashes returned to whoever is left in Hwaseong to claim them. Hanbin thinks of his friend Daeun—an older sister in all but blood—telling him to put her name down with a grim expression on her face, separated from him by a translucent, humming barrier, and feels a fresh twinge of remorse. He can only hope that she never has to accept his remains.

Outside the stadium, Hanbin breathes in the fresh air and tries to let the tension seep from his body. The sun has nearly set and the sky overhead has darkened with looming clouds, heralding a storm.

"We should go to the river before it rains," Zhang Hao says, staring down at trembling hands. "I want to wash this off."

"Yeah," Hanbin agrees quietly. "Let's go."

In the shallows, the blood runs off his skin in red rivulets. He keeps seeing headless bodies in the grass, hearing the screams of dying and grieving boys.

Lock it away, the voice insists. Move forward.

Right. Forward.

There's nothing else to do.