“It’s hard to decide the value of life. So, what if we just choose five to get the bullet instead.”
“Let’s give them a sure chance to live, and in exchange, they get to kill one of us.”
There was a long pause after #41 spoke.
And then, from the side, someone raised their hand.
A woman with short, buzzed hair and sharp cheekbones.
“How are we supposed to decide that?” she asked. “What’s the basis?” Her head tilted toward the crowd.
“By how many people we’ve killed?” she asked, her eyes flicking toward #25, who pursed his lips.
“Or by how many we’ve saved?” she continued, turning to #41. She knew that he was responsible for trying to save the most people during the First Circle—including her.
“Because if that’s the case, you should be the last to go.”
Eyes landed on #41.
“No,” he said finally. “Like I said, it is hard to put value on a life. It’s even harder to rank it.”
He swallowed, voice trembling.
“But we’re Desperates, and our desperation is what brought us here.”
Zeno’s eyebrow twitched slightly. That was a nice line. However, it was still part of the script.
#41 kept going.
“We have at least an hour,” he said, turning in a circle so everyone could see his face. “So let’s use it. Let’s tell our stories. Not just as Desperates. But as people. Humans with pasts and reasons.”
The forest grew quiet again. This time, not out of fear but from interest. Maybe even hope.
And then another voice broke in.
“Then what’s your story?” #94, played by Billy, the youngest contestant raised.
He looked at #41. “Why did you come back here when you’d already won?”
Victor PD leaned toward the monitor. “It’s time,” he whispered to the staff beside him. They nodded, some in worry and some in excitement.
The ad-libbed parts were going to come, so they watched on their toes, making sure that everything was going well.
#41 stepped forward.
“I came here at first because I had something to live for,” he began. “My wife. She was… my life. She stood by me when I was broke, when I was angry, when I wanted to die.”
His voice cracked just slightly.
“She got pregnant with our first son. We named him Jiho. However, my wife was sick at that time, and she couldn’t carry our son until she was all better. That was the moment I told myself—I’d do anything for them. I’d crawl through hell. So I joined the game.”
“I won,” he continued. “Somehow, I made it out. The only one among a hundred contestants.”
Zeno quickly noted the acting techniques he was utilizing. The volume and modality of his voice were the most impressive. Although, Zeno found it quite hard to believe he would do anything for his wife when he cheated on his realone.
“But when I came back,” #41 continued, his voice becoming bitter, “they were gone. My wife. My son.”
There was a wave of sympathy across the crowd.
Just then, #25 raised his hand. His voice didn’t rise, but it still had a big impact.
“So you came here?” he asked. “If you have nothing else to live for, then why are you back?”
Sangwon froze, and his breath hitched. He looked at Zeno like he’d been slapped. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.
Victor’s voice rang out from behind the camera.
“Cut!”
Everyone exhaled at once.
Sangwon stepped back, blinking hard. One of the makeup staff moved to fix the fake blood near his collarbone, but he waved her off.
What kind of question was that?
Victor stood from the monitor, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a really good question,” he whispered to himself.
Then, he clapped. “Let’s go with the question. Sangwon, think of an answer.”
Sangwon nodded, still stunned and a little embarrassed. That question truly caught him off guard.
Meanwhile, Victor turned to his assistant. “Mark that take. We keep it.”
And then—though he would never admit it—Victor glanced at Zeno across the room. The man hadn’t moved an inch, his hands still tucked into his pockets.
No matter how much Victor hated how Zeno made him feel like he was always one step aside, he couldn’t deny this one thing.
He had great sense.
And with that, he really could make a damn good show.
“Ready… Action!” Victor exclaimed, and they snapped back to their characters once more.
“I came back to find something I could live for,” #41 said, responding to the previous question. “I don’t want to die searching, even if I have to claw through hell again.”
There was silence before #33 Sora raised her hand. She stepped into the light with a kind, quiet dignity. Her presence radiated warmth despite the cold set around them.
“I’m a teacher,” she began. “I teach at an institution focused on special education.”
Her words were soft, but they rang clear. “Where I come from, there’s no real funding. The kids I work with… they don’t get the world they deserve. But they deserve everything.”
Her voice faltered, and she clasped her hands together.
“I don’t have a child. But I want to be their hope. I want to fight for them in a system that never fights for them back. That’s why I came here.”
They stilled before deciding she could have a gun. She bit her lip, but after telling her story, she became even more determined.
Without warning, she pulled the trigger at someone who tried to molest her during the First Circle.
Bang.
The victim dropped, and others turned away from shock.
“Meisner,” Devon muttered. “She does the Meisner technique really well.”
Sora returned to her spot, lips pressed into a trembling line, but her spine straight as ever.
One by one, others stepped forward.
The lines of the extras were under a script, making the filming flow better.
After a while, Misha finally stepped forward.