The End Of Modern Warfare 2...

The end of Modern Warfare 2...

With Soap, with Price, with the pulling the knife out, with the on the run thing-

I just…

Must aquire Modern Warfare Three.

MUST. AQUIRE. NOW.

CHAPTER 12 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

“All players, it is bedtime now. Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise, you will be eliminated from the game.”

The fight was slipping through your fingers.

What had started as a strong rebellion was now being crushed under the sheer numbers of the guards. Players fell one by one, their weapons useless as they ran out of ammo. You could hear the panicked shouts, the desperate cries of those who realized they were on the losing side. You could hear more guards closing in, pressing their advantage with disciplined precision, their faceless masks showing no hesitation as they cut down players who resisted.

Your hands tightened around your gun, fingers slick with sweat and grime. You raised it, took aim at the nearest guard, only to hear a click.

Your stomach twisted as your breath came in short, ragged gasps as you glanced around, scanning for an escape. The crimson-soaked floors blurred with lifeless bodies, the scent of blood thick in the air.

“In-ho!” You called, frantic.

His gaze snapped to yours, only for you to realize how much of a mistake you just made. You immediately regretted it. He was Young-il to everyone else. The name lingered in the tense air, but he didn’t react, his expression remaining unreadable as chaos erupted around you.

Still, you shook your head and continued to speak. “This isn’t getting us anywhere! Let’s follow them to the upper level!”

“We might get surrounded if we move together without a plan!” In-ho said. “Let’s wait until they find the control room.”

You nodded. He throws an ammo your way as you grabbed on to it, reloading your gun as you continued to shoot the guards.

“Everyone, check your magazines!” Hyun-ju yelled.

“I’m down to half,” Gyeong-seok called out.

Most of the rebels only had little ammo left. You looked at In-ho, who seemed to be too composed. As if his mind was working ahead of everyone else’s, calculating and strategizing. His grip on his gun was steady, his stance unshaken. But his eyes— there was something in them. Something you couldn’t quite place. Something that made your chest tighten.

“Young-il, Dae-ho, Y/N, can you hear me?” You heard your radio crackle up to life.

“Yeah!” You raised your voice enough for the radio to hear. “What’s the situation over there?”

“I think we’re right below the control room!” Jung-bae said. “But we need backup and more ammo.”

“We’re running out of ammo too!” You replied.

“There should be spare magazines in the soldiers’ pockets in our quarters,” you heard Gi-hun’s voice over the radio. “Go get them!”

“Got it!” You beeped the radio down and placed it on your pocket.

In-ho immediately snaps to the other rebels. “Did you hear that? They need backup!” He called out. “The four of us will go, and the rest will stay!” He looks at you and gives you a nod, then turns to the other rebels again. “Join us once you get the magazines! Y/N, come with me.”

You nodded and held his sleeve, almost tripping as you stepped forward while still crouching. Player 047 and 015 followed you and In-ho, the desperation etched onto their faces. You didn’t know their names, and you didn’t need to. Right now, survival was all that mattered.

You sprinted through the facility’s wreckage, ducking behind overturned tables and shattered crates, the pounding of boots growing louder behind you. Every corner turned felt like a death sentence as every hallway stretched longer than it should.

Then, up ahead, you saw Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Their faces were lined with exhaustion, but when they saw you, something flickered in their eyes. As if there was relief.

“Gi-hun!” In-ho called out. “Did you find the control room?”

“I think it’s right up there, but we can’t go this way,” Gi-hun said. “I want you to find another way.”

“I did a quick scan of the layout here. I’m sure there’s a way to go around them.”

You almost let out a scoff, but you held it back. You were in no way of letting him know that you knew who he was. You needed an actual proof, something that would slap you to reality on what his role is in the games.

“I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We’ll hit them from behind.”

Gi-hun nodded. As In-ho was about to turn away, Gi-hun held his shoulder to stop him. “Wait!” He grabbed an extra ammo from his pocket and handed it to In-ho, who seemed to stare at the ammo in Gi-hun’s hand. “Here, take this. You’re going to need it.”

You stayed silent, watching the scene. You realized and saw the goodness of Gi-hun, who seemed to willingly give his ammo for In-ho. If he only knew who he was.

“Are you sure?” In-ho asked, his eyes flickering with almost an amusement.

Gi-hun nodded. “Dae-ho will be back with more.”

In-ho nodded back, grabbing the ammo from Gi-hun as he placed to his pocket. He then looked at you, giving you a nod as a signal for all of you to move. You gripped your useless weapon as if it could protect you. The four of you pressed on, winding through the hallways, each step pulling you closer to the control room.

The air was heavy, thick with sweat and tension. You could feel In-ho behind you, his presence grounding in a way that contradicted the madness around you. He had barely spoken since you fled the battlefield, his focus sharp and unwavering.

Then, you heard a bang.

Beside you, Player 047 let out a strangled gasp before crumpling to the ground. Then Player 015 stared at In-ho in horror, only for his fate to be the same.

Your heart stopped. You turned to In-ho, your pulse hammering, only to see Player 047’s and 015’s bodies sprawled on the cold floor. There, you saw In-ho, holding his gun.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. The world narrowed down to the sight of him standing there, his expression unreadable. The blood dripped from the fallen players to your feet, pooling beneath you, as their bodies twitched as the last remnants of their life drained away.

You stumbled back a step. “In-ho?”

His gaze met yours, dark and steady. Although something flickered across his face, something almost mournful, but it was gone before you could grasp it.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

You opened your mouth to demand an answer, but before the words could form, he moved, raised his gun, and aimed it at you. His hand was steady, but this time, he aimed at your shoulder.

Everything slowed.

You could see the tension in his fingers, the way they curled around the trigger, hesitating for just a breath. His lips parted, a whisper carried on the blood-tainted air.

“I’m sorry.”

Then, a shot rang out. The sting of pain shot through you as you stumbled back, collapsing against the floor. The white-hot agony seared through your shoulder as you staggered. Your vision blurred, a strangled cry slipping from your lips as your body screamed in protest.

The impact sent you sprawling onto your back, your limbs heavy, your breath shallow. The pain was excruciating enough. But the shock? Betrayal? That was way worse.

Your body felt heavy and sluggish, as your knees buckled beneath you. Through the haze, a voice crackled over the radio.

“Young-il, Y/N! What’s going on? Are you attacking?” Gi-hun asked over the radio, though his voice was urgent yet demanding.

In-ho kept his gaze on you, though his voice was steady and emotionless. He leaned his face near you. “Tell him you and I were shot.”

The darkness was beginning to swim at the edges of your vision. You wanted to say something, but you could only form the words, “Gi-hun, I’m sorry. It’s all over.”

“Y/N, what happened? Are you all right?” Gi-hun’s voice reeked of desperation.

You felt your breath tremble, to which In-ho managed to place the radio near you. Then, a guard approached the two of you, draping a dark coat over In-ho’s shoulders. You watched, dazed, as the guard handed him the black mask, lifting and and sliding it on, his transformation complete. The final piece of a puzzle you had been too blind to put together.

You could barely fight when the guards grabbed you, dragging you away. You heard In-ho order something to the guards, but you couldn’t hear it well. Your body was weak, but your mind was screaming. Not from pain but from realization.

In-ho was never just another player.

——

In-ho sat on his quarters, his mask discarded on the table beside him. The rebellion was over. The bodies had been cleared, the blood scrubbed from the floors, and order had been restored. But none of it settled in his chest the way it should have. His hands, now free of gloves, trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his coard. He clenched them into fists.

Then, his gaze flickered toward the bet.

You lay there, still, your face softened in sleep. Someone had already stitched up your wound— he made sure of it. He had made sure the bullet wouldn’t be fatal. But then again, that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

A mistake, yet a necessary one, he thought to himself. But was it?

He pulled up a chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you, the rise and fall of your chest too steady for comfort. You should hate him. You should wake up and look at him like he was a monster, and perhaps he was. But he couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Not when he had already made the choices that led him here.

Minutes passed before your breathing shifted. A flicker of movement. Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused, before they locked onto him.

“In-ho,” you breathed, his name like venom in your mouth.

He sighed, sitting back slightly. “You should be resting.”

You ignored him. “You shot me.”

His jaw tightened. “I had to.”

Silence hung between you, thick and suffocating. Your fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them as if they were the only thing anchoring you. The betrayal swirled in your eyes, but underneath it was something worse. You were piecing it together. The rebellion, the foresight, the calculated steps he had taken long before anyone else even had a chance to act.

You swallowed, your voice barely a whisper. “How long have you been here?”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, he looked almost human again, like the boy you used to know. “Since I won.”

Another silence. Your eyes flickered around the room, taking in the minimal furnishings — the mask on the table, the weapons mounted on the wall. Then, your gaze landed on it. Another black coat, folded neatly on a chair beside the bed.

“What’s that?” You asked.

In-ho followed your gaze. “A choice.”

Your stomach twisted. “A choice?”

He stood, stepping toward you with measured steps, but he didn’t touch you. He wouldn’t. Now now. “You can take it. Become a part of this. Survive.”

You scoffed. “You want me to be a part of this?”

A flicker of something— regret, pain, longing —passed through his features, but it was gone before you could grasp it. “I want you to live.”

You looked away, staring at the coat as if it burned your vision. “And if I say no?”

His silence was enough for an answer.

A bitter lump formed in your throat as you forced yourself to meet his eyes again. “Tell me, In-ho. How did you become this?”

He inhaled deeply as if steadying himself. “The games… They don’t end when you leave. The debt, the desperation, it follows you,” he turned away slightly, as if speaking the words to the empty room. “I thought winning would fix everything. I was wrong. They gave me a choice. Play again, or become something else.”

Your fists clenched. “And you chose this?”

“I chose to live,” he turned back to you, his eyes darker than before. “I had nothing outside to offer. I lost my job and wife. I’ve lost everything, Y/N.”

In that moment, as you stared at him, the weight of everything settled in. He had chosen survival over morality. And now, he was offering you the same path.

He leaned more, cupping your face, but you didn’t pull away. His lips brushed yours, hesitant yet desperate, an almost feverish need for something neither of you could name. It was surrender, it was a plea. And for a moment, you kissed him back, almost letting go, almost giving in.

You felt his hands all over your body, though he was careful on your left shoulder. He gripped your breasts, earning a slight moan from you. You could feel yourself throbbing down there, craving for his shaft as you felt his bulge against you. As he was about to pull down your shorts, you stopped him, placing a hand on his chest, shaking your head. “You pulled away from the kiss, looking at him in the eye. “I need time.”

He paused, his eyes softening as he searched yours before he nodded. He respected it.

He turned away and went to the bathroom, hearing the shower turn on. You were left in his room to think, tugging yourself in the warm blanket. You closed your eyes, taking the sleep in as you snuggled yourself to the sheets.

——

The room was eerily silent except for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation system. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows over the wall, making the space feel smaller and more suffocating. You lay stiffly on the bed, your wound still aching, but the pain wasn’t what kept you awake.

It was In-ho.

He lay beside you, his breaths even, his expression serene in his sleep. You couldn’t but think that he was the same man who had shot and betrayed you. And yet, here he was, inches away, as if nothing had changed. As if your blood wasn’t on his hands.

Your eyes traced the contours of his face, familiar yet foreign. The In-ho you had known would never have done this. But this wasn’t the same In-ho anymore, was it?

A quiet sigh left your lips as you carefully pushed back the sheets, rising from the bed without a sound. He didn’t stir. He trusted you enough to sleep beside you, to let his guard down. It should have meant something, but all it did was remind you of how much had already been lost.

Your bare feet moved soundlessly across the cold floor as you slipped past him, stepping into the darkness beyond his quarters. The air felt heavier here, oppressive in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You wandered through the halls until you reached a door slightly ajar, the soft glow of monitors spilling out into the dim hallway.

His office.

Something in your gut twisted as you stepped inside. The room was meticulous, every detail organized, every document in its rightful place. The screens displayed live feeds from different areas of the facility, the mechanical nature of it all making your skin crawl.

And then, you saw them. The files. They were neatly stacked, labeled, and categorized.

Your breath hitched as your fingers hovered over them before pulling one free. The second your eyes landed on the name printed across the cover, your pulse skyrocketed.

It was your name.

You nearly dropped it in shock as your hands trembled. You flipped the file open, scanning the neatly typed reports inside. Every detail of your life was in here — your past, your choices, your weaknesses. The things no one should have knowns, even the things you had forgotten. It wasn’t just a dossier. It was a map of your existence, meticulously studied and dissected.

A hollow feeling settled in your chest, cold and sharp.

This was the last straw. You had to leave.

Now.

Your grip tightened on the folder as anger surged through you, your breathing uneven. The weight of the betrayal was suffocating, pressing against your ribs, clawing at your throat. The room spun slightly as the edges of your vision blurred with rage.

With a sharp cry of frustration, you hurled the glass of water off the desk, watching as it shattered against the floor. The crash echoed through the room, its shards scattering in all directions, the water pooling at your feet.

Then, a sharp inhale came from behind you.

You turned slowly as your heart pounded while In-ho stood in the doorway. His hair was slightly disheveled, his eyes heavy with sleep—but the second he took in the scene before him, the exhaustion was gone. His gaze flickered between the scattered documents, the broken glass at your feet, and the fury on your face so evident.

He exhaled, his voice low, almost regretful. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “And what else was I not supposed to see, In-ho? How much of my life did you put under a microscope? How long have you been watching me?”

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it. “It wasn’t like that. I needed to—“

“You needed to what? Control me? Keep me under your thumb?” Your voice cracked with emotion, but you refused to let it show as weakness.

In-ho took a slow step forward. “I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N.”

“Then why did you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the accusation behind it was deafening.

A long silence stretched between you both. His eyes darkened, filled with something unreadable— remorse, maybe, or something heavier. “I did what I had to do.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Of course you did. That’s what you keep telling yourself, right? That this is all justifiable?”

His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but no words came. And for the first time, you saw it — the regret buried beneath the cold exterior, the man you once knew, struggling beneath the weight of his own sins.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing could be enough.

You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay composed. “I need to get out of here. I need time to think. Away from all of this,” then you looked at him sternly. “Away from you.”

His expression flickered, his hands clenching at his sides. “And where exactly do you think you’ll go?”

“Seoul. Just for a few days,” you swallowed. “Give me three days, In-ho. Three days to clear my head. Then, I’ll decide if I ever want to see you again.”

For a moment, you thought he would refuse. His entire posture screamed resistance, his jaw tightening as he weighed the idea. But then, after a long pause, he sighed.

“Three days,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Then you come back. Or else.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know if you would.

As you turned away, the weight of his gaze followed you, heavy and desperate, but he said nothing more. And neither did you.

The silence between you was louder than any words could ever be.

——

The next morning was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat across from In-ho at the small dining table, the scent of warm food filling the air. The golden brown pancakes sat neatly on the plate beside crisp bacon, a simple yet familiar meal. Your stomach clenched as you realized this was his favorite.

A quiet, bitter smile tugged at your lips. “Bacon and pancakes. You always liked them, didn’t you?”

In-ho glanced up, seemingly surprised with the conversation. “I remember us making them once. Back then.”

The nostalgia weighed heavy in silence between you. In-ho motioned to place a piece of pancake on your plate, but you swatted his hand away, much to his surprise. You scoffed at him. “It’s enough that you prepared a nice meal. You don’t need to be nice,” you muttered idly.

You definitely struck a nerve, noticing his jaw clenched. Instead, he sat down and said nothing, staring at you intently as you spread out the butter and syrup on to your pancake. After what seemed forever, he was done eating. Then, he slid a box across the table and left, proceeding to go to his room.

You opened it and found your belongings— the things you had before you entered the games. A cruel reminder of the life you’d nearly lost.

After you were done, you proceeded to wash the dishes. For a moment, it felt like you had your life back, as if you were living a normal one. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you felt a ting of happiness knowing you’re with In-ho in one space, yet the betrayal crawled to you like venom, still feeling pain from when he shot you.

You heard the door open and saw In-ho walking towards the kitchen, his expression unreadable though his head tilted when he saw what you were doing. He sighed. “You should’ve just left them at the table. The guards will take care of them.”

“You let the guards wash your dishes?” You chuckled bitterly. “Pathetic.”

You patted your hands down to dry them and proceeded to walk past In-ho, only for him to grab your shoulder— the one he didn’t shoot. His grip on you tightened but you didn’t let him show it hurt a bit. You only let out a bitter laugh. “What, isn’t one shoulder enough for you?”

You felt In-ho’s body stiffen, then he let go of his grip. He looked at you and took a deep breath. “Get ready in ten minutes. The limo’s waiting.”

You rolled your eyes and walked towards the room. You proceeded to go to the bathroom, letting your thoughts drain in the shower as the warm water embraced your body, finding comfort and somewhat relaxation in a place like this. When you were done, you proceeded to grab your clothes, sighing in relief as you looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling your life getting back to normal piece by piece.

The drive to Seoul was cloaked in silence. Inside the limousine, the air was thick and heavy with unspoken words. In-ho sat across from you, the smooth leather seat beneath you offering little comfort against the turbulence within. The city lights flickered through the tinted windows, painting fleeting shadows over this face.

“Three days,” In-ho said, his voice measured and controlled. As if he was saying it out loud cemented the fact that he was letting you go, even if it was temporary.

Now, in the quiet of the moving car, his presence loomed, filling the space even without words. The scent of him— clean and crisp with a faint trace of cologne — lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the closeness you once cherished. His posture was composed, one arm resting on the divider, fingers drumming absentmindedly. But his eyes, dark and piercing, were trained on the passing streets, lost in thought.

Or maybe lost in you.

Your hands curled into your lap. The cityscape outside blurred, and for the first time in a while, you felt the weight of freedom pressing against your chest.

Freedom. If it could even be called that.

The limousine slowed to a stop in front of your apartment. You hesitated, fingers grazing the handle, but before you could move, his voice cut through the silence.

“Three days,” In-ho repeated, softer this time. You turned to him, meeting his gaze. It wasn’t a demand but a quiet plea buried beneath his usual coldness.

You gave him a small nod, glancing at his lips, resisting the urge to place yours. You averted your gaze when he seemed to notice. Then, without looking back, you stepped out into the cold air.

The limousine lingered behind you as you walked toward your apartment. Even without seeing him, you could feel his eyes on you. But by the time you reached the door and turned around, the car was already gone.

It was only when you stepped inside your apartment, exhaling the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, that you felt something crinkle in your coat pocket. Frowning, you reached inside and pulled out a card.

An address.

It wasn’t his handwriting, but you knew who had left it.

Something in you whispered that you shouldn’t go. That you should ignore it, shut your door, and pretend it didn’t exist. But before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet were already moving.

The taxi ride felt long, anticipation and unease twisting together in your chest. But the moment you arrived, standing at the threshold of the dimly lit apartment, the truth settled deep into your bones.

Why did he have to bring you into this place?

You entered the place, finding the unit number placed on the card. To your surprise, it was already unlocked, as if the place was expecting you. You turned the doorknob and revealed a small studio apartment, enough for only one person to live in it. The bed was already there and a desk.

You stepped inside hesitantly, taking in the stillness, the carefully arranged furniture, the faint scent of familiarity that clung to the air. You checked the desk and saw an old fish— already dead, floating on the water. Books were lined and arranged properly.

Then, your eyes caught a familiar black box wrapped in a pink bow.

The same box where the dead players were placed after they were killed.

This was In-ho’s place.

The one he had after winning the games.

It was strange. For a man who had spent so much time trying to sever himself from the past, he had still left a door open. And now, you had walked through it.

Before you could fully process it, a voice came from behind you, soft but laced with shock. Your blood ran cold, your heart pounding as you heard him.

“Noona?”

——

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A/N: Okay, so it's around 5am in where I live and I need to sleep. I wanted to update two chapters today to make up for the lost times I had to update, aside from the fact that I wrote a pretty long one. 😭 Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

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