The torturer or the tormented?

I slowly lowered the doorknob as if it were a heavy burden and transferred my whole body weight onto the door. It swung open with a dull thud, and I, as if thrown from a height, fell hard onto the floor. My cheek touched the cold black marble, and in that instant, I was seized by a weakness I hadn't known since my wife had left me. I felt like a helpless kitten, lost and cowardly, abandoned in a world devoid of warmth and protection. This huge lump in my throat was squeezing me like iron vise, making it hard to breathe. Gasping, I whispered, "I can't take it anymore..." What a coward I am, why can't I find the strength to end it all? Why do I just stand and watch as life passes me by? Why do I continue to exist like a shadow, deprived of light? Thoughts darted around in my head like birds of prey, their claws tearing my mind apart. Out of habit, I tried to suppress them, unwilling to acknowledge my condition. These thoughts are like a raging ocean in a storm—they leave no chance for survival. I know this. Forgetting the reason for my visit, as if lost in an abyss, I screamed, tearing my throat: —I can't... No... Enough! I can't take it anymore! My words, like the cries of a drowning man, echoed in the void. I couldn't find the strength to get up from the floor, and, curling up, I began to beat my head against the cold, monolithic stone, trying to break free from this abyss that held me in its embrace. There are only two of us in this room now: me, and the forgotten objective. Gi-hun sits on the floor, his hand shackled to the bedframe; he has become a part of this grim decor. When I burst into the room, he was already looking towards the door; his attention must have been drawn by my screams from the corridor. Seeing me, he began animatedly: "Where is the re..." — but his words cut off as he realized a real-life drama was unfolding before him. For a while, Gi-hun just sat in a stupor, his eyes full of bewilderment and shock. Finally, snapping out of it, he commanded: —Stop it, right now! I flinched, and without getting up, turned my head in his direction, as if his voice were a bolt of lightning. —Where is the child, what have you done with him?! — he continued, his voice full of fury and fear. I looked at him with swollen eyes; each of his words broke through the fog of my consciousness, and it was difficult for me to digest their meaning. —Answer me, now! — he insisted, his demand sounding like a sentence. Gathering myself with difficulty, I said: —She is safe... She's been fed... I... I... Provided her with medical care. My voice trembled, but I tried to speak clearly, holding back tears as best I could, as if every drop could destroy the fragile moment we were now witnessing. On Gi-hun's face, alongside the unyielding stupor, a relief suddenly surfaced, as if a shadow long pressing on his soul had finally receded. —Can I believe you? — he uttered in a quiet, sad voice, which held not only anxiety but also a certain resignation. He understood that my word was the only source of the coveted information, and, although this source was dubious to him, there was no other. — Yes... — I replied, just as soundlessly, as if every word were a heavy burden I could barely lift from the floor. We were silent for some time. The silence broken only by heavy breathing, I sank into my thoughts. The tears had almost dried up, leaving only traces on my face: swollen red eyes and reddened skin—I was a victim of some invisible fear. I am gathering my thoughts, trying to understand what I should do next. Gi-hun lowered his gaze to the floor, and I could only guess at the stew brewing in his head. I, and only I, was to blame for his current condition. How much suffering had I caused him... And for what? To justify a choice I'd made long ago? To prove to myself that all people are equally ruthless and greedy? No, that's nonsense. It's all—nonsense, fiction, a product of a sick imagination. The true reason was completely different, and how could I ever... —What... was that? What's happening? — his voice, full of curiosity, overpowered the hatred, but remained dull and grim, like a shadow hanging over us. He forced the words out, and I saw that Gi-hun was exhausted to the limit. A sudden admission to myself, like a lightning strike, pierced me—I was about to start crying again. —What is this? Why? — Gi-hun, who had been expecting death, was stunned, now seeing before him a riot of colors on the canvas of my body, as if I had become a living canvas upon which all my pain was written. — ...I'm sorry... Gi-hun, I'm sorry... — I repeat these words like a mantra, hoping they can ease my soul even a little. His breath caught, and I saw anger and confusion intertwine in his eyes. —How dare you, you bastard?! — his mind refused to acknowledge what was happening, and deep down, I was glad for this scream. Not stopping, I continued my mantra and tried to get up. My body felt like cast iron, but I slowly rose to my hands and knees. I was too drunk, I was shaking, my head lolled, hanging down. After a few seconds, I placed one foot, then the other. I stood up, leaning on my knees, and at that moment I asked myself: is this what the Übermensch looks like? Nietzsche, like a temptation, whispers in my ear, and I cannot help but console myself with his works. — What is morality? Morality is not merely a set of rules imposed upon us by society, like chains that bind our soul. No, it is something much deeper, more complex. I would say it is not just a system, but a living organism that breathes, changes, and evolves with us. In our world, where everything seems to be based on absolute truths, a loud and sharp cry suddenly rings out: 'God is dead!' This is not just a proclamation, it is a cry of the soul that forces us to ponder what we truly know about good and evil. We, humans, have found ourselves at a crossroads, and now we must determine for ourselves what morality is. We must free ourselves from the chains that bind us, from the prejudices imposed on us since childhood. But how difficult it is to do! We are accustomed to the morality of slaves, to humility and self-sacrifice, to what we are taught to consider good. But is this not a manifestation of weakness? Is it not time for us, at last, to raise our heads and declare ourselves? The morality of masters, as I call it, is the morality of the strong, of those who are not afraid to take responsibility for their actions, who are not afraid to be themselves, even if it contradicts accepted norms. And so, I ask myself: what is the will to power? It is not simply a striving for domination, it is a striving for self-expression, for creativity, for life in its brightest manifestation. We must learn to live by our own rules, to create our own morality based on our own values and experience. But, alas, how difficult it is to do! We are surrounded by a multitude of voices that whisper to us how to live, what to do, how to think. And in this chaos, in this cacophony of opinions, we lose ourselves. We forget that each of us is a unique world, and only we ourselves can determine what is good and what is evil for us. I utter these words, and my tongue gets tangled, I stammer, but despite this, I continue my monologue. Gi-hun, grimacing in disgust, looks at the top of my head, drilling into it with his gaze. —And you... You, Gi-hun, have you bent? Have you taken power? Power over your own life, of course... — these words were not sarcastic; I was genuinely interested, although I knew the answer. He froze. Silently, Gi-hun lowered his head, realizing that only I could decide when he would die, and until what point he would live. —Why do you need me? — he asked coldly and hopelessly, his voice growing quieter and even gloomier. Yes, he had definitely figured it out. My heart bled; I raised my head, now observing the top of his head. I had once again slipped into that persona, so loathsome to me. My chest felt tight, my breath caught. I exhaled heavily and, barely keeping my feet, took two steps towards Gi-hun. The room allowed for no more than four steps, and my knees were already pressing firmly against his head. —Why do you need me? What is all this for? And the child? What will happen to him? — he whispered, and his words, like hammer blows, shook my cast-iron body. I couldn't answer. A storm erupted inside me, and I realized that the reason for my obsession with player 456 was merely a product of a sick fantasy, created so I wouldn't have to admit to myself the true nature of my desires. I couldn't find an answer not only for Gi-hun, but for myself. My mind had sealed this truth so deep that I couldn't extract it. But one thing I knew for sure: I could no longer return to my former life. I was like that unfortunate cat lady who had nothing left but her cats. She simply exists and, although she has no need for the cats, without them she cannot continue her existence. —You are my cat, Gi-hun, — I said, with a smile, having realized at least something. Now he knew as much as I did. Uttering these words, I squatted down right in front of his face, not taking my eyes off the top of his head. Gi-hun jerked his head up and looked questioningly into my eyes, which were full of determination. I was so happy in that moment. But my happiness was short-lived. A sharp blow. Gi-hun, with his free hand, struck me right in the nose. I didn't have time to comprehend what had happened before I collapsed on the floor. My reactions were dulled by the alcohol, and I felt unexpectedly pleased. The blood, warm and life-giving, spread across my face. —What cat?! — he screamed in desperation. The human brain is wired in such a way that during prolonged boketto (boketto (Japanese ぼけっと) is a Japanese word for a state of gazing into the distance without thinking about anything specific), it begins to crave action, to do something, and in his case, these actions could be justified by thoughts that frightened his consciousness. What would anyone do if they were called someone's 'cat'? I knew he considered me a dog, led around by the VIP guests. In a way, he was right, but Gi-hun doesn't even suspect the whole truth. —I am a dog, and you are a cat, — I rasped. — Who do you think my owner is? Gi-hun was thrown into an even greater stupor. It sounds like delirium, and I agree with him. —My owners are the VIP guests? No. Do you know how such a huge building was constructed right in the cliff? You must understand, no matter how wealthy those guests are—even they wouldn't spend that much. And the workers? They would have blabbed about everything... Gi-hun just looked at me, lying there with a bloodied face, while I, with my arms spread, stared at the ceiling. —My owner is the System. And what kind of system do you think can afford this? The State. They don't care about the manner in which the games are conducted. Insolvent debtors create financial risks for banks and credit institutions, which, in turn, can lead to economic crises. If a large number of people cannot meet their financial obligations—it can cause a chain reaction, threatening the stability of the entire financial system. Such 'trash' can't even pay taxes, let alone their debts. And the social consequences? Theft, murder, robbery, armed uprisings... You know about that, right? Investors refuse to put money into the economy, and banks tighten lending conditions, making it harder for conscientious borrowers to get financing. Speaking of conscientious borrowers, I remembered how I ran around banks, humiliated myself, but couldn't get a loan anywhere for my wife's treatment. At some point, I became the same 'trash'. —Every year the government sends us tidy sums just to get rid of four hundred and fifty such insolvent burdens—'trash'. Weren't you curious why the tax service didn't even ask where you got so much money? And the bank where that money was held turned out to be half state-owned? Gi-hun was crushed. His eyes, full of bewilderment, searched for an answer but found none. I, in turn, felt the dark waters of despair pulling me deeper, and in this abyss, I understood that perhaps only in this madness lay my true freedom.