Batman: Squid Games

Chapter Two: The Arena of Despair

The air in the dilapidated warehouse was thick with tension. A murky haze of cigarette smoke clung to the corners, as if the anxiety of the men and women gathered inside had become a part of the building itself. The flickering neon lights above cast long, distorted shadows, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Matches Malone stood near the back of the room, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His eyes carefully scanned the others—nervous, desperate souls who had taken the gamble of entering the Squid Games.

Tonight wasn't about playing hero. It was about survival.

The recruiter had found him easily enough—a man named Red, whose reputation in Gotham's criminal underworld was legendary. Cold, calculating, and terrifying, Red was the one who decided who lived and who died. The invitation to play wasn't something you earned through skill; it was something you bought with desperation. If you were lucky, you made it out. But no one ever escaped without losing something—either their humanity or their life.

Red was tall, gaunt, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed out of place in a room like this. But his face was obscured by a featureless, white porcelain squid mask, a symbol of both power and death in the world of the Squid Games. His cold, detached gaze swept across the room as his enforcers, towering figures in dark suits, flanked him on either side.

The room went deathly silent.

"Welcome," Red said in a voice that slid into the ears like silk. "You are here for one reason: to win. Only one of you will leave this arena alive, and the rest…" He paused, the smile beneath the mask barely discernible. "The rest will become part of the game's history. Do not disappoint me."

A murmur ran through the group, a ripple of fear, and some tried to hide their trembling hands, but it was useless. Every person here was about to face something that would strip them bare—mentally, physically, and morally. The Squid Games were designed to break you, and the price of failure was steep.

Matches remained still, his face impassive under the weight of his disguise. The man behind the mask didn't matter. He wasn't here to make friends. He was here to get answers—and take down the people who were running this sickening game.

Red continued, his eyes scanning the contestants. "You will be tested in ways that will make you question your very nature. Your physicality, your endurance, your loyalty—everything you hold dear will be stripped away. And in the end, there will be only one left. You may form alliances if you wish, but remember—there can only be one winner."

With a flick of his wrist, the lights in the room flickered and went out. Panic rippled through the contestants, but Matches remained calm. In his line of work, fear wasn't something you let control you. He had been through worse—much worse.

The lights flickered back on, harsh and blinding. The room had changed. The group was now standing on a wide, circular platform, surrounded by high, smooth walls. In the center, a massive screen displayed a countdown.

10 minutes.

A series of metal doors clanked open, and masked figures emerged. These enforcers were armed with batons, knives, and other implements meant to instill fear. The game was about to begin.

From the corner of his eye, Matches noticed a few other contestants sizing him up. Some looked tough, hardened by their experiences. Others were more jittery, barely able to contain their panic. In a place like this, you couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now.

Then, a man standing nearby caught his attention. His hair was messy, his clothes ill-fitting, but there was something in his eyes—something that stood out. A mixture of fear and defiance, as though he had already seen the horrors of the Squid Games before. He was out of place in this den of criminals, yet he wasn't quite a civilian either. Matches knew at once that this was someone who had been through this hell before.

As if sensing Matches' gaze, the man turned toward him. His expression was weary but resolute.

"You're new, aren't you?" the man said, his voice rough, like it hadn't been used much recently.

Matches' eyes narrowed, and he gave a half-smile. "What's your name?"

"Seong Gi-hun," the man said, his gaze shifting to the other contestants as they anxiously awaited what came next. "I've been through this before. This isn't my first time."

Matches' eyebrows shot up slightly, intrigued. "So, you've survived?"

Gi-hun nodded slowly, his face darkening. "Barely. You can survive, sure, but it'll change you. This game is about much more than just winning. You have to make impossible choices. You'll question everything about yourself, your morals, your beliefs. And by the end of it… you'll be a different person. If you're lucky, you'll still be alive."

Matches studied him carefully. There was a pain in Gi-hun's eyes, a heaviness that only someone who had experienced the depths of the Squid Games could understand. This man had been to hell and back, and he wasn't sure if he had come out unscathed.

"You didn't get out clean, did you?" Matches asked, his voice soft but sharp.

Gi-hun met his gaze. "No one does. Even if you win, you lose something. Sometimes, it's a part of yourself. Other times…" He hesitated, his voice cracking. "Other times, you lose everything."

The countdown on the screen ticked down. 6 minutes.

The tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating. The contestants fidgeted, glancing nervously at the walls as the enforcers positioned themselves around the platform. Matches could feel the pressure mounting, the oppressive weight of impending violence closing in on them. It wasn't just about survival anymore; it was about figuring out who could be trusted and who was just as dangerous as the masked figures with weapons.

Gi-hun's voice dropped to a whisper. "If you want to make it through, you need to trust no one but yourself. This game will break you. The people here—they'll betray you in a heartbeat. They'll throw you under the bus just to stay alive. It's not about honor. It's about survival. And if you hesitate for even a second, you'll be gone."

Matches took a deep breath, his mind racing. He didn't need to hear more. He had seen this kind of desperation before. People were willing to do anything to escape their circumstances, no matter the cost. But that was exactly why he had come. He wasn't here to be a player. He was here to end the game.

The lights dimmed again, and a cold, mechanical voice boomed over the speakers.

"Round One: Escape the arena. The walls will close in. You must reach the exit in time, or you will be crushed. Your time starts now."

he room was heavy with the sound of breath and the stifled clatter of footsteps. The walls of the arena had begun to close in, their metallic groans reverberating through the tense silence of the contestants. Panic spread like wildfire, drowning out all but the primal instincts for survival. The fear was palpable, nearly suffocating, as people scrambled in all directions—desperate to avoid being crushed by the walls.

But in the chaos, one figure moved with eerie precision. Amidst the thrashing bodies and frantic shouts, there was a calm, deliberate presence: Matches Malone.

He wasn't just any ordinary man. Beneath the tattered, ill-fitting clothes, the crooked grin, and the rough exterior, the truth was clear to anyone who could see through the disguise. This was Batman—a master of combat, stealth, and strategy. And right now, his focus was laser-sharp. The game had begun in earnest, and Batman was already plotting his next move.

As the walls continued to move inward, threatening to crush the contestants between them, Matches seemed to glide through the panic-stricken crowd. His movements were almost too fast to follow. He wasn't just fast—he was precise. Every step was calculated, every motion deliberate. The others, in their blind panic, had become an obstacle in his path. But for Batman, this was a challenge he was built for.

With a sudden, fluid motion, Matches ducked beneath a swinging arm and pivoted, using the momentum to send a heavy-set man tumbling to the ground. Before the man could even comprehend what had happened, Matches was already vaulting over him, his body twisting in the air like a well-oiled machine. His limbs moved with a fluidity that defied the frantic environment, as though he had become one with the very shadows that had molded him into something more than human.

The crowd around him was growing more frenzied. The walls were closing in fast, and some were beginning to panic, shoving others out of the way, tripping over their feet, or even screaming in terror as they realized they were too slow to escape. Matches' mind worked like a machine, calculating every possibility. He knew the walls would keep moving, but there were exits—hidden, underground passages in the design of the arena that few would even notice amidst the chaos.

But Matches had already seen them.

His eyes flicked to the side, catching sight of a narrow opening—a maintenance door camouflaged against the backdrop of the arena. The exit was blocked by several people, their panic blinding them to the potential salvation it offered. Without hesitation, Matches broke through the crowd like a blur. His feet barely touched the ground as he moved, a ghost among the living.

In a fraction of a second, he reached the door. A contestant, a woman no older than 25, had been standing in front of it, her eyes wide with terror. Before she could even react, Matches had gently but firmly pushed her aside, his movements almost too smooth to notice. He wasn't here to hurt anyone—not unless he had to. But in a game like this, there were no rules, only survival.

The door creaked open, and Matches slipped inside, already moving toward the next challenge before the first even finished. His breath was steady, controlled. This wasn't just about escaping. It was about understanding the structure of the arena—how it worked, where it was weak, where the walls and doors were controlled.

Behind him, Seong Gi-hun was trying to follow, but the others had gotten in his way. Matches glanced back and saw Gi-hun getting shoved to the ground by a burly man, his face twisted in fear. The former player didn't have the same ease navigating the chaos, and Matches knew that in a place like this, hesitation meant death.

Without thinking, Matches backtracked, moving through the crowd like a shadow, his eyes constantly shifting, scanning for danger. Gi-hun was struggling to get back on his feet, but the man who had shoved him wasn't letting go. He was bigger, stronger, and now that the panic had taken hold, he was no longer playing by any moral code.

Not that it mattered to Matches.

In one fluid movement, Matches launched himself from the ground, his body arching like a missile. He landed directly behind the assailant with the silent grace of a predator. The man barely had time to register what was happening before a powerful elbow landed square in his back, driving the wind from his lungs. The force of the blow sent the man stumbling forward, his knees buckling beneath him.

Matches wasted no time. Grabbing the man by the collar, he yanked him back and tossed him aside, sending him crashing to the ground. Gi-hun, still winded but with a fierce look in his eyes, scrambled to his feet.

"Thanks," he muttered, breathless, his face lined with a mix of gratitude and fear.

"Keep moving," Matches said, his voice flat and commanding.

Gi-hun nodded and quickly made his way toward the exit Matches had uncovered. Matches followed closely behind, never slowing, always staying a step ahead. They were close now—the walls were closing in fast, but with the narrow space of the maintenance tunnel just ahead, there was hope yet.

As they neared the door, a voice rang out over the loudspeakers, cutting through the chaos.

"Five minutes remaining."

The voice was cold, mechanical. The countdown was relentless, and there was no turning back now. They had made it through the first obstacle, but the games were far from over.

Matches reached the door first and swung it open. He waved Gi-hun through, keeping his eyes on the shifting walls. This wasn't a victory yet—it was just the beginning. There would be no rest, no reprieve. The Squid Games had no room for mercy, and Matches had no intention of playing by their rules.

Gi-hun stumbled into the dimly lit corridor beyond, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Behind them, the door slammed shut just as the last of the walls began to compress.

The two men stood in the narrow hallway for a moment, catching their breath.

"Are you sure you want to continue?" Gi-hun asked, his voice hoarse. "This isn't like anything you've seen before. There's no way out once you're in."

Matches didn't answer immediately. He couldn't. The moment the words left Gi-hun's mouth, he knew the true test was coming. These were no longer just players—they were pawns. All of them, players or recruits, were now part of a system too big to be undone. Gotham's darkness had seeped into this arena, and it was time for Batman to deal with the rot at its core.

"I didn't come here to escape," Matches finally said, his voice low, his resolve unwavering. "I came here to end it."

Gi-hun's gaze faltered for a moment, but he nodded, sensing the weight of the words.

Before he could say anything more, the walls of the corridor opened, revealing the next room.

The floor was made of slick metal, illuminated by harsh overhead lights that cast long shadows. There were no more hiding places, no more corridors to retreat into. There was only one way forward.

As Matches stepped into the room, he could feel the air change. The temperature dropped, the tension rising. It wasn't just the game anymore. Now, he was playing a dangerous game within a game—a game of survival where the stakes were much higher than money or fame.

Gi-hun stepped beside him, ready for whatever came next. He had already been through this once. But Matches…he wasn't like the others. He wasn't here to play.

He was here to win. And he would make sure the Squid Games met their end.

To be continued…