Ji Ah woke to the unfamiliar sensation of silk against her skin. For a fleeting moment, she forgot where she was. As her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent light humming above, the dark green walls of her new quarters, the vanity table, and the wardrobe filled with dresses that were nothing like her usual attire—it all came rushing back.

Her stomach churned at the thought of the day ahead.

A sharp knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts."Number 13," came the voice of a guard. "Get up. You're expected to prepare yourself. The VIPs will arrive shortly."

VIPs. The word carried a weight Ji Ah couldn't ignore. Who were they? Did they run the games? The monsters funding this horror show? Or just the people reveling in others' suffering? She ground her teeth as she got out of bed.

The guard didn't wait for a response. Heavy footsteps echoed as he walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Ji Ah padded to the wardrobe, her bare feet cold against the floor. She hesitated before opening it, half-hoping the contents would have magically changed overnight.

They hadn't.

Short black cocktail dresses in various cuts hung in neat rows, each one more revealing than the last. Ji Ah scowled, grabbing the least offensive option—a simple dress that started on her collar bone, but clung to her body like a second skin and ended mid-thigh.

She threw it onto the bed and moved to the vanity, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger. The black mask sat beside the small collection of makeup, its leaf-like edges mocking her. A mask to hide her face, but nothing to hide the shame threatening to consume her.

She grabbed a brush and started to comb her hair out of her face, thankfully the shower she had taken last night had removed the days worth of grime and sweat from her skin and hair. The toiletries provided leaving a subtle floral scent.

Hair secured in a half up half down style, she sat down at her vanity table. The makeup was sparse: a single compact, a small palette of eyeshadow, mascara, and one tube of lipstick—bright red. Ji Ah's fingers hovered over the lipstick, the color somehow feeling like a cruel joke.

She sighed and began to apply the makeup with steady hands, her training as a detective allowing her to compartmentalize her anger - for the moment anyway. She worked methodically, painting herself into the image of what they expected her to be, a faceless object to decorate their twisted playground.

When she finally slipped on the dress, it clung to her in ways that made her feel exposed, her skin crawling as she zipped it up. The heels were no better, their shiny black surface reflecting the faint light as if mocking her discomfort.

Ji Ah glanced at the mirror one last time, her reflection a jarring mix of the person she used to be and the role she was being forced into. Her jaw clenched as she reached for the black mask, the final piece of her transformation.

As she placed it over her face, the red lipstick she'd just applied became the only splash of color, a stark contrast to the dark mask and dress. It made her feel like a character in someone else's story, her own identity slipping further away with each passing moment.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. "It's time," the guard said.

Ji Ah took a deep breath, steadying herself. Hastily securing her mask at the back of her head.

Whatever lay beyond that door, she had to survive it. With one last glance at the mirror, she straightened her shoulders and stepped into the corridor, ready to face whatever twisted reality awaited her.

———————————————————-

The VIP were somehow everything and nothing like expected. From their ridiculous gold animal masks to their bathrobes, Ji Ah was unsure where to look.

She had been told to stand at the door to the grand lounge, a tray of whisky's in her hand as greeting. She counted six. So it sparked her confusion when only five VIPs arrived.

They all took a drink, making lude comments at her in English. American's, she deduced from their accents. Each giving her a look up and down before moving onto her four other colleagues.

She felt powerless, all she could so was smile and thank them. She had to thank those sick bastards.

Turning her attention to her colleagues, she hadn't had a chance to meet them yet, all five of them had been posted to different parks of the room. Two male and two females from what she could see. She did note that the blonde woman was still here, she may come in useful, Ji Ah reasoned.

Then like she could sense him, he appeared. Every part the cold, calculating, intimidating man she knows. So why does her skin start to heat when he is near?

"Gentlemen welcome, allow me to introduce myself I am the Frontman. The host sends his regrets that he cannot be with you at this time, but I am here to ensure your every comfort is met." He announced coming to stand in front of the VIPs, back straight and standing to attention.

Ji Ah is bewildered by his sudden subservience, so he wasn't the top man like she thought he was, there are more? Taking a minute to gather her thoughts as the captain - now frontman - she supposed conversed with the VIPs.

Who was this mysterious host then? And why were they not here?

"It's no worry" the loud Texan spoke "your girl 13 has been taking good care of us, haven't you darling" he bolsters, eliciting cheers from the other guests. The Texan leaned forward, his eyes raking over her form in a way that made her skin crawl. "Quite the addition to the staff this year. Very elegant. Exotic, even."

Ji Ah swallowed the retort that rose in her throat, forcing herself to lower her gaze in what she hoped was an appropriately submissive gesture. She could feel their stares, hungry and dehumanizing, stripping her of whatever dignity she had left.

"Gentleman," came the Frontman's voice, cutting through the murky cigar filled air like a blade. "We thank you for your compliments" he spoke, his voice growing closer,

Ji Ah's back straightened instinctively, her pulse quickening as he came to stand beside her.

"She has a lot to learn," the Frontman said, his words directed at the room but clearly meant for her as well. "But she's adaptable."

Before she could react, she felt the faintest brush of his fingers against the back of her head. Her breath hitched as he adjusted her mask, which had loosened slightly.

"Hold still," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Ji Ah froze, every nerve ending in her body firing at once. His hands were gloved, yet the sensation felt almost intimate, the deliberate care he took in fixing the mask sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"There," he said after a moment, his hands retreating as quickly as they had come.

But the weight of his presence lingered, his proximity making it impossible for her to breathe easily.

"Now," he addressed the room, his tone once again sharp and authoritative. "Shall we move on to more pressing matters?"

The VIPs muttered their agreement, the tension dissipating as they returned to their drinks and chatter.

Ji Ah dared a glance at the Frontman as he stepped away, his mask giving nothing away. But something about the way he carried himself—subtle, deliberate—told her the adjustment hadn't been necessary. It had been a reminder.

Of what, she wasn't sure.

As the night wore on, Ji Ah remained at her post, her mind racing with questions she couldn't afford to ask. But one thought stayed with her, clear and unnerving: The Frontman wasn't just watching her. He was studying her.

——————————

The VIPs' boisterous laughter echoed in the room, accompanied by the clinking of glasses as they placed bets on the next game.

Tug of War, the frontman revealed, eliciting gasps of excitement from the VIP keen to watch the real thing live.

Ji Ah forced herself to remain composed, her posture rigid as she served another drink. The night stretched on, each second heavier than the last.

The Frontman moved among the VIPs with ease, his commanding presence drawing their attention. Yet Ji Ah couldn't shake the feeling that his attention often drifted back to her. Each glance, no matter how brief, sent a ripple of heat and unease coursing through her.

She was stationed near edge of the room, drink tray in hand, when she felt his presence again—silent, like a shadow. He approached, his movements deliberate, and leaned in just enough for his words to reach her without anyone else overhearing.

"You're holding up well," he said softly, his tone devoid of the mockery she'd braced for.

Ji Ah didn't dare look at him directly. "I didn't realize I was being tested," she replied, keeping her voice steady.

"Everything here is a test, Number 13," he murmured, the faintest hint of amusement threading his words. "You'll learn that soon enough." And like that he was gone, melting back into the shadow he came from.

Ji Ah couldn't shake the feeling of his words, nor the fire that licked up her spine.

————————————————-

The announcement of Tug of War sent a wave of anticipation rippling through the VIPs. Their laughter turned raucous, their voices tinged with sadistic glee as they speculated about the fates of the contestants.

Ji Ah's grip on her tray tightened. She forced her features to remain neutral, though the bile rising in her throat threatened to betray her. Each time a VIP's hand brushed against her as they grabbed a drink, she felt her dignity crumble further. But it was the Frontman's cryptic words that lingered, needling at her composure.

Everything here is a test.

Her eyes flicked to the screen dominating the far wall, displaying the setup for the next game. Two towering platforms, a single rope spanning the chasm between them, and the gaping void below. Even from the safety of the VIP lounge, the scene was suffocating.

"Frontman!" the Texan drawled, gesturing with his glass. "How about you give us a little insider scoop? Any early favorites in this round?"

The Frontman inclined his head with practiced detachment. "The games are designed to level the playing field. Strength alone will not ensure victory."

The Texan grinned, his gold mask glinting under the lights. "Smart and mysterious. I like it."

Ji Ah's stomach churned as the VIPs laughed again, their focus shifting to their tablets to place bets. The contestants' faces flashed on the screen, each one a portrait of dread and desperation.

Her chest tightened when she spotted Gi Hun among them, standing with his makeshift team. He was speaking urgently, gesturing animatedly as he tried to rally their spirits. Ji Ah couldn't hear his words, but she recognized the determination in his eyes.

"Care to place a bet, Number 13?" The Texan asked, placing a hand on her arm.

Swallowing down her disgust "I'll pass" she said evenly, tilting the tray to offer him a drink instead.

He didn't take one. Turning back to his tablet

As she turned to walk away she heard "Wise. The house always wins." The voice startled her, low and smooth, and far too close. Ji Ah turned her head slightly, finding the Frontman once again at her side.

Their gazes met briefly, his mask a barrier that only amplified the weight of his presence. Ji Ah felt her pulse quicken, a mix of defiance and unease swirling within her.

"Enjoy the show," he added, his voice low enough that the words felt almost private. And just as before, he was gone, his attention now on the VIPs clamoring for details about the contestants.

The contestants took their places, their terror palpable even through the screen.

Ji Ah's breath caught as the countdown began, her focus entirely on Gi Hun, part of her wondered if her presence her was a blessing or curse for him. He stood at the front of the line, his grip firm on the rope. "Five... four..." "Bet on the older guy," one VIP slurred, leaning close to the screen. "He looks like he's got a trick or two up his sleeve." Ji Ah clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "Three... two..." The room erupted with cheers and jeers as the buzzer blared, signaling the start.

The two teams pulled with everything they had, the rope creaking under the strain. Onscreen, Ji Ah could see Gi Hun shouting instructions, his voice lost amidst the chaos but his determination unwavering.

"Ah, look at them!" the Texan crowed. "Nothing like a good old-fashioned fight for survival!"

Ji Ah wanted to scream, to tear the drink tray from her hands and hurl it across the room. Instead, she kept her mask of indifference firmly in place, her eyes locked on the screen.

As the game unfolded, the struggle intensified. Gi Hun's team began to falter, their opponents gaining ground with brute strength. But then the other man - Cho Sang Woo she learned from the bets -barked an order, and the team shifted tactics.

"They're running forward" one VIP exclaimed. "Clever bastards!"

Ji Ah's chest tightened as the team regained ground, their coordination throwing the opposing side into disarray. Her heart pounded with every pull, her silent prayers echoing louder in her mind.

When the opposing team finally lost their footing, the arena fell silent for a fraction of a second before the inevitable screams began. Ji Ah turned her head away from the screen as the rope was cut, sending the losing team plummeting into the void.

The VIPs erupted into applause, their cheers a grotesque celebration of death. "Damn fine game!" the Texan bellowed, raising his glass. "Frontman, your games never disappoint!"

The Frontman inclined his head in acknowledgment, but Ji Ah caught the briefest pause in his movements.

"Bring us another round, Number 13," the Texan called out, his grin wide and unrepentant.

Ji Ah nodded stiffly, her hands trembling as she moved to refill their drinks. She couldn't look at the screen again, couldn't bear to see the hollow expressions of those who had survived—or worse, the faces of those who hadn't.

Everything here is a test.

As she handed the Texan his glass, she felt the Frontman's gaze on her once more, unrelenting and inscrutable. And in that moment, Ji Ah wondered if she had passed.