The air was heavy with dread as the remaining players stood on the metal platform overlooking the abyss. Below, an endless void stretched into darkness. The sound of the loudspeaker filled the room once more, cold and emotionless.

“Game Six: Monkey Bars. Players must remain suspended for 15 minutes. Falling will result in elimination.”

The countdown began: 10… 9… 8…

Gi-hun wiped his hands on his pants, his heart pounding. His eyes flicked to Player 120, who stood nearby. She gripped the edge of the platform, her jaw clenched in determination. Around them, the other players exchanged nervous glances.

3… 2… 1…

A deafening buzzer echoed through the arena. The players leapt to the bars above, grasping the cold, slick metal. A second later, the platform beneath them retracted with a thunderous crash, leaving nothing but empty air.

The void beneath was terrifyingly vast, swallowing all light. Gi-hun’s muscles tensed as he hung there, his knuckles white against the steel. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint creak of the bars and the labored breathing of the players.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the darkness. A player’s grip failed, and they plummeted into the abyss. Gi-hun instinctively craned his neck to look down, but all he saw was blackness. The scream faded into silence, leaving no trace of the fallen player. No gunshot followed.

Gi-hun’s stomach turned. The realization was horrifying: the player’s death came not from a guard’s bullet, but from the sheer drop into the void.

“Keep focused!” Player 120’s voice snapped him back to the present. She was holding on firmly, her movements calculated. Her words were sharp but encouraging. “Don’t look down. Just hold on.”

Gi-hun nodded, his grip tightening. His muscles burned already, and only two minutes had passed.

☆☆☆☆☆

The Strain

At the five-minute mark, a second player fell. This time, there was no scream-just a dull thud as their body hit the bars below before disappearing into the void. The others flinched but didn’t dare look. Gi-hun’s breath came in short, ragged gasps, sweat dripping into his eyes. He shifted his hands slightly to ease the strain, but the relief was fleeting.

Nearby, a pawn-a young woman whose name Gi-hun didn’t know-was crying softly. “I can’t… I can’t…” she whimpered. Her grip faltered, and with a sob, she let go. Her body disappeared into the darkness, her cry cut short.

“Stay with me, Gi-hun,” Player 120 called out. She was hanging just a few bars away, her face pale but resolute. “We’ve made it this far. Don’t give up now.”

He nodded again, his vision blurring. The minutes crawled by like hours.

☆☆☆☆☆

The Breaking Point

At the ten-minute mark, the room reeked of sweat and despair. Another player—a burly man who had seemed invincible in previous games—fell with a guttural roar. His body hit the void, swallowed in silence.

Gi-hun’s arms were on fire. His fingers ached, and his shoulders felt like they were being torn apart. Every second was a battle against gravity, his mind screaming at him to let go and end the pain.

His gaze flicked to Player 120. She was still hanging on, but barely. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, there was an unspoken exchange: they were both at their limits.

“Keep going,” she mouthed. But her voice, usually so commanding, was weak.

☆☆☆☆☆

Fourteen Minutes

By the 13 minute, there were only six players left. Gi-hun’s vision was swimming. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore; they had gone numb long ago. He gritted his teeth, every breath a ragged gasp.

He glanced at Player 120. She was still there, barely clinging to the bar. Her face was ashen, her body trembling with effort. The remaining players were scattered across the bars, their expressions blank with exhaustion.

And then, it happened.

Gi-hun’s grip slipped. It was subtle at first-a small shift, a momentary loss of balance. His heart stopped as he tried to recover, but his strength was gone. His fingers gave way, and for a fleeting second, he hung in freefall.

“Gi-hun!” Player 120 screamed, her voice raw with desperation.

The world spun as he fell. The icy wind rushed past him, and the darkness swallowed him whole. His final thought wasn’t of victory or survival-it was of the lives lost, the sacrifices made.

And then, there was nothing.